#big ears long limbs lanky ass body | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

weird, m | ksj

pairing(s): seokjin x reader

summary: Your roommate and best friend, Kim Seokjin, forgot to double-check the autofill information and shipped his package from the online sex shop with your name on it. Naturally, this ends with you tying him up and sucking his dick, and him tying you up with you riding him like a wild animal. Wait, what?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; friends with benefits; crack (sorry, I can't be serious for more than two seconds when writing Seokjin); yes, reader usually fucks younger dudes XD; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics (both switches), bondage, m-receiving oral, thigh riding, cowgirl, spanking); non-idol!BTS - just two best friends fucking for sexual exploration, don't mind them

technically a prequel to love roulette, m | myg yes, this is the explanation to that mysterious package, but is it really an explanation or rather an excuse to fuck WWH, you decide

“Seokjin, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

When Kim Seokjin looked at you, it was a bit like looking into the eyes someone much younger than you even though he wasn’t. He had that youth about him, the ‘here’s-to-never-growing-up’ sparkle in his large brown eyes, complete with parted lips in a small ‘o’ and, alright, yes, his Nintendo Switch in his hands.

“A long time ago, I asked you which way you think you lean, more dominant or more submissive, no?”

His handsome face flushed pink, slowly scooting away from you.

“Er… yeah, I remember…”

“What?”

“Huh?”

You poked him and he squeaked, slapping a hand over his side even though he was wearing a brown sweatshirt. Seokjin was always cold, even during the summer.

Your best friend was an odd character.

You chuckled. “Why are you being so awkward? I thought we were over this phase.”

Well, he should be. You had known Seokjin since elementary school and seen him, er, date was a strong word for what you both were doing in middle and high school, more like being bumbling messes and walking in on each other bonking classmates, but, hey, what mattered is that you both got better at it over the years.

It being sex.

Not romance.

You both still had only sketchy ideas about what romance was supposed to be.

“We are,” your best friend coughed, clearing his throat for absolutely no reason. “We are, I just…”

“Used my name for purchasing goods from an online sex shop?”

He choked and nearly flung his Switch. You caught it, swiftly placing it on the coffee table as you procured the cardboard box from behind your back, already open, address and name circled in thick black permanent marker on the rather inconspicuous package.

“W-What, that’s absurd, why would I ever–?”

You hummed pleasantly, sweeping the box away from his lanky limbs and his flailing hands. For someone who didn’t purchase goods from an online sex shop, he sure was interested in getting the box. He tumbled into your lap, and quickly scrambled back, black hair suddenly fluffed and wild from the movement.

“Something tells me you didn’t check the autocomplete form before clicking submit.”

You saw Seokjin choke on air.

He jerked away from you and fumbled with his phone beside him. You peeked over his broad shoulder and saw that he was scrolling through his emails like a madman, except Seokjin had a bad habit of never deleting any. He had maybe fifteen thousand unread emails to sort though.

“You don’t have to check. I am sure I didn’t order red cotton bondage rope and a leather flogger.”

Seokjin whipped his head around, face redder than a tomato, looking halfway between fainting and screaming.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is it for you or a mysterious imaginary girl that you’re dating?”

Now your best friend seemed to be contemplating holding his own breath until he passed out to avoid your questioning.

“I-It’s not for me!”

“Oooh, then who? You’re not an internet hookup kind of guy though… unless she was dumb enough to put her full name as her username, then she’s too airheaded to be a catfish–”

Seokjin flapped his hands, smacking you in your pajama-covered chest, sputtering. “No one! There’s no one! I just…!”

You caught one of his wrists, raising an eyebrow.

“Just?”

He froze.

Silence.

“… Seokjin?”

You left go of his hand. It stayed there, frozen in the air.

Ah, it seemed as if his soul left his body.

Rest in peace Kim Seokjin. You were the handsomest best friend one could ask for.

You prodded him in the side again and Seokjin doubled over, trying to cover his face with the large sleeves of his sweatshirt, long legs in black sweatpants curling up as if he could cocoon himself away from the conversation.

“Seokjin, you can be interested in whatever you want,” you snickered, placing the package next to his fetal positioned body. “I simply thought it was funny that you accidentally used my name. Although I wouldn’t use that flogger on a real person, only for posing in pictures. In any case, have fun being freaky by yourself and not for some mysterious woman you refuse to tell me about.”

You stood up, about to leave and give your best friend some space. You shouldn’t go too far teasing him after all.

“What do you mean?”

You stopped, looking back. Seokjin’s large brown eyes were peeking out of his splayed fingers, shifting awkwardly when you made eye contact. He cleared his throat. He was doing that a lot for someone who seemed perfectly healthy ten minutes ago, shrieking at himself for missing the ledge in his game and dying.

It had seemed like a good time to interrupt and embarrass him so you could save your eardrums.

He coughed and pointed to the box. “About the… um… whip… thingmabob…”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You marched over and opened the box, making Seokjin jolt and cover his red ears instinctively, but you ignored him, pulling out the black pleather flogger you had already unwrapped from the plastic – purely from thinking it was your own package, by the way, no other reason, surely not because you were mildly curious about what your best friend was into, nope – and you slapped the short three tails into your hand, wincing.

“This kind of cheap material is too plastic-like. If you use this on bare skin and hit too hard, you’re going to cut someone and I know you’re squeamish around blood, unless you secretly have a blood fetish too and have been a really good actor all this time–”

“How do you know that?”

You blinked at his question.

“What?”

Seokjin sat up, giving you a confused pout. “Why do you know something like that?”

Now it was your turn to shift your eyes around.

“Uh…”

Er… how to tell your best friend that the younger guy you were casually fucking for the past couple of weeks was, ah, rather knowledgeable about certain things, was, um, interested in teaching, uh, yeah, teaching…

Seokjin squinted at you suspiciously. “Is it that idol trainee that was here two nights ago when I was out drinking with Hose–”

You waved your hands very quickly, tossing the flog aside carelessly and slapping your thigh to silence Seokjin and his far too invasive questions. “Look. I just don’t want you to hurt anybody on accident, okay? Your rope choice was good though. You should always use an organic material for shibari, cotton, hemp, linen if you’re rich, but you’re a cheapskate, so–”

Your best friend narrowed his eyes into slits. “How much younger is that guy compared to you again? Hm? And what was his name? Ye–”

You slapped a hand over Seokjin’s mouth, smiling sweetly and dangerously, reaching into the box and pulling out the red cotton rope.

“I know a lot of knots now and I can tie a noose just for you, Seokjinnie.”

Your best friend, rightfully so, looked terrified.

“Now. Let’s talk about you, okay? Okay.”

You removed your hand and held onto the rope.

Seokjin gulped, but then shook his head vigorously, frowning. “What did you call it?” He was already moving past your death threat. Smart man.

“Call what?”

“Shi-something?”

“Shibari? Japanese rope tying?” You lifted the cotton cord in your hand. “Is that not what this is for?”

Seokjin blinked very rapidly.

You blinked back at him. Then it dawned onto you. “The diamond-y rope patterns where they’re all tied up and stuff.”

“Ah! Yeah! That!”

“You want that done to you?”

Seokjin jerked to one side. “What? No! To someone else. Maybe. No. What?”

You slowly placed the rope on his lap and scooted away.

“Uh… huh. Okay. Enjoy.”

“Wait,” he blurted.

“What?”

“CanIpracticeonyou?”

“Can you WHAT?” you echoed shrilly.

“Right, yeah, okay, never mind–”

“Seokjin.”

Your best friend choked on his own toothbrush and threw himself into the bathroom wall, colliding into the towel bar and howling in pain while simultaneously hacking up a lung.

“I’ve decided I am going to teach you some simple knots to prevent me from having to pick your naked ass up from the police station or hospital,” you said calmly as Seokjin half-died on the floor tangled in your mint green and his navy-blue bath towels. “And because I don’t want to have to cut some poor girl off your bedframe because you’ve blacked out running onto your door trying to find me.”

“I’ve never–” he wheezed.

“But you will if I don’t take precautions,” you cut in, grabbing your purple toothbrush and putting toothpaste on it as Seokjin attempted to collect himself off the ground. “Like that one time you ran into the window when that wasp was in the apartment.”

“That was a fucking wasp, you freaked out too!”

You started brushing your teeth. “Yeah, but I didn’t knock myself out and wake up with a fat bump on my forehead. That was you,” you gargled.

“Ack…”

“Anyway, I know a few things and I figured I would do a good deed and enlighten you.”

“Who taught you? Was it Ye–”

You jabbed Seokjin forcefully in the ribs and he immediately shut up because he choked on his toothbrush again.

“Why do you have scissors?”

“For cutting the rope.”

“Yeah, but why are they so big?”

“That’s what she said.”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Cool, now I’m gonna tie you up. Give me your hands.”

You unwound the end from the bolt and frowned, nudging his knee with yours. You were both sitting on his bed, him cross legged and you on your knees because he was wearing black sweatpants and you were wearing no pants, just your usual large lavender pajama shirt with a pattern of yellow stars.

“Take off your sweatshirt. It’ll get in the way.”

“But I’m cold.”

“You won’t be because apparently this shit turns you on,” you snickered.

“Shut up, it does not. It’s the other way around,” Seokjin grumbled, yanking his chocolate brown sweatshirt over his head.

You paused.

“I thought you were more sub.”

Seokjin froze, head half-out of his sweatshirt. You waited. He didn’t move. You waited some more. He coughed and chucked the article of clothing aside, yanking his white t-shirt down and smoothing his hair, not looking at you.

You waited.

He smoothed his hair for a full two minutes.

“Um, anyway–”

You planted a hand on his knee and Seokjin tried to chop your hand away, only for you to snatch his wrist, so his other hand came up to stop you, but you wound the end of the rope around his wrist and bounced off his mattress, pinning your knees on top of his knees and making him squeak as he tumbled back into his pillows, bringing you with him. You had to jerk your head out of the way to avoid collision.

“My nuts!”

“I didn’t hit your precious nuts, you numbsku–”

Hang on.

You locked eyes with Seokjin under you, who gawked back at you, absolutely terrified.

“… You are still a sub.”

Seokjin winced. “Ugh, it’s just… I’m getting older, alright? I can change my mind…”

You could get off him. You could let it be. You totally could.

But were you going to?

No.

You straddled his abdomen and brought his hands to his chest with a big grin. Seokjin’s eyes turned into giant brown saucers. He looked ready to pass out and not from your weight because you weren’t putting much weight on him.

“W-W-What are y-you d-doing?!” he shrieked.

You rapped him in the forehead. “Teaching. Pay attention. Hands up.”

“You aren’t taking your rings off?”

He was referring to the three silver rings you wore on a daily basis – an onyx stone on your left middle finger, a goat-head shaped ring on your right thumb, and a skull with a jester hat on your right ring finger.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why do I need to take them off?”

He lifted his hands and gave you an exaggerated shrug in between your thighs. Come to think of it, Seokjin had a rather broad chest so you had to spread your legs pretty wide to accommodate and hover over him.

Precarious.

“Ah, perfect.”

Your best friend yelped as you wrapped the rope around his wrists, leaving the end sticking out between them, first focusing on loosely binding. He tried to break away, but you harshly squeezed his sides with your thighs, narrowing your eyes.

“Stop squirming.”

He froze at your cold tone, shifting his eyes awkwardly.

“Watch. Now.”

His eyes immediately snapped to your hands.

“Wrists together.” You nudged them so the inner parts of the wrists were touching. “A little space in the center,” you added, looping out the end of the rope. “I’m just teaching you how I learned it, there are a few ways, but the details are important so you don’t prevent loss of circulation,” you added seriously, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “So, wind it around a couple times, but don’t overlap. Four or five?”

“But I can still get out.”

You glared at him. Seokjin shut up and jammed his plush pink lips together, shaking his head rapidly as if to say, who me? I wasn’t talking!

“Turn it ninety degrees like this,” you demonstrated. “And start going perpendicular to and in between the wrists to create the binding. Line up each coil side by side. Mind the starting end here. Then…” You reached for the scissors and snipped the excess away, dropping the rope and scissors beside you on the bed. “You tie it off on the outside. I use a square knot, so this end over this end, and then retie it the opposite way. Try to break free.”

Seokjin frowned at the red rope around his wrists, twisting it this way and that, squirming underneath your legs. You put your hands on your waist triumphantly, nodding to yourself in pride. You did a good job! It looked neat and it was inescapable without tightening on any blood vessels to cause any dangerous loss of circulation.

Hang on.

Seokjin froze.

You froze.

You both looked down.

You smacked him in the cheek.

“Ow!”

“What are you looking there for?!”

“Why did you hit me? Why do you always resort to violence?!” Seokjin accused, jabbing you underneath your breasts with his bound hands. “What is going on down there?”

“Nothing! Stop moving!”

“No!”

“You–”

You closed your thighs around Seokjin’s waist and sat down on him, causing him to gasp, wind knocked out of him as his diaphragm was pushed up into his lungs, struggling with the rope between his wrists and resorting to slamming them down on the bed above his head. You growled as you towered over him. He started yelling, as he always did.

“Yah!”

You slapped your free hand over his mouth.

“Silence.”

He glared at you behind your palm, breathing hard. You sat on top of him, breathing just as hard. He was bigger, strong, yes, but not in the position of power and – being honest, after all – your best friend was never really out to fight you and win. He was more of a ‘I’m-going-to-be-stupidly-annoying-until-you-do-what-I-want’ type, which made him rather childish in some ways. You were more of the ‘I’m-gonna-beat-your-ass’ type.

In conclusion, it was a healthy friendship.

Seokjin started licking your palm and making crazy eyes at you.

Your eye twitched.

“Stop it.”

Unsurprisingly, he did not, in fact, stop it.

“I said, stop it.”

And you slid down, past the wet spot now on his t-shirt, planting your soaked panties on top of his crotch, grinding down, and, yup, Seokjin bucked and yelped, immediately stopping and seizing up as if he could hide the massive erection that you had been willing to ignore but he was being a little – nah, actually, an extra-large, supersized – shit and it was getting on your last nerve, so what better way to resolve a wordless argument (on his part, heh) then humping his hard-on?

You removed your hand and Seokjin had a brief moment to gasp your name before you slid the pads of your fingers onto his tongue, rubbing it roughly and making his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“I told you to stop, but you aren’t listening,” you snarled.

Seokjin whimpered, brown orbs glassy, pupils blown out.

You stilled.

Hold on a second.

You had a brief epiphany where you realized you were grinding on your best friend’s dick with him tied up and you were wetter than the Yellow Sea. This wasn’t some guy you picked up at the night market that won you that sleeping Pikachu at the claw machines, only to chat him up and end up with bed with a guy who was – ack, never mind his age – anyway, this was your best friend.

Kim Seokjin.

Oh shit, I’ve gone too far.

You let go, backing up. “S… Sorry, I–”

But then Seokjin’s plush lips closed around your fingers, sucking hard and you choked slightly, feeling his hips roll and the tip of his clothed erection hit your covered clit. He was glaring at you. You gasped as his teeth gently but firmly caught your two fingers. It did hurt, but only a little. Mostly it sent a rush of rather uncomfortable and mind-boggling arousal racing from your knuckles to your core, drenching your panties further.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled around your fingers.

Don’t stop?

DON’T STOP?

His teeth let go, panting, staring into your eyes.

“Don’t make this weird,” Seokjin muttered, shifting his gaze. “Don’t make this weird, okay?”

His brown eyes flickered back to you. His bound hands were still over his head, black hair flaring out of his pillows, white t-shirt messed up, still trapped between your thighs. You paused, fingers slipping out of his lips, the pads trailing on his lower lip, turning it glossy with his saliva.

Your heart was racing fast.

He furrowed his dark brows and, for the first time, his serious expression made you think that perhaps, maybe, there was a side of him down there, the other side to the coin.

“I just…” Seokjin exhaled slowly, not looking away from you. “I trust you to do this. You’re capable and knowledgeable. I know you are. Word gets around with your, er, habits with younger guys…”

You felt your cheeks heat and you scratched your head awkwardly.

“Anyway, it’s fine if you wanna… er… get off. With me. Because I’m so handsome and all.”

You were thiiiiiiis close to leaving out of sheer embarrassment that instantly dissipated at Seokjin’s sudden unexpected self-compliment. Instead, your eye twitched and you squinted in annoyance.

Seokjin coughed, ears singeing bright red. “Unless you can’t, of course. Because it’s easy to fall in love with me, and that would be very bad considering I don’t want to marry you–”

“I don’t want to marry you either,” you snapped. “You’re ugly.”

Seokjin gasped dramatically, highly offended. “How dare you–!”

He abruptly sat up and you twisted back, only for his arms to swing over your head and sandwich you between his tied wrists and his chest, ramming you back onto his lap and his hard dick. You hissed and bit down your moan, not willing to admit it was mildly turning you on, because of course neither you or Seokjin hated each other – only in that classic way best friends hate and love each other at the same time – and, yeah, sure, you could admit Seokjin was handsome and cute and fun to be around, but he wasn’t the one, not that you knew what the one was supposed to feel like or knew if you would ever feel such an intense, romantic love, but you had this strange idea that the one for you would be someone who could understand you on a different level, and you didn’t have that with Seokjin even if you did talk all the time. You were quite sure the feeling was mutual and now, looking into his brown eyes with a scowl, you saw that the feeling was indeed mutual.

Also, Seokjin was an immature shithead.

A loveable, worldwide handsome, immature shithead. Redeemable.

Still.

You were horny.

And Seokjin was horny.

You weren’t going to date Seokjin ever, but your best friend was hot as hell and you could definitely bang him without any regrets.

“Let’s fuck,” he breathed into your face.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Don’t make it weird, yeah, okaaay dude–

Your thoughts were suddenly cut off when Seokjin kissed you.

His forearms closed in behind your back and he pressed his bound wrists into your shoulder blades, pushing you into his solid chest and his embrace, taking your breath away. He always had good hugs, even if they were just to comfort you when your favorite flavor of ice lollys stopped being stocked at your local grocery store – still tragic to this day – and even when he was clinging onto you like a howling monkey because a cockroach was in the bathroom and he was screaming at you to kill it and nearly blowing out your eardrums, even then…

Now.

You closed your legs in around his hips and rolled your crotch into him, suddenly kissing him back.

He gasped into your mouth, your eyes half-opening, him gazing back at you, long lashes and dark eyebrows and glowing tan skin, holy shit, your best friend was handsome as fuck, why did other men even try when Kim Seokjin existed?

“Are you falling in love with me because I’m so handsome?” Seokjin teased, nipping at your lower lip.

Your eye twitched. Oh, yes, that’s right, because you’re annoying.

You shoved him and he yelped, clutching your back as you both fell onto the bed with a flump! You slid out from under his arms, skin prickling at Seokjin’s involuntary whine at your departure. Don’t make this weird, yeah, okay, don’t turn me on this much, dumbass, you are reminding me of… You pushed the thought away.

You didn’t want to think about other people when the person you were touching was right in front of you.

“What are you – yah!”

You gripped the waistband of his sweatpants and yanked down, exposing his underwear – bright blue, nice, nice – and his clothed erection, leaning in, hot breath ghosting over it, Seokjin jerking his arms about because he seemed undecided on either if he wanted to see or not see, but you let him deal with that in his own time, lowering your mouth, tongue extended, fingers splayed over his hips, silver rings glinting in his bedroom lights.

“You look like a demon,” you heard from above you.

You planted your tongue on the spot where the head of his cock would be and soaked it with saliva.

“F-Fuck!”

That shut him up real quick.

Your eyes drifted up, lapping slowly, barely stimulating the sensitive head through his underwear, closing your lips around it so the fabric clung wetly to the taut skin underneath. His cock swelled and twitched under your mouth; the action was mirrored by Seokjin’s jaw. He was clenching it along with his hands balled into fists, gasping for breath.

“O-Oh, f-fuck…!”

You were beginning to get the hint with each passing second of working your tongue around his rapidly hardening cock. Seokjin had put himself in the sub category when you asked back then because he liked to things being done for him. It was less about the mental aspect and more of the physical acts of service in his case. However, he wasn’t very good at articulating what he wanted and thus the natural pattern of someone just doing it led to, ah, exhibit A.

You currently parting your lips and letting your tongue snake out, coating the length with saliva.

But.

You could see it in his eyes, that burning intensity.

Maybe part of it was because it was you. He probably didn’t have those butterfly jitters of trying to woo a stranger or the nervousness of looking bad in the honeymoon phase of a relationship. There was already a level of comfort – and the ability to readily shit-talk each other at any moment – and so Seokjin was free to relax, even if it was a bizarre situation of sexual discovery.

“Take it off,” he growled.

Your fingers creeped up his sides, hooking over his boxer briefs. Slow, deliberate, kissing up his length, on the tightrope, dominant in your control, submissive in the action, raising your head so Seokjin could lift his hips, feathering kisses on the exposed skin and making him hiss and shudder, eyelids fluttering, slipping into subservience a little.

At the end of the day, who killed the unwanted bugs in your shared apartment?

Yeah, you.

“Oh, f… fucking shit…”

You tilted your head and ran your tongue up and down the length, licking up the sides and circling around the thick head, bordering on frustratingly soft, switching to wet, sloppy kisses when his hands raised, making him pause, gazing down at you curiously and attentively, entranced by the action. You ducked down, tongue slurping around his balls, lifting his cock, kissing, sucking, eyes closing, tip of your wet muscle drawing zig-zag patterns that soft skin.

Seokjin moaned your name.

A shiver of electricity went up your spine.

Alright, fine, you were getting turned on.

You wrapped your lips around his balls and enveloped them both with your mouth.

“Whoa!”

You opened your eyes to see Seokjin staring wide-eyed at you, hands straight up to stare at you between his upper arms. You almost laughed at the hilarious triangular-looking pose, but your mouth was currently full, so you restrained yourself.

“That’s possible?! You can put both nuts in your mouth at the same time?!”

Uh.

Where you supposed to respond with your cheeks stuffed with his nutties?

You hummed casually in response.

“A-Ah…!”

Seokjin gasped at the vibrations and the movement of your tongue slapping all over them, short, rapid licks all over his skin, watching him with a cocked eyebrow, but he didn’t even notice, hands dropping and moaning to the ceiling, his eyes closing and savoring the hot wet warmth and the power of your mouth, shivering as your hand slowly stroked his length in time with your tongue.

You let him bask in it before detaching and swallowing his cock.

“Gah!”

Seokjiinie, you thought wryly, we gotta work on your repertoire of sex sounds.

You spied him looking down at you, so you paused around the swollen head and slid your tongue out, circling and wrapping around his length while sucking on the tip and rubbing the back of your tongue along the underside.

Seokjin made a bunch of weird croaking noises that were, strangely, rather attractive. Okay, you could admit it. You were kind of a sucker for your best friend in the most platonic way possible… while in the middle of sucking his dick.

What?

He was handsome!

You began to bob your head up and down, tongue and lips descending, taking him deep so you kissed the base of his cock, head buried in your throat, waiting for him to glance down at you, hazy brown orbs under lush lashes, and you would peek your tongue out and lap at his balls, interrupting the tightness, causing him to swear and jerk his hips up, urging you to keep consistent speed and pace, all the while watching every single movement of your tongue. You kept this irregular pace, slow, then fast, then slow again when he looked at you, then fast when the ecstasy was too much and he closed his eyes, over and over. You could see that a battle was being waged Seokjin’s pretty head, between wanting to observe the lewdness of you licking his balls with his hard cock buried in your throat while also desperately needing to get to the fuck off.

“You… bitch… suck me off properly, fuck…”

You raised all the way so only the head was in your mouth and sucked, rubbing up and around it, swirling all over, teasing the slit and soaking the sensitive skin, rutting it against the roof of your mouth and Seokjin groaned, pressing his head back into the pillows, black hair covering his eyes, fists pressed to his chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, let me cum!”

His hips rammed up and you dug your nails into them, wincing as the head hit the top of your throat and slid down, cutting off your air, and then he began to thrust erratically, the position, inability to use his hands as leverage, and your resistance not letting him set up a good rhythm. You had to force him back down, popping your mouth off, snarling.

“I’m gonna gag if you do that! You want me to vomit on your dick or what?”

But all of a sudden Seokjin sat up again, grabbing your pajama shirt and yanking you to him, saliva dripping down your chin and then it was on his chin, a messy, savage kiss, ravenous need in his actions, pulling you to him, close, closer, you twisting and then gasping as he pushed one of your thighs down, planting your soaked panties on the exposed part of his thigh.

“Ah, Seok–”

He attacked your lips again with a light growl, sparks shooting across your skin, his thigh rising and bouncing you both on the bed, his legs still tangled in his pants and underwear but the effect was undeniable.

Seokjin was making you ride his thigh.

Whoa.

He bit your lower lip and sucked hard, your eyes fluttering closed, hips rocking, heat turning hotter, wet turning wetter, your sticky, sweet juices clinging to his upper thigh, your own pressed against his saliva-covered cock, wrapping your arms around him, close, closer, you thrusting your tongue in his mouth and him moaning before he did the same to you, starting a tug of war, rubbing harder against his skin, his muscle tensing against your covered clit, friction and wetness everywhere, too many clothes and no eye contact, one of your hands slipping into his black locks and tilting his head, deepening the kiss and inhaling his exhale, shuddering at the erotic nature of the moment.

He mumbled your name against your lips, still clutching your pajamas, stars bunched in his hands, fingertips pressed into the curve of your breasts.

“Can I try the rope tying now?” Seokjin whispered, voice gravelly and low.

“Excuse me?”

There was a ripped-open condom wrapper sitting on the bed.

“What?”

Your pajama shirt, bra, and panties were on the floor, along with Seokjin’s shirt, sweatpants, and underwear.

“Why are you – gah!”

You sucked in a breath as you sank down on his cock. Fuck, it was tight, tight as you lowered yourself onto his hips, Seokjin gasping and clutching the long length of red cotton rope that you had carefully untied from his wrists. You had even taken the extra step to massage them afterward, not that he needed it because of your careful work – good job, past you – but he appreciated it all the same, because deep down Kim Seokjin was a prince.

“Oh my God, you’re so tight, shit, shit, shit…”

You neglected to tell your best friend that you were both low-key proud of and turned on by your own ability to take dick without much foreplay. That little edge of tightness added just the right amount of spice of pain that amplified to the pleasure.

Okay.

And yes, you felt a special kind of glee as you witnessed Seokjin’s stunned shock and near passed-out expression from being inside you.

You held out your wrists and grinned. “Go ahead. Tie me up.”

Seokjin gawked at you like you had three heads.

You squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, tilting your head with a devilish grin.

“God, you’re so hot, but you look crazy,” he wheezed.

Your grin dropped and your eye twitched. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or…?”

Seokjin shrugged, and moved your hands so they were in the better position for him. Much to your annoyance, he didn’t elaborate.

“Um, let’s see, you left a bit out to use as a tie and…”

You began to rock your hips.

“H-Hey!”

The side of your lips curved upward. “What? We’re multitasking.”

“We–?” Seokjin choked, gritting his teeth as you pulsed around his hard length, rolling your hips gently, adjusting until you found a comfortable spot so the head hit you in just the right spot, ah, yes, right there, spreading your fingers out over his chest, leaning your forehead against his, not quite going full force but a slow, deliberate rhythm that wasn’t going to make either of you cum, but, damn, did it feel good.

Seokjin shuddered, gasping your name.

“Tie me up, Seokjin,” you murmured back, caressing his skin.

His eyes darted up, saturated with lust, searching your eyes, and you gazed back.

You could be a real jerk right now.

His hot exhale washed over your lips, a shudder of nervousness.

But this was your best friend, and he was trusting you.

You tilted your head and kissed him softly, flush against his plush lips.

“Come on,” you nudged his nose lightly. “Do it.”

You viewed him from under your lashes. He shivered. Almost.

He needed only one more little push.

“Want you, Seokjinnie,” you breathed against his skin, hints of need and desperation in your voice.

A small smile danced on his lips, staring into your eyes.

You might have fallen for him a little bit in that moment.

“Okay.”

He kissed the side of your mouth, a teasing little peck, and you smirked, turning your head so you wouldn’t break the image you had created for him, but he was already looking down, busily occupied with your wrists, so you drew back, focusing instead on riding him, closing your eyes. You built a leisurely, pleasurable pace, leaning forward a bit to rub your clit against the base of his cock, sighing contentedly at the way he filled you, a wonderful, thick, satisfying girth that you could get used to, other than the fact that most of the time Seokjin drove you up the wall, but, hey, maybe if both of you reached a certain age and you were still single, maybe you could marry your best friend solely for having accessible dick…

“Ah! Perfect.”

You cracked open one eye.

And tried not to burst out laughing.

“Erm… well…” you coughed, tugging at the rope a little. It looked messy and rather hideous, parts overlapping and twisting awkwardly, but he had the… basic idea? It wasn’t like you were going to do anything dumb anyway, so it was pretty good for a first time.

Seokjin frowned. “I don’t know how you did it so neatly…”

“You line up the coils next to each other – ah!”

He seemed to think that was good enough and grabbed handfuls of your ass, causing you to tip forward and brace your hands against his chest, gasping as his hips thrust up into you, abrupt pleasure blooming up your core, sudden squelch of wetness between your joined hips.

“Come on,” he grunted, clenching his jaw, tone getting deeper and more dangerous with each word. “I have to get off, and now.”

He smacked his hands down on your ass and you almost whimpered.

Almost.

Seokjin drew back a little, giving you a strange look.

“W… What?” you managed to get out.

He tilted his head. “Do you like that?”

You almost said, no, of course not, but you stopped yourself, looking down at the red rope tied around your wrists, heat flaring in your cheeks, ass stinging slightly from his slap.

His cock twitched inside you.

Your eyes flickered up to him. A sly smirk danced on your lips.

“Yeah. I like the things you do to me.”

You saw Seokjin pause, brown eyes widening a little, black hair over his forehead.

You pushed him down on the bed. He gasped, but he was used to it now, gripping your ass and tipping his head back as you began to really ride him, waving your hips to ram his cock into your pussy, not even noticing the moan seeping from your lips, fuck, it was good, fulfilling and deep, your bound hands on his chest, fingers spread out and nails digging into his skin a little, but Seokjin seemed to be into it, his own nails sinking into your ass, pushing you down with every descent, hitting you harder, rougher, intensifying the pleasure, building onto it. Hot breath, warm skin, joined hips, loud slaps, rocking bedframe, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, gazing at each other through half-lidded eyes, not quite seeing each other but drowning in the gratification, the roughness, gasping sharply as his open palm smacked down on your ass again, making it bounce and jiggle in his hands, your core and thighs squeezing tighter, witnessing his tight hiss of desire, mesmerized by your sound so he did it again, spanking the other cheek, and you did it again, whimper creeping out, arousal consuming his handsome features, intoxicated by your reaction to his action so he did it again and again, hard, stinging slaps as you rode his stiff, quivering cock harder and faster, fuck, Seokjin must be incredibly turned on because he was so fucking hard, just so incredibly sexy how hard he was right now, even the pain was nothing but an injection of added carnal pleasure, throwing your head back and sinking your nails into his skin, fucking him recklessly, forgetting about hiding your moans, who the fuck cared, not you and not him because Seokjin too was crying out, the sinful sound of sex echoing off his bedroom walls, except instead of you in your bedroom putting headphones on to drown him out, you were in his bedroom, doing it, fucking the daylights out of him.

Alright.

You could see why girls wanted to date your best friend now.

Seokjin was a loud dork, but he had a great dick.

“F-Fuck, Seokjin, fuck!”

He had a similar response, although it was more a choked garble of your name mixed with, “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

You must really be drunk on his dick because even that turned you on and tipped you over the edge.

Your thighs tensed and you moaned deeply, tucking your chin down and spreading your palms onto his pecs, wrists straining against the cotton rope, a rapid torrent of adrenaline soaring through you and then you smacked your ass down onto Seokjin’s crotch, whining as you came in vicious pulses of pleasure, clenching around his jerking length and you realized Seokjin was clutching your ass, pinning it down so you couldn’t move, shooting his release into the condom, so much that you felt his cock shudder and throb inside you, head buried in your deepest, most pleasurable spot, you feeling all of him and him feeling all of you.

Holy shit.

You almost saw stars.

“Hah… wow… I guess I can’t blame younger dudes for wanting this pussy…”

Your eyes weren’t open but your eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

“Shut up, Seokjin.”

“Come on, man! Look what you did!” Seokjin barked accusingly, pointing to his chest with red indents of your rings.

“Excuse me? I’m the one who has scratches and a bruised ass!”

“You’ve marred my beautiful skin! I should fine you!”

“Where’s that fuckin’ whip – get your naked ass back here, Kim Seokjin!”

Hm, well, maybe you would find your true love some other time. Maybe try gambling?

masterpost

#seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #seokjin smut #bts smut #kim seokjin smut #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x you

306 notes · View notes

ofspvrta · 2 years

Text

𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽 / 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂 .

bold what applies to your character , italics for sometimes / sort of :)

BODY.

long legs / short legs / average legs / slender thighs / thick thighs / muscular thighs / skinny arms / soft arms / muscular arms / uses prosthetic limb(s) / facial scars / bodily scars / moderately scarred / heavily scarred / toned stomach / flat stomach / flabby stomach / soft stomach / six pack / beer belly / lean frame / muscular frame / voluptuous frame / petite frame / lanky frame / short nails / long nails / manicured nails / dirty nails / flat ass / toned ass / bubble butt / thick ass / small waist / thick waist / narrow hips / average hips / wide hips / big feet / average feet / small feet / soft feet / slender feet / calloused hands / soft hands / big hands / average hands / small hands / long fingers / short fingers / average fingers / broad shouldered / underweight / average weight / overweight

HEIGHT.

shorter than 140 cm / 141 cm-150 cm / 151 cm to 160 cm / 161 cm to 170 cm / 171 cm to 180cm / 181 cm to 190 cm / 191 cm to 2m / taller than 2 m.

SKIN.

pale / rosy / olive / dark / tanned / blotchy / smooth / acne / dry / greasy / freckled / stubble / beard

EYES.

small / large / average / grey / brown / blue / green / gold / hazel / red (corrupted verse) / doe - eyed / almond / close - set / wide - set / squinty / monolid / heavy eyelids / upturned / downturned

HAIR.

thin / thick / fine / normal / greasy / dry / soft / shiny / curly / frizzy / wild / unruly / straight / smooth / wavy / floppy / cropped / pixie - cut / shoulder length / back length / waist length / buzz cut / bald / jaw length / white / platinum blonde / golden blonde / dirty blonde / strawberry blonde / blonde / ombre / light brown / mouse brown / chestnut brown / golden brown / chocolate brown / dark brown / jet black / ginger / auburn / dyed red / dyed an unnatural color / thin eyebrows / average eyebrows / thick eyebrows / greying hair

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS.

no tattoos / one tattoo / a few here and there / multiple / full sleeves / thigh tattoo / neck tattoo / chest tattoo / no piercings / ear piercings / nose piercing / lip piercing / tongue piercing / eyebrow piercing / navel piercing / cheek piercing / nipple piercing / genital piercing

COSMETICS.

eyeliner / light eyeliner / heavy eyeliner / cat eyes / mascara / fake eyelashes / matte lipstick / regular lipstick / lipgloss / red lips / pink lips / dark lips / bronzer / highlighter / eyeshadow / neutral eyeshadow / smoky eyes / colorful eyeshadow / blush / lipliner / light countouring / heavy contouring / powder / matte foundation / shiny foundation / concealer / wears regularly / occasionally wears / rarely wears / never wears / wears nail polish

SCENT.

floral / fruity / perfumes / aftershave / cocoa / moisturizer / shampoo / scented laundry detergent / cigarettes / leather / sweat (after a battle) / food / incense / marijuana / cologne / whiskey / wine / fried food / blood (after a battle) / fire / metal / ice / sulfur / mint

CLOTHES. (all for modern verse)

jeans (modern) / tight pants / over knee socks / tights / leggings / yoga pants / pencil skirt / tight skirt / loose skirt / formfitting dress / cardigans / blouse / button up shirt / band t - shirt (modern) / sweatpants / tank top (modern) / cutoff t - shirt / designer / high street / online stores / thrift / lingerie / long skirt / miniskirt / maxidress / sundress / overalls / tie / tuxedo (special occasions) / cocktail dress / highslit dress/skirt / t - shirt / loose clothing / tight clothing / jean shorts / sweater / sweater vest / khaki pants / suit (special occasions) / hoodie / harem pants / leather jacket / leather trousers / basketball shorts / boxers / briefs / thong / hotpants / cargo pants / hipster pants / bra / sportsbra / crop top / corset / ballerina skirt / leotard / polka dot / pin stripes / glitter / gold / silver / silk / lace / faux leather / velvet / chemise / patterns / florals / neon colors / pastels / white / black / dark colors / fur / faux fur / feathers / gloves / mask

SHOES. (all for modern verse)

sneakers / high top converse / slip - ons / flats / slippers / sandals / high heels / kitten heels / ankle boots / combat boots / knee - high / platforms / stripper heels / bare feet / loafers / oxfords / gladiator shoes / boots /

tagged by: stolen from @crimsonsavior tagging: @dimeremantiro @torntruth @shadxwcd @wolfkcst

#μ::|| there's another goat? | memes

1 note · View note

whump-town · 4 years

Text

Nation Of Two

(Hotchniss/Hotly, language warning)

(You can also read the full text here)

It’s no secret that Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner make a great team. Nearly in sync in every way possible. To outfits and biology- it’s fairly uncommon to stumble upon two people who seem to share everything in common and yet nothing at all. Mild-mannered to a short fuse, wildly protective, and a force to be reckoned with and yet what had created those similarities could not separate them more.

At the same time, Morgan had never seen two people get under each other’s skin as often as those two. In one breath, they’re moving in tandem the next arguing over a cup of coffee. Communicating through a single glance shared across a busy room and then at each other’s throats.

Dave had just broken up one of their more heated arguments. Given the profanity riddled sarcastic retort Emily had thrown as a final blow, Morgan could make a fairly educated guess that they were arguing about the headache Hotch is attempting and failing to hide.

Arguments over injuries and ailments always procure the worst scenes. They get heated, worse so when Hotch is the injured party in their das reich der zwei. Their Nation of Two- the dream team, in it together till the end of the line. The line, of course, being injuries. They want to protect everyone and when that spotlight finds itself pointing at one of them, it creates a unique kind of challenge.

A pain in the ass.

“Reid,” Hotch’s rough baritone breaks through the precinct. “You’re with me,” he announces, his dark eyes purposely flicking to Prentiss. “We’re going to the dock.”

Reid realizes he’s now been roped into this. Going with Hotch means he’s siding with Hotch and like a fool, he’s only got one option. He sets the marker in his hand down on the table and sends Rossi a panicked look- knowing he’s the only person who can help him at this point.

The older man offers him a short shake of the head- great, he’s really screwed.

Prentiss’ jaw clenches as she glares at Hotch, her fist clenched at her side. What point is he proving right now? Look at me, Aaron Hotchner, all buff and big because I’m going to get an ear infection going outside in the snow without any protection for my busted up ears! So manly, so cool.

Fuck him.

She hopes he gets an ear infection, it would only serve him right. Asshole.

Picking up Reid’s discarded pen, she sets back to her work. At least this way one of them would be getting something done.

__________

“Hotch?”

The snow had started coming down harder once they got in the car. Reid had learned a long time ago that as sensible as his boss was, one of the largest mistakes you could make around him was getting in a car while the man was angry. And as worrisome as the car ride had been- the tall, lanky creature standing on the dock is shaping up to be worse.

“FBI!”

Reid blinks, just watching in confusion, and fear as Hotch keeps his solid pace up.

“Identify yourself.” No one’s supposed to be on that dock. Hence the yellow tape wrapped, practically, all the way around it. If he could see the tape through the snow then surely so could the figure.

Hotch comes to a staggering halt, fingers itching to draw his gun.

“Step closer,” the figure shouts over the snow, “and I’ll slit this little bastards throat.”

A father-son duo… admittedly, Hotch wasn’t expecting this. “Just let him go,” Hotch replies, evenly. His hands raise, slowly, making sure everything stays just as it is. “We can talk- tell me your name?” The kid looks no older than sixteen and terrified. Trembling.

“I'm not going to jail!” The man shouts, “those girls had it coming! They deserved it!” The father jerks the boy closer, his son’s body covering his. “Now, fuck off!” He pulls them closer to the edge.

Hotch’s heart is thundering in his chest, he’s really not in the mood to watch a father kill his son. “Just- Just-” he falters and that’s all it takes. Hotch shouts in horror as the father throws both himself and the son over the ledge. He’s aware of Reid shouting his name but he tears off for the desk. The whole way losing articles of clothing- his phone, his gun, his jacket-

The water hits like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He breaks the surface and his face burns from the freezing water and the wind. He shakes his hair out of his face, searching for blood or hair or- His eyes zero in on a small splash, a hand breaking the surface.

He dives back under, muscles burning as he forces his way through the water. There’s a mass of murky movement, two bodies in motion. Hotch struggles to tell son from father for a moment- a moment too long. A hand reaches out and grabs his leg, puling him down too and he knows.

With all the force he can manage he kicks down at the hand, a sickening water muffled snap coming to his ears. Hotch wraps his arms around the smaller figure, his lungs burning and body growing tired. He kicks them up but there are other limbs connecting with the soft tissues of his body. The cold has numbed his body and he doesn’t feel the pain that should be coordinated with those blows.

His head breaks the surface and all he feels is pain. Up his sides, in his lungs, and his face. “Stop-” his head goes back under the water, a wave knocking them back under and over. He has to fight harder to get them to the surface and the body in his arms turns limp- like a ragdoll.

This time Hotch’s head breaks the surface and there’s no pain. Just numb, soft cold. Hotch hooks his arm under the kid’s armpits, resting his head on Hotch’s chest. He lays on his back and starts to kick, starting the exhausting and long trip back to dry land.

“I see him!” It’s Reid, his voice edged with panic. “Hotch! Keep swimming you’re almost there!”

A wave hits and Hotch is forced back under. His body stops fighting, for a moment his brain screams but his body just sinks. It’s not even a fight. The water stops feeling like water- it’s warm and… well, somethings just can’t be explained. His body is detached, his thoughts slowing.

Jack-

The water fills his lungs and the blur of the world turns black.

Emily-

Sharp pain in his chest-

Burning lungs, his eyes shoot open looking and seeing nothing. Water and stomach acid burning the back of his throat and on his back he chokes- the water starting to slip back down into his lungs when he’s seized by his belt and shirt sleeve, heaved up onto his side.

He gags, chest burning as water is forcibly removed from his lungs. He attempts to struggle away but it’s to no avail. His body is not responding.

There are hands all over him, burning warmth spreading through his veins. Like lava. “Hello Agent,” an unfamiliar face greets. Hotch just stares at the other man as he’s vaguely aware of being laid on his back. A large hand cradling his neck. “Your friend told me dove in that water,” both men’s eyes wander to the dock and the waves crashing into it. “You suicidal or something,” the medic says with a shake of his head, “ or just stupid brave?”

The Emily in his head answers “stupid brave” but Hotch can’t manage anything more than a wheezing breath. It’s taking all he has to manage that. The medic keeps talking, going on about how Hotch is either crazy lucky or an unusually good swimmer.

“Reid?” He croaks, his head feels heavy, wrong but he can see a familiar blur in a sea of red vehicles. How? How did he get out?

The medic stops his talking and frowns down at his patient. “Is that the scrawny one?”

Hotch swallows thickly and nods.

The medic nods back, “he’s okay. Looks a bit like a drowned rat but he saved your ass.” He motions with his head to their left, just slightly up the bank. Reid is sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, a shock blanket around his shoulders. “He’s a tough kid, though.”

Hotch keeps his eyes locked on him, assessing the situation. Reid is stronger than he gives him credit for.

A sudden weight is placed on the center of Hotch’s chest, a foot on his sternum. To his own ears his cry of pain is muffled. Vaguely, he’s aware of the sound of a monitor making frantic noises, the medic’s voice drowning in with it. Someone shouts his name but the black encroaching on his vision is too much. He succumbs to the lava in his veins.

__________

Morgan knocks at the open door, hoping to draw Reid from his silence. “You okay, kid?” The nurse had said he was fine. They thought he was in shock but his core temperature hadn’t dropped that much thanks to the EMTs fast work at warming him up. That hadn’t spurred him to say anything though.

He hasn’t said a word since they pulled him from Hotch.

Reid keeps rocking himself, knees tucked to his chest and arms around his shins. He’s still freezing and it’s all his fault. He should have been faster.

“Hotch!” The adrenaline is pumping back through Ried’s body, knees and hands shaking as he watches the waves hit the side of the dock but Hotch’s head doesn't come back up. There are no bubbles coming to the surface, no signs of a fight happening below the surface. “Hotch!”

It’s been a minute but when Hotch dove in he was under for nearly two.

Seventy-six seconds.

Even if Hotch is a good swimmer-

Reid pulls his jacket off, stripping layers of clothing from his skin. This is such a bad idea. So bad. 911 has been called, back-up is on it’s way but that’s no good if Hotch drowns.

“I hate this job,” he mumbles, staring into the water. “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it! I hate it!” He tears into it, knowing that this is bigger than his slight aquaphobia and the freezing sting of the water on his skin. “Hotch!” He takes a deep breath and plunges into the water.

It hurts. Burns. It’s like a thousand hypodermic needles kissing his skin.

He pushes his hair from his face, scanning the water. Looking back to the dock he estimates he needs to go about five more feet to his right. Using long strokes he cuts through the choppy water, a wave hitting his face. He has to stop and recover, blinking the sting from his eyes. “Hotch!”

And it’s still freaking snowing.

Reid is begging Hotch to pop up. To hear his deep voice berate Reid for getting wet too.

He hates this job.

Reid dives under the next wave, forcing his eyes to open under the water. He’s afraid to see what he’ll find. His fingertips hit something hard and covered- hair! Reid pushes himself down further, lungs burning but he’s found someone and he can’t come up yet.

He wraps his arms around the trunk of the other person- his brain supplying Hotch was wearing a white buttoned down shirt and the hurt digging into his skin is blunt like a button. He kicks with all his might but the body- Hotch- doesn’t move. His lungs are under too much pressure and with a silent cry he kicks himself up the surface.

“Argh!” He screams into the air, lungs burning in an entirely new way. He takes two deep breaths, treading water to gather his breath. He can’t give up. He goes back down. His panic is driving his heart rate up, making his oxygen last in even shorter amounts.

His hands connect and he has to remind himself to save the energy of being happy. ‘Come on’, he pleads. Reid tucks Hotch closer, one armed wrapped around his chest and the other extended above his head. Feeling for where the water breaks to air.

Every muscle in his body is screaming. Lactic acid building up in his muscles and if he had the air to he’d scream in anguish.

His fingers sting and with a new burst of energy Reid’s head emmerages from the water. He gasps for water, his cold cramped fingers losing their grip for just a fraction of a second. Hotch slips from his grasp but Reid’s scream is muffled by the waves crashing around them.

They’re going to die and it’s his fault.

He’s crying, tears streaming down his numb cheeks. He has to stay level headed, he has to fight.

That’s what Hotch would do.

Right, Hotch.

Reid pulls him closer, flipping him into the rescue position. Head above water, breathing or not- it has to be enough. Hotch won’t forgive him, ever, if Reid saves Hotch to leave behind that boy. A killer or not.

The water is well beyond cold enough to, hypothetically, protect from brain damage.

Reid has to pray that's enough.

He goes back under. His lungs hurt nearly as soon as his head goes under, the cold water hitting his forehead is strangely… nice. The rest isn’t.

It’s harder. All of it.

The current twists him, his muscles tired from swimming. If he can’t find this kid soon, they’re all going to drown.

A wave above crashes hard, it’s force pushing him down.

He sees nothing.

It’s all just black and freezing.

He kicks into something and whirls around, finding flesh and hair. Reid pulls but the kid doesn’t move. For a moment, Reid nearly leaves him. His lungs are burning, his body exhausted, and with a long fight still ahead… The bodies had hesitation marks. Shallow marks where someone young- someone incapable of murder had done as requestied but not whole heartidly.

The kid isn’t a murderer.

Reid kicks upwards with all his might, his head feeling like it’s going to explode.

He breaks the surface and could sob with relief at the sight of the shore lit up with emergency lights. “Help!” His voice croaks, breaking. There’s no way they can hear him. Reid pulls the kid so he’s on his back, just as he had Hotch, and begins to tug them both in the direction of Hotch’s freely floating body. “Help!”

He rolls onto his back, taking a wave to the face. He recovers quickly, a new surge of adrenaline working through him. His limbs are shaky but working. “Alright,” he says to himself, floating for a second to gain control. “Let’s do this.” He grabs the back of Hotch’s collar and the kid’s shirt and kicks with everything he’s got. Hoping that the waves hitting his face can push him towards the shore.

“Kid-”

Reid flinches, his whole body recoiling. He blinks slowly raising his head in confusion. “M-Morgan?” He looks around him, surprised to find hospital tile and not the wet sand he’d left Hotch on. “What-” his mouth is impossibly dry, his body still cold.

Morgan takes a step closer to him, weary. In nothing but a hospital gown and a pair of hospital socks Morgan can see his friend’s bony body. It’s no surprise he didn’t hold up well in the freezing water- he doesn’t have any fat on his body to keep him warm!

“I brought you some clothes,” Morgan lifts Reid’s bag up. He sets it down on the bed beside Reid, allowing him easy access to the clothes. What he’s not expecting is for Reid to start crying. For a moment he’s just struck, he has no idea what to do. He takes a tentative step closer, putting his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Hey,” Morgan gathers him up in his arms, holding him close. “Kid, what the hell? What's wrong?”

Reid shakes his head, pushing his face into Morgan’s warmth. He just wants someone alive, someone warm to hold him. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. All he can think about is Hotch. “I tried, I did!”

Morgan pats his back, “what do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Reid’s chest heaves, his sob taking him by surprise. “Hotch!”

“Oh,” Morgan pauses for a moment, not sure what all he should tell Reid. “Kid, Hotch is…” fine might be an overstatement. A little rough but- “Hotch is sitting down in the ICU with Emily, right now.” He rubs Reid’s back, shushing him gently. “Kid, he’s fine. Hotch is gonna be fine.”

Reid pulls his head back, “what?”

That can’t be true. Reid saw.

The EMT pulled the buttons on Hotch’s perfect white shirt open. His chest bare and unmoving, as pale as the snow under his back. CPR wasn’t working. Reid saw. His ribs were bending under each compression but nothing was working.

He was dead.

Reid saw. Hotch was dead.

__________

“We caught the pulmonary edema early,” the doctor promises them. His tone is light, hopeful. “He’s on a course of diuretics to clear his lungs and on oxygen until his stats come back up but he’s already doing much better.” He nods his head, clearly happy to give them a good prognosis. “There was some irritation in his right ear so I want to start him on a course of antibiotics for that, to get ahead of the ear infection.”

Emily snorts, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth but her shoulders are still shaking with the force of her laughter. It’s a horrible moment of reacting to news the wrong way but an ear infection? “I’m so sorry,” she manages to force her palm against her lips. Forcing her smile down. “I’m- I really am sorry for that I don’t-”

The doctor holds his hand up in a clear sign of acknowledging her apology. “It’s perfectly fine,” he reassures her. “Everyone has different reactions to these sorts of things.” His smile is a strange mix of sadness and amusement as he recalls giving grimmer news than this to families and garnering a similar reaction. “I assure you, it’s not the first time someone’s laughed.”

Emily isn’t sure whether to feel reassured or sick. She lowers her hands and wipes at the bottoms of her eyes, beyond the point of caring if she looks like a raccoon or not. “Is he- Can you take me to him?”

The doctor looks at the little group behind her, all looking equally as eager to his patient. “It’s against protocol to let all of you back, yet, but I can let one of you back.” There was a name, someone Agent Hotchner had managed to call out for. “He was asking for a-a…” he can’t remember the name though. “An Emma or-”

“Emily.”

The doctor nods, “yes. He asked for Emily.”

“Well,” Emily looks back at the other’s. Swallowing the lump in her throat she says, “I’m Emily.”

The doctor claps his hands together, “well, then come with me.”

Emily looks back over her shoulder once- to JJ and Rossi being left behind in the waiting room- and offers them a small wave. Smiling sadly when they wave back.

“He was alert when I went in a few minutes ago,” the doctor tells her, coming to a sudden stop. “Try not to get him too worked up-”

She’s partially aware of what he’s saying from then on out but her attention is on the man on the bed. The man intently watching her from under the oxygen mask across the bridge of his nose. The doctor pats her shoulder, offering a smile and she nods and smiles back despite not having a clue what he’s just said.

Stepping into the room, she hesitates for only a moment before taking his hand and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Hey.” He’s cold to the touch and she sets to rubbing his fingers between her own to warm them up. “How do you feel?” With her distraction in place, it’s easier to ignore the obvious pain in her chest. Tight and wrong.

He’s too pale for even him, shivering under the layers of shock blankets and heating pads pressed around his body, but he offers her a warm smile. Reaching up with fingers that are still too cold to work properly, he fails to pull the mask from his face. She pulls it down for him, tucking it under his chin.

“Hey,” his voice is weak, hoarse from disuse. “I got an ear infection,” he rasps at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She keeps the mask pulled back for a moment longer, leaning in and kissing him tenderly. She runs the side of her finger along his jaw, clenching her teeth in a failed attempt to hold her tears at bay. Carefully, she places the mask back on his face. Feeling a sick twist in her stomach because she’s glad it drowns out the sound of his labored breathing. “Serves you right.”

He smirks at her, a goofy lopsided little thing. Oxygen deprived or still cruising on his adrenaline high he says something, intangible between his slurred exhaustion and the hiss of the oxygen over his face. She makes just enough of it out to lift the mask back up and asks, “did you ask me if I’d still love you if you were deaf?”

It’s hardly the time to be having “would you still love me” hypotheticals when he’s hardly awake. Especially when his breathing is still so rough and if it gets any worse it’ll be her fault. Then she’ll have to kiss her visitor’s pass goodbye. Still, she can’t help but love him and his stupid questions.

He nods.

“I think so,” she places the mask back down. She runs her hands through his hair, smiling as he curls himself closer to her. “I mean, you don’t listen to me now, what would change?” She chuckles after she says it and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling at her. That’s when her chest gets tight, her emotions bubbling up as he frowns up at her with those big old sad eyes.

She almost lost him. Permanently. This time there would be no Paris for recovery, Afghanistan for penance- just permanent goodbyes where the last things they said to one another were cruel misguided words. Things that didn’t matter because that’s how the world works.

The credits cut before the movie’s over.

Romeo and Juliet isn’t a love story.

And he dies on a dock.

No more Sunday’s spent in his backyard. The two of them tangled in a hammock meant for one person. A book balanced on his chest, his voice a deep rumble and the only sound in the world- “ I had taught myself to covet nothing. It was not a loathing of death that froze me. I had taught myself to think of death as a friend. It was not heartbroken rage-”

No one could properly replace him.

She’d never felt this comfortable with another human being. To try on clothing, twirling in place to show him that it not only has pockets but it swishes when she moves. How many men would look up from whatever teen magazine quiz he was reading and raise an eyebrow in approval? Noting she also wouldn’t have to shave above her knee in it either.

He pushes the mask away, twisting the flimsy plastic from his face. “Come here,” he manages, breathless. “Let me hold you.”

She’s momentarily adamant to get too close. He’s hurt and tired and- pulling her closer. “Fine but only for a minute,” she caves and she always caves when it comes to him. It takes a minute to work around the machines and the wires, then moving so she’s not laying on him. “I mean it, Aaron.” She tucks her head closer to his chest, breathing in the natural scent of him. Just Hotch.

“You scared us,” she whispers against his chest.

She’s close enough now that he can smell her conditioner. “I scared myself.” It’s not like drowning was something he was looking to do.

Emily looks up at him, turning her head on his shoulder. “Let’s not do that again then?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” his voice is rough again, breathing ragged.

She reaches up and pulls the mask back over his face. Gently raking her nails through the hair at the side of his ears. “Get some sleep, huh?” He’s just a big softie and she knows that playing with his hair is going to put him out like a light. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” he mouths, eyes dropping already.

And how is she gonna say no? “Always,” she whispers. She holds him closer, scratching at his head.

She’s waiting for his soft snore but now she wraps him up in her arms. Enjoying his proximity. He may be a stupid man but that’s what she signed up for.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #spencer reid #derek morgan #hotchniss #hotly

170 notes · View notes

cadcnce-archived · 4 years

Text

BIG ASS CHARACTER SHEET FOR FANTASY VERSE WYLAN

I found an image while going through my files for cursed pics to send @spiritmaiden, they had the audacity to take it and fill it out for the fantasy verse of their sky-zel, so I of course have to match the effort for Wylan because I’m not about to be shown up. It’s hella involved, nobody’s getting tagged but damn if you want an exercise in hitting your character then give it a shot. Most is under the cut because of length.

Character’s Name: Zachary Reis (Born) Wylan Rechtur (Used) Character’s nicknames: Ze (by his sister) Wy (by his friends and preferred) Zephyr (mercenary name, also what you’d see on any wanted posters) Gender: Male Righty or Lefty: Righty Age: 25-26 Height: 6′-0″ Weight: ~180 lbs Eye Color: Emerald green, bright and wide filled with a mix of confidence and playfulness. Hair color: Dark brown, messy and falling to his ears. Unkempt may be a good descriptor, but he generally keeps it down flatter at the least. Distinguishing marks: His body is pocked with marks and scars from fights and other disagreements, but the ones most easily discerned are knife scars on his hands, and a short arc above his left brow. Describe physical traits in one passage: A good way to view him is concealed strength and agility. He’s toned and in good shape but doesn’t often dress or carry himself in ways that would flaunt this. His posture and pose are loose, and his expressions can be lazy and playful. So the moment he flips that switch and uses the full brunt of his power? It’s a surprise. He’s also a bit on the lanky side, his body size doesn’t fully compliment the size of his limbs.

FAMILY/ RELIGION

Parents: Mother and father were disappeared/dead when he was just a bit over 6 years old and his sister was an infant. They were involved with the church but not royalty themselves. Wylan never spent much time figuring out what. They had a life left for him and his sister that he threw away as well. His father was a gentle soul while his mother was razor sharp and firm. Siblings: Younger sister, Katelynn Reis, but goes by Lyn with her friends. Wylan calls her Kat. She’s ~5 years younger than he, and remains with the church training and working as a healer. Whereas Wylan ran away from being a Paladin, she stayed strong to become a Cleric. Significant Other: Verse dependent, Wylan typically is averse to romance and prefers casual encounters. Children: None, nor is he open to them initially in his canon. Other relatives: None remain living that he is aware of. He and his sister were raised by his grandmother on his father’s side, but she passed away shortly after he left the knight’s academy, when Wylan was roughly 16-17. Pets: None. But he does enjoy talking to cats. Friends: Wylan is the type who ‘knows a guy’, he’s close with many tavernkeeps and makes nice with the adventurer’s guilds and their members as well. His work as an informant necessitates things like this. Wylan is also the type to consider most anyone he encounters and converses with a friend, whether they like it or not. His best friend though would easily be a wandering adherent by the name of Emke. I don’t care what the thread is about in some way she’s involved in his life. They’re platonic soulmates. Enemies: As a mercenary and hunter, some others in his craft would consider Wylan to be their rival, and in many cases he would view them just the same. It’s hard to say he has any enemies outside of pointedly evil factions however! Relationships (other): His relationship with his sister is an odd one. They’re still in touch via letters and the occasional visit, and he does what he can to support her with his money, but they’re not close like conventional siblings. There’s a strange codependence between them. Wylan depends on Lyn as a ‘rock’, and she depends on him as the ‘sea’. Ethnicity: Human! His origins are mostly a mix of Germanic/Portuguese if you wanted a comparison to Earth races/ethnicities. Religion: He recognizes the existence of higher powers but his relationship with them isn’t the best. As if being rebellious to his parents wasn’t bad enough he has to be tsundere towards The Light. This is noted when he uses holy magic such as wards and smiting spells and getting rebound into his own body upon use. Superstitions: He’s incredibly wary around the undead and spirits. So catch him spreading salt when he has to camp somewhere less than lively. Also give him a moment to sharpen his silver weaponry... Diction, Accent, ETC.: His dialect is pretty clean, though this depends on who he’s speaking to, being the travelling sort he is he’s capable of lightly ‘faking’ various accents, or just being lazy with his own manner of speech. Traces back to proper speaking that was drilled into him as a child and then his own rebelliousness. SCHOOL/ WORK / HOME Education (Highest): He was well learned with the academy work that he actually accomplished. While he never finished and never put his all into his studies, it was clear to his teachers that he had a gift for learning but a problem with conviction. Degrees: None! But just so I still have something here, one of his informal titles is ‘The Gale’s Fang’. Vocation/Occupation: Jack of several trades, wrapped up best as a mercenary informant, and a monster hunter. He’s good at tracking both people and monsters and taking them down- lethally or not so much. Employment History: Wylan was fully involved with the knight’s academy from the age of 6 to 16, so for those 10 years he had his hands full dealing with that and trying to figure out himself (poorly). Upon leaving the academy after the accident, he took up arms and was given tutelage by the thieves’ guild which taught him how to use his senses and move quietly through the shadows. Wylan didn’t make a good pickpocket, but he was good at reading other people and exceptional at duels. It wasn’t long before he took the advice of the guildmaster and made better uses of his talents. Not necessarily for good, but for more profit. By the age of 22 he was an accomplished and well connected informant, bartering information as well as putting his swordwork to use headhunting and slaying monsters that made issue outside the cities in which he frequented. This continues to current/canon start of interactions. Salary: He’s affluent enough not to worry too much about his state of living, but he can be prone to splurge spending that puts him in a bind for a few weeks at a time, at least until the next job puts money back on the table. Status and money: Continuing off the above, he’s decent enough with his funds (after sending money back to help out his sister) but wouldn’t be well off enough to be considered rich compared to his modern verse. Fortunately he has enough renown that jobs aren’t too hard to come by for him. And many barkeeps and friends are willing to open a tab for him. So he’s not too desperate. Own or Rent: Wylan typically rents inn rooms when he stays in the cities, and camps when he’s out in the woods. Technically he also owns if you count helping his sister keep her own place running (thought it’s really about 30-70, with his sister funding most of it) Living Space: Wylan never stays long at the room. It’s a place to go back to and sleep. Personal belongings? Very few. Most things he owns that he wouldn’t want to lose stay back with his sister kept in a basement or separate room that he uses on the rare times he’s back in the capital/holy city from which he originally hailed. As you can imagine, this isn’t very often. Work Space: N/A! He doesn’t have one! Given his work is almost entirely in the field. Main Mode of Transportation: CATCH A RIIIIIDE. Though he’s apt to have a horse around for transport if he isn’t going too far. Long voyages for when he changes locales would probably be hitching a ride with a caravan. He also doesn’t mind voyages on foot too much. PSYCHOLOGY Fears: Externally he has an aversion to ghosts and spirits. The concept of the dead coming back to haunt you isn’t something he much cares for. Having access to light magic should mostly assuage this, and yet it can give him goosebumps anyhow. Ironically he has a fear of large mammals in his modern verse but that shit doesn’t apply here given he’s a monster hunter! Internally he fears being forgotten, not making a name for himself, and dying before he can truly feel alive. Secrets: His birth name, Zachary Reis, isn’t something he will bring up with anyone. It’s not necessarily a ‘dead name’ for him, but it’s one he threw away the same time he decided he was going to toss away his ‘fate’ as a paladin. Taking the name of Wylan was another way he took his life for himself in his mind. Despite this being a path of self destruction. His sister is also something he doesn’t often bring up unless he very much trusts that person. IQ: Surprisingly high. He picks up a lot of information doing the work he does, but you wouldn’t be blamed for not believing this. Eating Habits: They could be a lot better. He eats enough to get by, but his diet isn’t as varied as it could be. Wylan hunts small game when he can, but he isn’t an exciting cook so ALAS. This boy prefers hitting up taverns and getting basic meals like stews, jerky, sandwiches, etc etc. Sleeping Habits: Wylan is a very light sleeper. Typically if you so much as step into the room he’s sleeping in he’ll snap into awareness. It takes a loooong day of exertion to keep him sleeping deep otherwise. Frustrating is how he ‘fakes’ being asleep. So someone could come in and start rummaging and he would still breathe and move as if he were still sleeping. Up until he sits up and stares or cracks a joke. Dare you to kiss him when you think he’s asleep. Book Preferences: History tomes every now and then. Wylan doesn’t read much fiction and prefers any time he spends reading to be somewhat productive! Make up for other education he missed as part a result of running on the academy. He also reads up on magic and sorcery to work on the wind affinity he also has. Music Preferences: Wylan doesn’t play any instruments but he DOES love love love to dance and sing. He’s an entertainer at heart and loves to rally people however he may. Suffice to say he’s amusing to go drinking with. And not just because he starts bar fights to amuse himself. Groups or Alone: He’s primarily a lone fighter. Some hunts he will of course work with a team of other hunters, he’s not stupid enough to take on the larger beasts by himself, but there’s a preference for doing things on his own terms. He’s self aware enough to know that his ways and methods can be grating, but ah... how all of that clashes with his desire to show off and have an audience. Being Wylan is suffering. Leader or Follower: He’s both, but prefers to be a follower if he can help it. Let other people make the plans then nudge them this way and that to better fit your own methods. He’s a prankster and a good compliment to most parties after all, so you’d be wise to utilize him! Lest he utilize himself... but that said, he’s an anti-hero, so there’s possibility in there for him to be a leader as well and take charge. It just isn’t his default nature and he’d rather not. Planned Out or Spontaneous: Wylan is chaos incarnate. Most everything he does outside of necessity/work is spontaneous. All his mischief and plans are cobbled together and thrown out there. Sometimes he’ll do a bunch of things at once, like throwing a bundle of darts at the wall to see which ones stick. And oh my fucking god don’t get me started on being romantic he can’t plan for shit in that department. Journal Entries (Do they keep one?) Nope. Not a daily journal at least. He’ll keep notebooks and the like for jotting down intel and what have you for jobs he takes up. But most of the time he’ll just have little notes in his pocket, and not really chronicle his life. He may also make ‘fake’ entries to tease people or trick them. See what he did to Zelda the one time. Be careful what you believe... Hobbies, Recreation: Tricks!! Sleight of hand!! Cards and dice!! Part of growing up and learning with a thieves’ guild is getting involved in lots of things that make use of your hands and dexterity. He likes playing random games with folks and oh! People watching. Stalking. Not the cutest thing but Wylan makes a hobby out of ‘testing himself’ and exercising his talents. His hobby is unfortunately annoying people, to summarize. How Do They Relax: His hobbies help him to relax! Also, if you can believe it, sitting back in a group conversation and watching the conversation happen and move forward. Learning about other people is something he likes doing, which is hypocritical since he can make himself so difficult to learn by contrast. BUT THE REAL THING HE DOES.. is practice sword fighting. Slow rhythmic swings of his blade, almost like a dance. He focuses his thoughts and calms his soul when he practices. It’s like a mix of swordfighting, dancing, and yoga. Controlling himself. Feeling himself. It’s multiple things. What Excites Them?: PEOPLE. Things! Happenings! The unknown and pushing himself to new limits. Honestly one of Wy’s biggest drives is doing something or becoming something that will make him ‘Feel Alive’. Because for all of his antics and frivolity he’s very much fighting an encroaching darkness in his soul. So he’ll search out bizarre things to get involved in. It’s one of the reasons he’s bugging Zelda, because her involvement in witchcraft and his own suspicions have him interested huehue. Pet Peeves: Being ignored. Like perfectly disregarding his existence and whatever he’s getting up to. If you’re not reacting to him being him then that means he’s not being effective and he’s losing. It’s his only real weakness... Prejudices: None. He’s not the most respectful person so most everyone, royalty or important or otherwise gets subjected to similar treatment. If anything, the more important you are the more likely you are to get annoyed! Attitudes: He’s usually with a front, a mask if you will. His general attitude is curious and nosy, but that’s fronted with a playfulness and proclivity for being annoying. Don’t be fooled, he’s usually something more pensive and calculating underneath that exterior. Wylan actually quiets a fair bit once that mask is taken away, his mood swings down and his tone is a touch deeper. Stressors: Things going awry and his friends being put in danger. He absolutely does not do well with people he cares about being hurt. One of the worst things that can happen to him is his sister dying for example, and has lead to one of his most self destructive plots I’ve written, in this verse especially. Lovers? Don’t hurt them. Don’t endanger them. The idea of rivals or enemies going after people he cares about.. hoo. MAN. None of that please. He can be SO damn possessive. In relationships he’s very self conscious as well of fulfilling their needs. So if his partner remarks, regardless of how offhandedly, they’d like more of something he will TRY TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN. Obsessions: Being an absolute pain in the ass. And in cases where someone has wronged him or someone close to him? Tracking them down and getting closure/revenge. That shit takes him to the brink of killing himself. Addictions: None to the point of being problematic, but he does love eating pickles. Ambitions: To make a name for himself, to be renowned and respected. To feel alive and accomplished as a person. He’d also like to take down a dragon someday. Get some armor from its scales and a sword out of that shit. As Seen by Others: Capable and dangerous, but impossible to work with for long periods. Keep a tight lip around him lest he use that information against you and learn things you’d rather keep secret. A lecherous womanizer. As Seen by Self: A body of broken glass, encased in a shell, covered in masks. Who are you? What are you? Where are you even going? You’re lost. You’re aimless. You’re swimming and swimming and eventually you’re going to be tired, aren’t you? ASTROLOGY/PHISIOLOGY Birth Date: October 10. Time of Birth: Evening. Western Astrological Sign: Libra Traits Associated with Western Sign: Social, Clever, Unreliable, Diplomatic Traits Associated with Chinese Zodiac: N/A, seeing as I don’t age Wylan with the years this doesn’t really apply. Handwriting: Clean when he needs it to be, but otherwise a quick script with lots of pen strikes. He’s capable with drawing diagrams and the like as well! This boy can throw out monster diagrams with weak points and other ecological notes oh yes yes. Sexual History: Wylan was already exploring that sort of thing before he left the academy, so yes... as early as 16 he’d already lost the v-card. He doesn’t really do relationships and enjoys casual encounters. Many a maiden at the bar or elsewhere has taken him for a spin. Typically partners aren’t reoccurring in fantasy verse, however. He’s... well, very good in the performance category. General Health: A+ healthy aside from the sleep and subpar diet bits. Strong and good stamina. Medical History: He’s nearly died one times too many. Been stabbed, cut, poisoned, bitten, but hey he’s still alive! And that’s what he’d argue matters with this business. Allergies: SHELLFISH. Chronic Illnesses: None to speak of. Handicaps: He’s somewhat of a type B tsundere. It’s awful. OBJECTS Purse / Bag: He’s got a coin purse that he’ll carry spare gold around in for spending on what have you. Supposedly food but he’s weak to splurge purchases. Most everything else he keeps on him in his pockets and his belt. Wallet: Uhhh see above, coin purse!!! He’s got enough for the week or so!! Don’t try and pickpocket him because he will catch you and you will feel stupid. Fridge: He doesn’t keep food around. He more or less has to scavenge for everything he eats either through buying or hunting. That’s kind of the life for the vagrant he is, isn’t it? Medicine Cabinet: N/A, but he does keep bandages and salves at his room. Glove Compartment: N/A!! Junk Drawer: NNNNNN/AAAAAAA Kitchen Cabinets: Wylan get a house so I can fill this out challenge. Bedroom Hiding Place: Behind a wall panel or somesuch if he can manage. Otherwise in the floor or outside the window. Closets: His wardrobe typically includes tunics, coats, leather armor and harnesses for his weaponry! He’s got a couple swords in fantasy verse, and he’s got throwing knives and a grappling hook!! Backback: Yeah uh see above, what a question. Locker: None Desk: WYLAN KEEP ITEMS AROUND CHALLEEEEENGE. Clothes pocket: Daggers, notes, maybe a writing implement and paper so he can jot things down. He’s also got little knick knacks like a gem or a monster tooth to show off. Isn’t it cool??? Also lint.

OTHER Halloween Costumes: Werewolf!!! Get him in either just a lazy one with gloves and ears or deck him out in the whole garb. Love that idea on him. In one verse Big Bad Wolf is his nickname, and in another he flat out IS a werewolf! So yeAH. Tricks: He’s very skilled at sleight of hand!! Card flourishes and dice rolls. Cup games. Illusions and dexterity... he’s a slippery one! He’s also likely to catch you in words, using things you say against you. He gets really meta and oh how annoying that can get... Talents: SWORDPLAY- He learned from a very early age at an esteemed academy where only the best knights get trained. He mixes that style with a more ‘street’ type that he picked up with the thieves’ guild and even further as a monster hunter and mercenary. Suffice to say that all mixes together into multiple stances he can switch between depending on what he’s up against. Strong sweeping strikes, vicious stabbing and leaping, poised dueling and parrying... he’s a TOUGH fight. MAGIC: Wylan is at odds with his use of holy magic that utilizes the light to bless and heal. Until he comes to terms with himself and the power he wants to channel it’ll have ‘blowbacks’ on himself. Fingers will burn, head will ache, and his stomach will flip. But it’s still undeniably effective for where it is! Aside from that he knows some wind magic to supplement himself. He’s not known as ‘Zephyr’ for nothing after all! Gusting steps, slashing winds, REALLY BIG JUMPS!!! If you throw him he’s a fantastic projectile! And lets see- DANCING! He learned it first as part of his etiquette as a knight, but it’s something that’s evolved with him and oh does he enjoy festivals for that reason. Ballroom styles are what he’s most familiar with. Dance with him. Please dance with him. Politics: Indifferent! Doesn’t care for authority figures to begin with so in any case or kingdom with a monarchy he’s very buh about it. He’s very self-accomplished and his beliefs would push him towards meritocracy over anythign else if you ask me! Flaws: Suspicious, possessive, and very persistent. This could be a strength too but for the most part can be seen as a detriment because of how it ends up being applied. Which is in self-destructive tendencies WOO. He’s also very lustful, and can be distracted by a fine woman and let himself be swayed by his desires over time. Have I mentioned he isn’t the most reliable? He’s apt to lie to people and give intentionally wrong impressions just to make it easier for him to slip away. You gotta go up a few levels to unlock that... So yeah, sins are WRATH, LUST, and ENVY. Strengths: NONE. Okay if you earn a solid place as his friend there is almost NO limit to what he’ll do to protect you. Wylan has a ridiculous amount of determination and mental fortitude and he can and will strike down a GOD to keep those things that are precious to him. He’s also an amusing character to have around, if you are feeling bummed he is almost guaranteed to find a way to cheer you up and support you if only so he can not feel as guilty teasing as he usually does HUE. He’s got a very up beat personality! Sure, a lot of it is a mask but he WANTS it to be real and that’s what really matters if you ask me. His reckless optimism can be endearing. There’s a lot of other surprising mental qualities such as how clever and quick witted he can be. Part of that mental fortitude lets him think and fight on his feet regardless of how much pressure he’s under. It takes a LOT to dampen his thought processes. Drugs/Alcohol: He drinks frequently, but he wouldn’t be counted as a drunkard. Wylan rarely drinks to excess, and prefers to do so among friends and good company. Passwords: Uh, do ritual prayers count? Magical spells? Heh. Email Address, Home Page, Blogs, etc.: Oh if only this were for modern verse... Time and place: Medieval fantasy! Magic and creatures! I also love throwing Monster Hunter vibes in for the big monsters he goes up against. Special Places: For him? Cliffs overlooking the ocean. Abandoned temples he can just chill at. For all he enjoys being around people now and then he really appreciates quiet isolation. Special Memories: Lots of memories with his sister before they more or less split ways. There’s one in particular where he was trying to teach her swordplay when she was just a little girl, and she about stubbed his toe when the wooden practice sword fell right on it. Her panicked attempts to try and heal him were something that really stuck with him.

#musings :: about #verse :: fantasy #dash :: games hc #THIS TOOK FOREVER #but was so satisfying to write and get out there #hell fuckin yes #if you actually read this? props tbh

8 notes · View notes

livingmybestfictionallife · 4 years

Text

Live Wire --The Dirt--13

Summary: Wren Ledden, Tommy’s best friend from high school, has had a rough life, and she intends to keep the nitty gritty details of her suffrage to herself until the day she dies. Only Tommy has gotten her to open up about a small portion of her troubles, and it’s only Tommy who she trusts with her life. That is until her life gets turned around sneaking into a concert one night…the same night Motley Crue is born.

Warning! This chapter contains attempted physical abuse. Please be cautious when reading if this triggers you.

A/N: Idk if the slow pace is killing anyone or if you’re liking not having time jumps, so let me know because I’m debating adding a time jump, but I don’t really have to. Please respond with any feedback!

Previous Chapters: Masterlist

Nikki grumbled as he rolled over in bed, the uncomfortably cinched leather pants from last night still clung to his legs, and slowly, last night returned to him. Vince’s dumb ass shooting coke in the bathroom, Wren angrily disposing of the coke he and Tommy were snorting, him yelling at her, her storming off to her room after slamming a man into the ground, and him going to bed shortly after, still fuming.

As he attempted to stand, his brain pounded against his skull and a straining pain pierced through his eyes. A groan escaped his lips as he felt the alcohol and cocaine hangover in his gut and head. The only solace from his pain was the intoxicating aroma of coffee that drifted through the crack under his door. Slowly, Nikki stood and made his way towards the kitchen, silently hoping he wouldn’t encounter a soul. As his sock-clad feet fell along the carpeted hallway, his frustration with Wren grew as his presence in the living room brought back all the anger he felt the previous night. He knew she was already awake. The lingering aroma of coffee had woken him up, and at first it was comforting, a sensuous reminder of her—mint and coffee either together or apart always led to him thinking of Wren—but as the image of her fist colliding against that man’s face flooded his mind, Nikki couldn’t control the boiling in his blood.

He couldn’t put his finger on why it bothered him so much. He knew Wren was hot headed, that she has reacted violently out of anger before, and that her ability stand her ground had even been something that he admired about her. Why was last night different for him? Why did the smell of coffee leave a hardened knot twisting around in his stomach? Why did he not want to see her? As Nikki found his way into the kitchen, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and lingered in the crevices of the apartment where he hoped she wouldn’t see him.

Suddenly, all of Nikki’s other senses began to overpower those of smell, and he was able to push the scent of coffee from his mind. As he scanned the kitchen, guilt fell over him as he realized Wren had cleaned up the mess he, Tommy, and Vince along with their guests had made the night before. His hands shook slightly as he held the bowl, a side effect from the anxiety he felt as well as the craving he had to drink in order to forget his frustration with Wren and hers with him. His ears could hardly pick up the steady patter of water through the wall behind him as well as the high-pitched squeak that follows when someone turns off the shower. Quickly, Nikki placed his bowl on the counter and desperately searched the apartment for any trace of Tommy—maybe it was him and not her in the shower. Maybe she was gone already. Be serious, where would she have to go? Where would you have to go?

Wren shoved a towel along her limbs and sighed in frustration as she realized the towel wasn’t drying her, rather it was pushing all of the residual water from her skin to the floor. Fuck it, she thought as she examined the puddle around her feet and quickly tied her hair up in the towel, one of the other assholes who live here can clean it. She slipped her legs into her shorts and pulled them up to her waist before she shoved her arms into the sleeves of a t-shirt and shimmied it down her body. She stepped out of the bathroom and wrung the ends of her hair out in the towel, paced past her room and through the apartment to hang the towel over the banister outside to dry. Only upon re-entering her home did she realize she was no longer alone.

“Oh, hey,” she said softly upon noticing the flattened mop of raven-dyed hair poking out from the kitchen.

“Hey,” Nikki offered apathetically in return. He didn’t turn to face her, look her in the eye, or even speak her name. Wren held her tongue. Don’t over react. He’s a dumbass who got wasted last night. He’s just hungover, she tried to reason away Nikki’s obviously sour attitude, but on some level, she was even more angry with him now than she was the night before.

“What time were you wanting to work on some new stuff? I have to call the Roxy at some point today, but that’s all I—”

“I’m not feeling it today.” Whether or not he meant for that simple sentence to cut down any semblance of civility Wren was upholding, Nikki succeeded in pressing a button he knew would cause her to self-destruct.

“You’re ‘not feeling it’,” she mimicked with a tinge of venom in her voice. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not in the mood,” Nikki hissed in return as he threw his plastic bowl in the sink and allowed the spoon to clink and clang around in a fury.

“Probably because your dumbass decided to do coke last night,” Wren hissed under her breath as she lowered herself onto the armrest of the couch and folded her arms across her chest.

“Why is that such a big fucking deal to you?” Nikki gasped as his voice raised in aggravation.

“Why is it such a big deal for you?!” Wren snapped in return as she narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows at him. Both Wren and Nikki glared at one another with their jaws clenched, eyes narrowed, and noses pointed directly ahead. Tunnel vision enveloped them as they spouted insults across the room, and neither noticed Tommy had emerged from Wren’s room wearing nothing by his underwear and a hesitant expression as he examined the scene before him.

“It’s not,” Nikki grumbled as he defiantly took a step forward.

“Then cut that shit out! The band isn’t nearly successful enough for you to fuck it up for us!” Wren snapped.

“For me to fuck it up? I’m on that stage every night playing, what are you doing?!” Wren pursed her lips and sighed heavily in retaliation of Nikki’s words.

“Hey, come on, man. Knock it off,” Tommy’s voice was barely enough to cut through the bellowing from either of his closest friends.

“I’m getting you gigs! I’m marketing you sorry, coke shooting fucks!” Wren jumped up and shouted in response to Nikki’s jaded comment.

“It’s just coke! It’s not amphetamines or fucking heroine! So get that stick out of your ass and back off!” Nikki shouted his hostile words across the three feet that separated them.

“Dude, leave her alone,” Tommy immediately stated as he stepped between the two.

“Come on, Tommy,” Nikki grumbled at the lanky teen pretending to be a barrier between him and Wren. “Clearly she doesn’t need you, or anyone to fight her battles.”

“Yelling at her doesn’t do anything but make her even more mad! You’re just pissing her off to have her pissed off, Nik!”

“Is that what you’re in a mood about?” Wren scoffed as she poked her head out from behind Tommy.

“You made me look like some weak punk!” Nikki countered with fury in his eyes. “You made me look like I need a girl to fight my damn battles when I was headed over there to help you.” Wren folded her arms tightly across her chest and met Nikki’s eyes once Tommy had fallen back to stand beside her.

“I’m not going to pretend to be weak and defenseless to boost your ego! You were piss drunk and fucking high! You could barely stay standing let alone do any real damage to that asshole,” Wren huffed as she paced towards the front door, grabbed her sneakers, and jammed them onto her feet. “Fuck this. I don’t have to sit here and listen to you bitch at me for dumb shit you can’t even vocalize to me because you’re too high at the time to process your emotions,” she grumbled as she tied her laces tight against her feet and swung the door open before taking off down the steps and through the street in a light jog.

Tommy lowered his eyes and pursed his lips so that he was glaring an Nikki. His long brown hair was stringy with sweat from last night’s performance, he needed a shower, and he was expected to be at a girl’s house in less than two hours, yet there he stood, grimacing at the oldest person who lives in their apartment for being a dumbass.

“Get off my dick, Tommy,” Nikki groaned in irritation at the look on Tommy’s face.

“She’s only pissed because she gives a shit about you, you dumbass,” Tommy stated as he punched Nikki in the arm hard enough to make him realize how much of an ass he was being. “She’s pissed because she gives a shit about all of us, about the band,” his voice trailed off as he continued to explain to Nikki the way Wren’s emotional reactions work. “You were a dick, asking her what she’s doing for us. She’s doing more than either you or I could and you just shit on that! I told you from the beginning, she’s a deal-breaker. You don’t get to treat her like shit when she’s just trying to protect Mötley. Wren is choosing to be here, choosing to help Vince with vocals, to help write with you, to help us fucking make it. She could be finishing her Bachelor’s degree somewhere on a full-ride scholarship, but she’s here. She doesn’t fucking need us. We need her!”

“So, I’m not allowed to have a problem with her every now and then? I’m just supposed to get over it if she does something that pisses me off?” Nikki scoffed.

“Yelling at her only makes things worse for both of you. Just talk to her. You’re twenty-three, Nikki. Do you honestly mean to say that a twenty-year-old girl is more capable of responding like an adult than you are?” Tommy sneered as he retreated to Wren’s room to grab a change of clothes from the dresser.

“Wren’s nineteen, just like you,” Nikki’s voice traveled through the rooms of the apartment and into Tommy’s ears.

“No, she’s twenty. Yesterday was her birthday you asshole! You need to make this right.”

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

Wren carefully counted her paces as she ran in order to make sure she was breathing in and out on opposite feet. In school and sports, she hated running, but sometime during her last year of high school, she began to see running as something therapeutic. She cherished her alone time, but often hated to be stuck with her thoughts for longer than a moment. Running seemed like the only solution at the time; not only does she get to be alone and distracted from her thoughts, but she also gets to have the sensation as if she’s running away from her problems. She knew that she would have to go back to the apartment at some point and that like herself, Nikki has no where else in the world to be. It was inevitable that they’d cross paths again in the next ten or twenty minutes, but at least by then she’ll be too tired to fight with him.

After going south on Clark street, cutting behind the Whisky A Go Go, turning south again on Hilldale avenue, and running along the Sunset boulevard until she passed the Roxy, Wren turned around. She still had to call the Roxy, and although she was already at the venue, she didn’t want to represent the band as a sweaty jogger. Still not quite ready to end her run, Wren decided to lengthen her route by continuing north on Hilldale until it intersected with Ozetea Terrace, and then turn right and head south on Clark street.

As she grew closer to the apartment, Wren could make out a vehicle parked along the back side of the apartment building. A black, 1975 GMC pick-up truck was barely visible, and Wren decided to quicken her pace. It wasn’t uncommon to notice strange cars in strange places in Los Angeles, but due to her time living alone on the streets, she was privy to the any danger that could that present itself from that situation. As she approached the stairs leading up to her apartment, Wren noticed the silhouette of a man leaning against the building. He was of relative height and weight, yet everything about him was too familiar. Hazel eyes poked out from strands of long, mousy brown hair that fell over his face, and his hollow cheeks seemed to fill once Wren had finally returned to the building.

“A friend told me where I could find you.” His voice brought back memories of not being able to breathe, of being thrown around, hit, and overpowered. A small, weak, ‘no’ fell from her lips as Wren dashed for the stairs. “You’re not getting away that easy this time!” he growled as Wren hurried to leap up the steps three at a time. She could feel his slender and grubby fingers graze her leg as she took her last two leaps and strides up the stairs and sharply kicked back in defense.

After flinging open the door and closing it shut behind her, Wren cursed her roommates for deciding to take the locks off the door for the party last night. “Tommy!” Wren called out and quickly scanned the room in search of her friend. Quickly, the footsteps outside grew heavier and heavier as Clay came closer to catching her. Heart pounding and tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Wren sprinted through the apartment to the very last room, Nikki’s room. She opened the door and slammed it shut and hastily attempted to turn the lock between her shaking hands. “Nikki I--”

“What do you want? An apology?” he hissed without even looking up from the guitar he held in his hands.

“Please, Nikki,” Wren pleaded as her shaking hands caused the already loose door handle to jiggle uncontrollably.

“I’m not just going to forgive you for--” Nikki’s voice faltered when he finally brought his eyes to the woman before him. Her normally porcelain features were phantom white, her eyes were coated with a heavy veil of tears that she refused to let fall, and he could feel the anxiety and adrenaline that pulsed within her veins as if they were his own. He’d never seen anyone look as terrified as she did in that moment, and her fear put their spat into perspective. She needed him and that was all that mattered. “Wren, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“He’s here,” she panted through deep breaths.

“Who’s here? In the house?” At his words, the pair could hear a fist begin to pound on Wren’s bedroom door.

“I told you I would find you,” Clay hissed as crashing sounds began to occur around the house. He was moving around, searching for her, invading all privacy of their home.

Nikki noticed Wren had frozen the moment she heard his voice. She stopped trying to lock the door, she stopped shaking, she almost stopped breathing in an attempt to be so quiet she couldn’t be found. Throughout the silence of the room, he could hear the steady rise in the sound of footsteps as the man neared where Wren had run to for safety. In a swift movement, Nikki hurried towards Wren, grabbed her by the arms, and pulled her away from the door. As he pushed her behind him, he could feel her fingers tighten around his and the shakiness of her hands from earlier manifested in her grip. He knew she wasn’t capable of letting go of him in that moment, which would make fighting this asshole fairly difficult, so he was careful to keep his bass within reach. As both Nikki and Wren watched the door knob turn and the door creep open, they each tightened their grasp on one another; one in desperate need of support, and the other assuring he wasn’t going anywhere.

“There you are,” the intruder sighed as he locked his sights onto Wren. “Come on, you know we have some unfinished business to get back to.”

“You need to leave,” Nikki stated firmly as he glared at the man before him. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two, but the small scars on his face made him appear older.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Clay huffed at Nikki, indifferent to his presence.

“Get the hell off this property and stay the fuck away from her, and in return, I won’t kill you where you stand.”

“Really, Wrenny? You’re going to let this guy speak for you?” Clay scoffed as he peered past Nikki and at the sweaty, broken woman behind him.

“Leave me alone,” Wren stated, and although her voice was firm and unwavering, her hands trembled within Nikki’s. At her words, Clay began to make his way forwards. Step by step, he closed in on Wren, even with Nikki acting as a human shield between the two. Nikki pulled his hand free from Wren’s grasp and threw a solid punch in Clay’s direction. His knuckles cracked when his hand collided with the side of Clay’s face, and Nikki let out a brief shout.

“Run! Go!” Taking heed of his instructions, Wren managed to slip past the two men just as Clay’s fist made contact with Nikki’s face.

“Nikki,” she called out, only to hear him repeatedly yelling for her to run away. Wren tried to take off in a sprint, but not even a second after Clay punched Nikki across the face, he shoved him against the bed and turned to chase Wren. Throwing himself after her in a full-fledged dive, Wren felt her body collide with the ground as another body was pressed against hers. A hand found her breast while another groped along her stomach and ribcage as she writhed beneath the weight of his body and the weight of his torment. As quickly as his body landed on her, it was shoved away. Wren scurried away from where she lay and retreated back into the safety of Nikki’s room to try and keep herself from breaking down. Her breaths were choppy and incomplete, her heart thumped and pounded as if it were that of a racehorse after a derby, and her stomach was emptier than it had ever been, yet it churned with the urge to vomit.

With each passing second, Nikki’s hands began to ache more and more as they took turns striking each side of Clay’s face. Right and then left, right and then left, right, left, right, left; one after the other, Nikki pounded into Clay’s skin until he begged for mercy. Wren saw nothing. She didn’t see Nikki brutally beat Clay for attacking her, she didn’t see him retreat from their home, she couldn’t even hear Nikki’s screams as Clay ran from the apartment and down the stairs to his vehicle. She had her back pressed against the wall and her side pressed against the mattress on the opposite side of the room as the door, attempting to hide from the initial line of sight as she scraped the tears from her eyes and tried her hardest to steady her hands. For a long time, she could feel nothing other than the beat of her own heart and the deep inhales of her own breaths, or at least until Nikki entered the room.

Bloodied, beaten, and bruised, Nikki made his way to where Wren sat. His arms wasted no time in snaking around her back, his head hurried to rest on her shoulder, and his chest ached to be against hers. All he wanted was to reassure her that she was safe. His insecurities from earlier were moot, his anger with her and hers with him had all faded away into dust. Without thinking, Wren crawled closer to Nikki so that she sat on his lap and clung to him as if her life depended on it. A smile crossed his lips and he held her even closer than he had before. Every now and then a hot tear would connect with his skin, but slowly, her tears stopped, her breathing stabilized, and they were simply holding each other. All Nikki wanted was to stay in that moment, and so he held his arms tightly around the woman he never wanted to let go of, and prayed with all his might to anyone who would listen to please not take her away.

Continued Reading: Chapter 14

Tags: @prettyyoungandbored, @hot-young-runningfree, @crue-sixx, @oskea93, @dancergirl5527, @thatonemoviefan, @motley-queen, @american-satanxx, @infernalrats, @gothpanda

11 notes · View notes

a-ackermann · 5 years

Note

Main 6 as affectionate cuddles. What would they coo while they hold mc? How tight? Is mc allowed out of their arms?

Now this,, this is the shit I like brother, thank you for your request dawg! I actually had loads of fun writing this

Asra:

- if it’s one of those days where you two are okay with being joined, you bet Faust is cuddling with you both! she’s probably right by your head, body totally curled up, and has her head on your shoulder

- considering its no secret they’re blatantly the romantic type, they whisper mounds of sweet nothings in your ear

- (just like the switch they are) they can switch between being the big and little spoon, although they prefer being the big spoon so you’re trapped in their strong embrace, but don’t worry, it’s a gentle squeeze, they wouldn’t ever hurt you

- things such as “How did I get so lucky to end up with such an angel?” and “I’ll never be able to comprehend that the love of my life is truly mine.” they’re kinda extra with it, but it’s all in the name of proclaiming their endless love for you

- they trail soft little kisses along your forehead, cheeks and nose if they’re able to reach, the tip of your ear, wherever they can reach they’re smoochin’ it up

- you aren’t allowed to leave their arms for hOUUUURS, unless you absolutely HAVE to (a meet up with someone, work, etc.), considering they’re naturally very touch starved and crave long, (schlongs) affectionate moments with the love of their life very frequently, they want you to be in arm’s reach for as long as possible

Nadia:

- much like Asra, she enjoys going all out with what she whispers to you, thinking carefully as to what she plans to say next. More often than not her words grow dirtier and dirtier every time she whispers something against your hair, but that’s a bullet for another time

- if you two are spooning she is always the big spoon, unless you’re taller than her, then that’s the only acceptional term

- she tells you how beautiful you are, and how you’ll always be the only one for her, how you’ve made her life so much better since you first came into it, and continue to praise you and comment every other sentence about how you’re a sight for sore eyes, etc.

- you aren’t leaving her grasp for anything, don’t even try to ask or wiggle away, her grip gets even tighter

Bonus, Devil! Nadia:

- if you’re okay with it and y’all are both horny, you bet she’s going to start muttering some dirty shit in your ear while she touches you in all the right places that you like, avoiding giving attention to the one place you need it most, and by god this woman doms you HARD that night WHEW, have fun lounging in bed and being pampered half to death by servants

Julian:

- just like the devs themselves said, he’s most of the time (I know majority of y’alls apprentices are short mfs don’t even try me there) physically the big spoon, but he’s emotionally a little spoon, so please, PLEASE, if your MC is tall enough (such as my 6′2 boy Luther) let him be the little spoon sometimes or all the time, it’s all he asks

- however when he is in fact, the big spoon, his noodle legs and arms are coiled around you so tightly, because he’s shamelessly in constant fear of losing you (again) someday, and he also doesn’t want to let you go, so

- Juju is one affectionate dude so although he’s probably the type to make sweet little comments while you two are out and about or through song form, he isn’t opposed to telling you how grateful he is that you’re in his life, and will go as far as to say he’s excited for the future of your relationship

- if you want out of his lanky limbs you better have a GOOD reason to want to leave, otherwise it’s an immediate sleepy “mmmmm five more minutes”

Portia:

- she is the little spoon she is the little spoon sHE IS THE LITTLE SPOON SHE IS THE LITTLE SPOOOOOON!!!

- unless you’re shorter than 5′1, or she’s in a mood for being the big spoon, that’s her only exceptions bc she’s small bottom lady who needs comfort after a long day of working at the palace

- she is probably giggling a little now and then, especially if you’re whispering sweet nothings in HER ear

- there’s no point in whispering if it’s not going directly into your ear so she’ll probably give you a five page essay on how much she loves you while stroking your arms around her beautiful self

- unless you absolutely have to go, or she herself needs to get up for one reason or another, she wants to lay there until you both fall asleep, and believe me, it’ll happen MAAAANY times

Muriel:

- unless you’re seven fucking feet tall he’s basically always the big spoon, unless you’re CLOSE in his height and have long ass fucking limbs because otherwise uhhh, good luck even attempting to be the big spoon lmao

- he’s not really used to the whole “whispering sweet nothings to your lover” deal but after a long time of being with you, giving him the opportunity to get more comfortable around none other than his lovely MC, he gives it a go, but it’s more like low grumbles about him being grateful that you love him and that you’re actually his, plus he’ll mumble an occasional “I love you” if he’s really soaking in the feels

- please tell him you love him back every now and then or let him know how you’re feeling because he doesn’t want to make you feel trapped or like you HAVE to stay there just because he wants you to

- dawg if you have to go he’s off you in half a second, but he himself is very hesitant to let go when he has to for his own purposes, the big guy wants his cuddles too once he gets used to your loving touches

Lucio:

- if you’re chill with it, Melchior and Mercedes ARE joining you both, no doubt about it, Squeezing in Lucio’s humungous fucking bed with you both (they try to smell ur asses too before passing out lol)

- however if it’s just you and guccio, he isn’t opposed to either position, both little or big spoon suit him well (we all know that, he may be a god at being a dom and topping the fuck out of his lover, he just needs to be pushed around to the point that he’s at your fucking service, so he secretly PREFERS being the little spoon but shh, don’t tell anyone or he’ll be embarrassed)

- he isn’t that great with being verbally affectionate so he’s more likely to describe your physical appearance in his perspective in ways that have you a blushing mess and hardly able to even form a sentence (interpret that how you’d like, who would I be to not slip in an opportunity for hinted nsfw?)

- he takes any sharp plates off his mechanical arm so he won’t hurt you or even risk hurting you, not his precious MC, no no no

- you’ll need to fight him in hand-to-hand combat before he lets you out of his grasp/lets you let go of him aside from using the restroom, if it’s matters he has the power to cancel/decline you access to attend you bet he’s ensuring you don’t leave

938 notes · View notes

aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 5 years

Note

Do you know that feeling most people have that they need to kiss a certain person /right the f now/? I need the same but with hand holding - no matter the verse.

A/N: I know next to nothing about fencing.

Brienne smooths the dress over her thighs. The hemline fell a little higher than she remembered from her shopping trip with Sansa. She bites her lip, unsure. The deep blue does bring out her eyes.

There’s a soft knock on her door and she panics, wanting to slip back into her jeans and comfy sweater, even though it’s only her dad. She opens the door a crack. “Yes?”

“We should head out soon if we’re going to make it on--” Her dad’s eyes widen. “Are you wearing a dress?”

Brienne sighs, fearing that would be everyone’s reaction. She flings open the door. “Is it too much for the party?”

“You look beautiful.” Her dad’s voice wavers and she nearly rolls her eyes at the emotion in his tone. “I’ll wait downstairs.” He steps forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving her alone.

She pulls on a pair of matte black tights under her dress. Sansa would have a fit if she knew her friend was mixing navy and black, but Brienne draws a line at freezing to death for fashion’s sake.

Jaime Lannister invited her to his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party.

They didn’t even go to the same school, but Brienne knew the invitation was a big deal, even before her best friend, Sansa shrieked about it.

Brienne met Jaime when she started taking fencing lessons a few years before. Due to their similar heights, they got paired together often. Everything he did or said seemed to be a joke. She hated him. He never took anything seriously, but he was a fierce fighter.

At their first competition, Jaime was in earshot when an opponent taunted Brienne. “You’re a large target, sweetheart. Maybe you should try a different sport. Like rugby.”

Jaime charged and almost broke the guy’s nose. Since then, they’d developed a grudging respect and an unlikely friendship. But recently, with all the time they spent together, she’d begun to think of him differently.

At their latest match, they sat in the stands next to each other, close enough so whenever Jaime moved, his arm brushed against hers. Even through the fabric of her jacket, she could feel the goosebumps pop up along her skin. They were supposed to be watching their competition, but mostly, Brienne watched Jaime out of the corner of her eye, their shoulders pressing together when he pointed out an opponent’s trick or skill.

She was not so much a fool to think Jaime would ever be interested in her. He was beautiful. Long haired and lanky, with an easy smile. No doubt he had a line of girls waiting for him back at Lannisport Academy.

Called for her first match, she shook off her thoughts as she warmed up. Except his was the voice she could pick out of the crowd, cheering her on as she stepped onto the piste. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before she began.

She won her first bout, but lost her second. Frustrated, she slipped off her helmet, only to find Jaime waiting for a hug. “You did well.”

“I should have had the second one,” she mumbled into his shoulder. Despite the thickness of their outfits, she reveled in the brief moment in his arms.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Jaime gave her a smile as he shook his limbs out, preparing for his bout.

This is not her. She wants to tell her dad to turn around and take her back home. If Jaime likes her all dressed up, then he’ll only be disappointed by the real her, the one who prefers to wear hoodies and flannel pajama pants and throw her hair up into a ponytail.

She didn’t even ask who else might be attending, she’d been so happy about the invitation. Letting out a shaky breath, she turns to her dad. “When we get there, you should come in for a minute.”

He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. “I wasn’t invited.”

“But you know them. The Lannisters.”

“You’ll have fun. You don’t need me there.” Fun. It isn’t the right word for any of what she’s feeling. Why was she ever excited? She keeps having visions of Jaime abandoning her by the food table to sneak off with some smaller, prettier girl. Margaery Tyrell, perhaps.

As the car pulls up to the Lannister house, Brienne marvels at how much bigger it looks at night, looming over the other houses on the street. Only now it is decked out in white lights and tasteful decorations. There are people trickling up the curved driveway, a stately door wrapped in a large crimson bow.

Brienne hesitates. “I’m glad you’re going,” her dad replies, ever supportive. “I hope you have a nice time. But know you can always call me. Text when you need a ride home.”

“Oh, Jaime has his learner’s permit. I’m sure he can-” She stops, seeing the look on her father’s face. “Okay,” she acquiesces. “I’ll call you.”

Brienne steps up to the house, her boots crunching along the driveway. At least she had not abandoned one wardrobe staple, her black combat boots.

She rings the doorbell but there is loud music emanating from inside. The door pushes open easily and Brienne quickly sees why, an eight piece band is set up in the entryway. The hall must have twenty foot ceilings, because her gaze keeps traveling up, up. There are guests leaning over the balcony, chatting, drinking, and swaying to the music. She has no idea how she will find Jaime in all of this.

Looking around, Brienne hopes to find a buffet or somewhere else she can seek refuge. A woman in a crimson dress hurries over to her, smiling as she approaches. She has Jaime’s smile. “You must be Brienne. I’m Jaime’s mom, Joanna.”

The woman has kind eyes but a formal demeanor, so Brienne responds as politely as she can. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Lannister.” She’s so flustered, she nearly curtsies. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“It wasn’t me. Jaime’s always been allowed to invite a few friends. He told me to be on the look out for you. He’s upstairs in the game room. It’s on the third floor. Second door to your right. You can’t miss it.” The woman gives her directions with such ease, but Brienne’s heart sinks. Of course she was not the only one Jaime invited. She expects she will find the game room full of preening girls who will no doubt make fun of her dress and boots.

A tree decorated with gold and crimson lights is placed on the third floor landing. To the right, at the end of the hallway is a room under the eaves of the house. “Jaime?”

The room is a teenage boy’s paradise. Various sports memorabilia line on the walls, a poole table is placed in the middle of the room, and one wall is flanked by a large flatscreen TV, hooked up to a gaming console. The image on the flatscreen pauses and Jaime lifts off a headset. “Brienne! You’re here!” He practically leaps over the back of the couch, catching her up in a brief hug. Her stomach flips at his reaction. She’s also relieved to find Jaime alone.

When he steps back, he pauses. Brienne’s face flushes, mentally begging him not to say anything. She turns towards the television, pretending to be fascinated by whatever video game he’s playing. It doesn’t prevent her from seeing how Jaime’s gaze travels up her body.

She steps around the couch, trying to act natural, and flops down onto the soft leather. “What are you playing?”

“Oh, shoot. Hold on a sec.” Jaime vaults over the couch again, grabbing up the headset. “Hey, Addam? Yeah, sorry. I need to go. Catch you later.” He presses something on the controller and the game disappears, returning the TV to a black screen.

“Addam isn’t coming?” Brienne asks, surprised.

“Nope, not this year. He’s on vacation with his family.” He nudges her leg with his own. Brienne finally gathers up the nerve to look at him. His green eyes stand out against the dark crimson of his button up shirt, a black tie draped loosely around the shirt’s collar as if he started playing before he was fully dressed. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

Her skin prickles with heat. She changes the subject, hoping Jaime won’t notice the color in her cheeks. “I met your mom.”

“Oh, yeah? How was that? The Spanish Inquisition?”

“No,” she tilts her head, thinking. “She seemed nice.”

Jaime sighs. “I guess we should go down for a minute. At least we can get some food. Then I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Kart.” He stands, fiddling with his shirt and tie.

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? I’d like to see that.”

“Well,” Jaime fumbles for an insult, his train of thought distracted by trying to tie his tie. “I hate this stupid thing,” he groans.

Brienne stands. “Come here,” she says gently. His eyes widen, surprised, but he steps towards her. She can smell the faint scent of his shampoo. Reminding herself to breathe, she adjusts the tie so the skinny end is on top, then wraps the bigger side around twice, before flipping it up. “Hold this,” she tells him. Jaime takes the bigger end in his fingers as Brienne adjusts the skinny end, distracted by the way his breath hitches when her fingertips graze his neck. She takes the end from him and threads it through the loop at the front. “Ta da.”

Jaime moves towards a mirror behind the door, adjusting the knot. “Where did you learn to do that?” He looks impressed.

“My dad,” she shrugs. “He’s very big into knots. Nautical knots. Tie knots.”

His eyes wrinkle up at the corners as he lets out a laugh. “Come on,” he gestures. “Food, then I’m kicking your ass.”

“Right,” she nods, following him into the hallway.

“Brienne?”

“Hmm?” she asks, only half paying attention.

“You look really nice.” She freezes, glancing up at him. His eyes are steady and warm.

Her heart is beating so loudly she can hear it in her ears. “Um, thanks,” Brienne murmurs. “You do too.”

“This old thing?” he affects a high pitched voice, making her laugh. As they start down the stairs, Jaime reaches for her hand.

His palm warm against hers before she jerks away. Her movement causes her to stumble slightly down the stairs, landing on the one below him. “What are you doing?”

A hurt look passes over his face. The gold lights on the tree are reflected in his eyes as he studies her. “What do you mean?”

“Jaime.” She crosses her arms over her chest. He had not been this impossible since the bickering days of their fencing lessons.

“Brienne,” he pleads, but her thoughts are hurtling forward and she can’t understand his meaning. “I was taking your hand because, well, isn’t that what you do when you have a crush on someone and you want them to know your feelings?”

“What?” Certain she must be dreaming. Her arms loosen ever so slightly.

Jaime smiles, a gentle chuckle at the back of his throat. “I like you,” he repeats. “So, will you please…” He holds out his hand.

Brienne almost rolls her eyes, wants to push him, anything to break the tension. Instead, she uncrosses her arms, allowing her hand to slip into his. Jaime bends into a playful bow and her other hand clenched into a fist, mock hitting him in the stomach. “Ow!” he yelps as if she really punched him.

Brienne holds his hand delicately, as if it might break, but Jaime threads his fingers through hers. His skin is surprisingly soft and the hairs on his arm tickle her wrist. She leans into him as they reach the second floor landing, a grin breaking across his face. “I wanted to do that for a long time,” he confesses, voice low. “Every time we sat on the bus together, coming back from a match. Wondered what you would say if I reached over and took your hand. Figured you might shove me.”

“I might have,” she admits, unable to keep the smile off her face. “But I think I could get used to it.” Brienne squeezes his hand.

#jaime x brienne #braime fanfiction #prompts #hand holding #new years eve

43 notes · View notes

themockingcrows · 4 years

Text

Companionship Through Circuitry ch. 6: Setbacks

Bro/Hal cw: blood, violence, deathclaws, and a generally bad day in the wasteland

Journeys are never without their inherent dangers. When you're living in the wasteland, it's to be expected. Doesn't make them suck any less, though.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942408/chapters/64071430

I spy with my little eye-

“Hal, pick a new game already.”

I can assure you this is the best game to play out here.

“Fine,” Bro said, exhausted. They’d been traveling for days on the remains of the highway by now and there was no sign of a proper township. He smelled, his back and legs hurt, and despite having plenty of food water was always a precious commodity. He also had at least four letters to send by now, including a few sketches and schematics he’d designed after toying with the Furby body some more, in case Dave wanted to get his hands on a little guardian bot of his own. The kid was smart, even he’d be able to handle basic scripting to make a functional system for it. Surely someone else he was buddies with could figure out an AI of sorts for it, too.

True, it would have been easier to follow another path by now, but following the main point of the highway just seemed the best, most direct route for him. Who’s to say it was brahmin who made the trodden paths that led further into the wastes, or humans? What if it was mutants, or worse, deathclaws stalking the wastelands? Scuttling parties of mole rats or vicious dogs.

Would you like to know what I spy or not, Bro.

“I don’t want to know, but I’ve got a feelin’ you’re gonna tell me anyway aren’t you.”

Correct! I’ll give you a few hints.

Bro groaned in irritation.

“A bloatfly,” he guessed off the bat.

No, though it is annoying.

“As annoyin’ as you? Why isn’t there a fuckin’ mute option on these shades..”

Your second hint is that it’s bipedal.

That perked him up somewhat. Bro scanned the horizon further off for signs of a city or outpost, a wanderer, a courier. Anyone. Instead what he saw was the lanky, sharply pointed edges of a juvenile deathclaw. A definite pain in the ass, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

“...And how long have we been in deathclaw territory for, Hal?”

Uncertain, my saved map mentions shopping centers, not deathclaws.

“Ooh, shopping centers?” he said. “Put a peg in it, if we find somewhere to trade soon we might do a run back to grab some more supplies for trade and keepin’.”

The deathclaw is still nearby, you know.

“I can avoid it if I want,” Bro said, taking out his sword. A juvenile would take some fast work, but he knew he was good for dispatching the monstrosities, and people paid good money for their clawed hands, even the small ones. Hell, even he wanted some bits off of one sometime, though mostly for show. How sick would a deathclaw fang necklace be, after all?

You appear to be approaching the small one instead of fleeing.

“Watch and learn, Hal,” Bro said as he shifted his weight and began to run. Aching feet or not, his boots cut into the crisp cooked layer of topsoil and sank ever so slightly with each step. The deathclaw noticed him and turned, beginning to awkwardly run towards him, long limbs ungainly but just as deadly as an adult. They met in the middle, Bro’s sword singing off the armored hide of the creature’s forearms, taking a chunk with it as he went. The deathclaw lunged for his middle with a shrill noise, catching a chunk of shirt on the end of one of its spiky hands, but just missing his tender vitals. He turned, and used the momentum to slice at the space where its behorned head connected to its body, the sword sliding against softer skin. Staggered, the small deathclaw stepped forward, then tottered back unsteadily as it began to bleed out.

Bro lifted a foot and kicked the creature backwards to its spiny back, then followed with the sword to spear its chest, cranking the blade to the side once it glanced off a rib, forcing downwards till it stopped moving. Planting his boot on its chest, he yanked his sword free and swung it in the air a few times to rid it of blood, and smirked. Fuck, that felt good. Nothing like taking out a little nightmare to give a nice rush of adrenaline and dopamine. Hell, he wouldn’t even say no to a smoke or a drink right now, ride that high long as he could.

Excellent, now how do you intend to deal with the mother?

“Mother?” Bro asked, about a half second before he felt something plow into him like a freight train, sending him flying and pain searing through his right shoulder blade. He landed flat on his face and skidded before rolling over, hand on his sword raising it defensively and other hand reaching for his gun.

Shit. Shit, shit, this was definitely a mother death claw, the hide was darker than usual. He must’ve just killed one of her brood. Not a good look for someone not interested in dying in the middle of nowhere. He fired a quick two shots, missing the first and nailing her in the left eye with the second, though it only seemed to make her more enraged after a brief second of shaking her head. She raised a hand and slashed downwards where Bro was scooting backwards, forcing him to block with a weakened grip before the second slash sang home across his chest, blood spurting where her claws shredded flesh and fabric alike. One of the straps of Bro’s bags was severed, leaving him half dragging it as he continued to try crawling backwards, firing till his clip was empty.

Hal was urgently trying to tell him something, but Bro couldn’t hear anymore, couldn’t think, could only focus on the burning in his chest and the taste of copper in his mouth. Things were flashing through his mind as he stared down the deathclaw, who was raising both of her hands for a double slash that he wouldn’t be able to block in the slightest. Things he still wanted to do, to say. Memories.

Dave the day he left home to travel to the city, bag on his back and barely a look back as he wove past the traps. Dave as a lanky tween, perched by his side on the counter top as he cooked an omelette for them both, telling him a joke that he still didn’t think was funny but that he’d laughed at anyway. Dave at five, sitting on his lap as he fiddled with a new project that would eventually become a birthday present game for him, looking up at him with big red eyes almost full of tears when he refused to tell him what he was working on.

Dave, still struggling to put weight on as an infant as Bro kept him warm on the sofa through a bout of fever, trying to coax him into eating just a bit more from the bottle, wondering if he should make the trek to find a doctor or keep hunkering down and hoping it would work itself out. Being scared out of his fucking mind about this tiny, sick thing in his arms and on his chest, worried he’d break if he moved wrong.

This wasn’t fear he felt. It was acceptance. Dave being sick or hurt was fear, even when he’d been the one to hurt him in the preparations he’d run repeatedly over the years. A deathclaw? This was his just rewards for being cocky without backup. He wanted to have time to apologize to Dave, like he always really meant to.

He wanted to apologize to Hal, too, for not managing to take him to get his body. For getting his hopes up about Dirk and then dying with him in the middle of nowhere. Maybe the shades would get crushed by the deathclaw after he died, spare him much misery. They’d both just go out like a candle in the breeze and nobody would be any the wiser.

A shot rang out, and blood spurted from the side of the deathclaw’s head. She staggered, stomping her sharp feet on his abdomen and legs as she adjusted her balance and snarled in alarm at the new threat. More shots, each one more precise than the last, till finally one hit the same eye he’d shot earlier, and the beast went down on top of him. Though his ears were still ringing, Bro could feel his pulse slowing down and everything going darker as the feeling of faintness took over.

Bro. Bro!

“Sorry, Dave,” he mumbled, blood on his lips and eyes unfocusing as red eyes stared at him. No, wait, not Dave. “Hal..”

AMBROSE.

The last thing Bro was aware of was a high pitched repeated beeping pattern ringing out from the shades on his face, a signal he knew so well. Anyone out here could recognize SOS when they heard it, but Bro couldn’t care anymore who did hear it.

Darkness claimed him.

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

“...p. See? I think he’s waking up! Jake, push more fluids!”

“I’m going as fast as I can, don’t you think he’d bl-........”

“...ver if we don’t. Sometimes you have to do dangerous things in a time of crisis, just pu-...”

“...rry chap, we’re doing our best. Why were you playing with a deathclaw mot-...”

“...’s going under again, God damn it why don’t we have more gauze!”

“...aid last time we wouldn’t need that many, let me check his ba-...”

“....tting sick, stupid coat, ugh! Hand me a clo-...”

“...ehozaphat he’s rolling in meds and chems! Lookit all this, it’s a kings ran-...”

“...ab whatever you can, inject him with at least two, and hand the alcohol to me so I ca-...”

“...nk he’ll make it? He’s in an awful way, Jade. We’re still at least a few miles out fro-...”

“...re he’ll make it, we just need to hur-...”

...ve him. Please. Pulse is falling at an alarming ra-...

“...re trying our best, believe me, it’s up to him if we ca-...”

...n’t lose him to-...

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

When Ambrose woke, it was to clean sheets and a bright light coming from a window. He reached up to touch his face and panicked to realize the shades weren’t on him any longer, looking around as he tried to sit stark upright to look around. Tried being the correct term, considering when he got a few inches upright his abdomen and chest sang with burning pain and forced him to lay back on an aching shoulder. Sighing an exhale, Bro took the room and himself into account.

The room itself looked to be a standard medical setup for a scap town, shelves of supplies and a few more beds shoved into the same room with him, a shabby gray curtain sectioning the space off from another area. He was laying on a cot with the aforementioned clean sheets, which were a hell of a commodity, and wrapped what felt like head to toe in bandages. His chest had padding underneath that seemed fresh enough, as well as his abdomen, and another bandage seemed to be wrapping his shoulder. His forearms had bandages, a shift of his legs revealed smaller areas of wrappings and-

Bro snatched the sheets and lifted them upwards, looking down towards his groin in worry. Okay. Phew. Dick still there and in one piece, no need to panic. Thank fuck.

Were you honestly more concerned for your dick than me? Came a voice from the top of the shelves, arms folded in and tucked at an angle to not get damaged or in the way.

“To be fair, I’ve been attached to my dick longer than you,” Bro said, giving another try at this standing thing and getting as far as sitting upright before he had to stop, dizzy. He was also connected to an IV he realized, two bags half drained already and the tether attached to his arm carefully with another bandage and some tape to keep it from moving. One of the bags was unmistakably blood. “Where’s my stuff.”

I’m fine, thank you for asking. I can really tell you were concerned for my safety after being nearly disemboweled. I can also tell you’re just dying to know how you went about not dying.

“My stuff, Hal.”

In the other room, safe and fucking sound.

“Thank you. Gimme a second and I’ll come get you,” Bro said, running a hand through his hair. He realized with surprise that it was clean instead of gritty with sand and dust and blood, freshly washed like the rest of him. Someone had taken care to wash him thoroughly it seemed. Hell, even his fingernails were spotless. Shocking. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this squeaky clean, it was almost a shame he didn’t remember it. “How long have I been out?”

Almost a week.

“Jesus,” Bro rasped as he finally stood up on shaky fawn legs, reaching for the IV stand for balance before making his way over to the shelf, naked as the day he was born save for the bandages. He groped for the shades hurriedly when he started feeling faint again, and had just grabbed them when the curtain pulled back.

A tall girl with dark skin, shocking green eyes and long wild hair tied back into evenly sectioned ponytails stood owl eyed behind large round glasses with a single crack in the left lens, a stethoscope around her neck and familiar leftover military gear covering her from head to toe. She frowned, and immediately rushed forward to grab Bro by the elbow and middle of his back, steering him back to bed.

“How long have you been awake!” she asked. “Why didn’t you wait till someone came to help you? Are you in pain? Do you need any water? Food?”

“Few minutes,” Bro said, more than a little startled. He sat and covered himself soon as he could, but the young woman didn’t back off in the slightest, swooping close to shine a pocket light in his eyes, checking his pupils.

“Has there been any bleeding? Any night terrors? Do you have any numbness or weaknesses?”

“I feel like shit, but otherwise,” Bro said, grimacing and jerking his head back from her grasp as she turned the light off.

“I’ll get Jake to bring some lunch in for you, I’m glad you’re not running on glucose anymore. Actually, I’m glad you’re running at all,” she said with a grin. Her canines were strangely sharp looking. “My name is Jade Harley, and I’m half of the reason you’re alive right now.”

“Is the chap who tried to cuddle the wrong end of a mother deathclaw awake yet?” asked another voice from beyond the open curtain.

“He is! Get some of those mirelurk cakes and mac and cheese, please?”

“I’ll bring some of that slackjaw jerky too, I imagine he’s half starved for real food,” said the male out of sight, before Bro heard distant sounds of dishes and metal scraping metal.

“...So what, you a doctor?” he guessed.

“We both are, in our own right. My cousin, Jake English, is the one who spotted you first out there. The primary reason you’re alive, however, is because we’re both sharpshooters! There wouldn’t have been much left to save if we hadn’t pegged that bitch into the dirt,” she said enthusiastically.

Bro’s lip twitched in amusement. This person couldn’t have been older than her early twenties, but she was a doctor? And a sharpshooter?

“So who really saved me?”

Jade’s smile sharpened somewhat, looking predatory. “I don’t think I’d tease like that when you’re still so weak. All it’d take is a cushion to take you out right now, I bet.”

“Sorry, just. You’re so young…” he trailed off as another figure entered the room with a dinner tray. This person didn’t look much older than Jade if he was a day, face clean shaven and hair styled but messy, standing at about the same height. He looked much more solid, though, shoulders broad and chest straining a little at the fatigues shirt he wore, and his demeanor seemed much sweeter than his cousin at first glance. More innocent somehow, or somehow less aware of the intensity of their surroundings.

“Here you are, I’ll get some juice for you as well in a few ticks. First time I’m seeing this much of your outside as opposed to your inside since we got you scrubbed down!” he laughed, setting the tray on Bro’s lap. The food smelled fresh and was warm on his thighs beneath the sheet, mirelurk cakes looking greasy and delicious, mac and cheese that smelled plenty creamy from the box, and some kind of soft looking jerky rubbed with spices that made his mouth water as much as the fresh stuff before him

“Try to eat slow,” Jade warned him as Jake trotted back out of view for a moment and came back with juice as promised. “Hope apple’s okay! It’s what we’ve got.”

“Apple’s fine,” Bro promised, tucking into the mac and cheese first, eyes closing in bliss. Salty, creamy, rich. He could feel it flooding his system already, a body starved for nutrients beyond the bare minimum of functioning and safety. Once he shoveled a second bite into his mouth, he slid the shades onto his face and grinned a bit when haughty red eyes looked at him. Hal was clearly annoyed, angry even, but those eyes were full of concern too.

“We’ve got tea too, though not everyone enjoys what we brew,” Jake chuckled.

“Their loss, it’s delicious,” said Jade with a shake of her head.

Scans show temperature readings as normal. Pulse normal. Pupils overly reactive to light, but not abnormal.

“I hope he didn’t talk your leg off,” Bro said. “He’s kind of annoyin’.”

You have terminal stupidity, I propose an immediate lobotomy to put you out of my misery.

“Will you knock it off for ten seconds and let me eat before rippin’ me a new one?”

It’s true. The doctor said so. You’re just stupid.

“You were snuck up on by a creature twice your size in the wasteland,” Jade pointed out with a smirk. “Though I’m glad Hal’s giving you a positive reading. He was quite useful while we were saving you.”

“How much did he talk,” Bro wondered aloud.

“A bit,” she admitted. “We discussed why you were traveling, though he wasn’t that talkative about details. He let us know about Dave when you kept saying his name, in case you didn’t make it. He wanted us to be sure to let him know, and to send your other letters.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Jake chimed in, taking a seat on the nearest bed to talk while Bro shook his head and went back to eating. “But it’s all fine now. Er.. mostly.”

“How much do I owe you,” Bro said almost immediately, breaking a mirelurk cake in half with his fork before stuffing it into his mouth. He’d worry about manners when he wasn’t sitting in a room with two strangers who’d apparently saved his life and seen him in more detail naked than anyone else had in years.

“We’ll figure out caps in a little bit,” Jade said. “You’re going to need to stay here a while longer either way, and we had to use a lot of your medical supplies.”

“Helped ourselves to a little bit of your food as well, but mostly it was the chems and supplies we needed at the moment. Lucky for us you were damn near carrying a medics inventory on your back!”

“Yeah, I just got through a vault,” Bro said. “Place hadn’t been looted yet till I got there.”

“A vault!” Jake interjected excitedly. “Was it like they say, all sterile and eerily perfect?”

“It was full of the people who used to live there, and they weren’t human anymore,” Bro said simply.

It was quite a show to see that many feral ghouls get put down in one go.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound very dapper.”

“Vaults rarely are. They’re either fulla deadly shit, full of a shit load’a nothin’, or fulla people who don’t want you to bother them because you’re all gross from bein’ outside and they know you just want the goodies they’ve got.”

“My grandpa was from a vault,” Jade said with a grin. “He’s the one who raised both of us, taught us everything we know.”

They traded conversation for a time while Bro continued to eat, though it waned when he finished and looked exhausted, surprised that the very act of eating took so much energy out of him. Jake took the tray away and Jade performed a followup examination as Bro settled back tiredly on the pillows. Before she left, he requested his belongings, or what was left of them.

He had an important letter to write.

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

Bro’s head ached sickly by the time he finished writing the letter, nearly as much as his heart, and his eyes were wet. He didn’t dare to rub at them, nor to even draaw attention to them, but the fact he’d cried while pouring his fucking soul out onto the page wasn’t something he’d admit to anyone. Hal, bless him, remained quiet aside from occasionally offering a correction on a phrase to make it sound better. At first Bro had resented the dictation, but found the changes in wording to be a positive thing, eliminating double meanings. What he ended up with was the letter he’d envisioned sending Dave when the deathclaw was about to do the killing strike, and the fewer mistakes and misunderstandings that could arise from it was for the better.

It took another few days of resting, eating, and conversing with the doctors before Bro was strong enough to go for walks around the town. First thing was first: he paid express for his letter bundle to be sent to Dave along with some money, the most recently written one marked URGENT in bright red stamped letters. Secondly, he got himself a cola and drank the entire thing in one go. The doctors had been kind enough to spot him some clothes, since his shirt was ruined and his pants were scrapped in the moment by bloodshed and emergency bandage use on top of their general wear and tear. The down side was he hated fatigues… but hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He was settled with another soda at the little bar and grill early one morning, having shared breakfast with Jade and Jake once more (his own recipe this time, which only Jake seemed enthusiastic about once they’d tasted the product), but wanting to just sit outside and enjoy the early morning before the sun really got going on cooking everything in the wasteland to death. Hal was quiet, watching as well he presumed based on the little target viewers moving around every time someone moved.

What do you plan to do if you don’t get a reply?

“Keep goin’,” he said with a shrug, taking a sip. “I’m not expecting a reply to any of my letters, but he knows which way we’re headed if he wants to write back. Kid knows how to use a map of settlements to send ahead of the curb if he wants to.”

...I was worried I lost you too, back there. But you’ve never once apologized to me yet.

“Apologized for what?”

For nearly making me watch someone I care about die. At least the first one had the decency to not die while wearinng me on his fucking face.

Bro was pensive and stretched his long legs out from his seat before tipping it back on its hind legs, balancing in place as he took another sip.

“I promise I won’t die while wearin’ you, then.”

You f-

“I wouldn’t wanna hurt you at all.”

… That is acceptable I guess.

#bro strider #lil hal #stridercest #brohal #my fic

3 notes · View notes

spirit-of-the-void · 5 years

Text

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 40

Author’s notes: Howdy. So this is the ending of Ebony and Ivory, and to be honest I spent a long time working on it. Things have been a bit wild and confusing, especially with how divided people seem on the story ending. But...writing this long ass fanfic for you guys has been a privilege, even through depression and health issues.

The only thing I’m unsure of is if I should write the Vergil ending--because I want to reserve all my vergil energy for the Echo Chamber fic. I’ll let you guys decide--let me know if you still want the alternate ending, cause if so I’ll do my best. Either way, I’ll still be writing Echo Chamber.

Chapter 40

Epilogue

(Several Months later)

You never wanted to get up from your bed.

This was bliss in its truest form, was it not? Waking to warmth, face tucked against the neck of your lover and limbs tangled with the bed sheets. It was another beautiful, sunny day in Fortuna as usual, the sound of waves rolling against the shore and V’s slow breathing the only melody for your ears. Warm, so warm. This had to be heaven--there was doubt that anything else could feel so perfect. You let out a gentle sigh, mind feeling foggy with sleep and body delightedly comfortable as you stretched out along your poet’s form, toes pressing against his bare calves. It was so strange, you had gotten used to V feeling cool and frail for the entire time you traveled to the Qliphoth tree; feeling his warmth and solidity was a gift you would never take for granted again, not after witnessing him crumble his way up to becoming Vergil again.

V was doing better than he ever had, you and Kyrie made sure of that. The motherly woman had been worried upon seeing V’s ribs and rail-thin form, and seemingly made it her sworn duty to get the poet healthy. He learned pretty quick that arguing with her was not the best idea, not once she got rolling. No skipping meals, taking vitamins, listening to you both hounding him and not uttering so much as a peep of complaint. You both only backed off after his bones stopped showing through his skin, letting him decide on his diet after that. Not much had changed--V preferred eating light over big meals, which was understandable with such a new body. Months later and he was looking more lean and healthy, still a lanky man but less frail and with a bit more muscle. That cane was less as a tool to walk with, and more of a conductor's baton he used in battle.

Well-fed and well-rested. As he should be.

You had spoken of what happened in the Qliphoth tree, and to be honest you had forgiven him for everything that transpired before words of apology had left those lovely lips. Understanding could be found--there was desperation, a need to return to who he was before. All that was gone now, V finally his own person with a full soul on top of it all. The only way to go was up, which you were more than doing. The new time together only strengthened how much you loved him, deepening that bond of trust and acceptance again after the lies and mistakes fractured it. Piece by piece, bit by bit...things were becoming as perfect as they could be, and in the end that was all you wanted.

The things you once took for granted were now so precious, weren’t they? The feeling of V kissing your fingers, the way his hair felt under your hands. Those jade eyes, his sly smile...having them back felt like a dream, one you never wanted to wake from. It was the little moments of simple, domestic life that seemed so enchanting after he came back, moments you thought would never be had with him. Sharing a cup of coffee on the beach while the sun was still rising, watching him read poetry to the children, helping teach him how to cook with the aid of Kyrie and Nico. He was pretty hopeless in front of a stove before those teachings, but learned very quickly. If you weren’t mistaken, he found a joy for it too--he would sneak peeks at cooking novels and shows on several occasions, and offered to help with dinner often.

Something about it was...very cute.

As for Vergil, he returned back to Devil May Cry with Dante and the women. You were shocked, the spiky-haired male put up no fuss when his brother instructed him to do so, and had apparently put in a lot of effort to make it a functioning business. Not only that, but he had been making a determined effort to be a part of Nero’s life now that everything was said and done. His father and uncle now visited once a week, keeping the kids entertained and staying for dinner to talk and socialize. Kyrie loved it, Nero was undecided, and Nico still hated Vergil’s guts. Dinners were filled with hostile stares from the mechanic, which Vergil easily ignored. Hearing him ask Nero questions about his life, seeing them spar on the beach and Vergil actually trying to teach him things? Odd. But...maybe those trials left their mark, so the Outsider must have done something right.

Speaking of the God, you were back to talking with him. A shrine now rested in an alcove on a nearby cliff, glowing at night with the purple light of lanterns and humming with the Void’s energy. Corvo, as always, managed to talk sense into your father figure--He was there when you spoke last, promising the keep the God behaving while you got your life together. The Outsider wasn’t going to argue it, that much was sure. You thanked him for bringing V back, and managed to repair some of the trust that was lost, bit by bit as you did with V. The shrine was now visited once a week, offers left on its alter and gone the next morning. Food, books, sometimes things you crafted yourself. The Outsider seemed to enjoy food the most--you doubted he got to eat much of anything in a place like that.

Regardless.

The kids warmed up to V well, easily sensing his uncertainty and all around awkwardness when it came to living normally. They liked being able to teach him things--like how to clean pots properly, how to make s’mores when a bonfire was lit in the backyard. Little things that V didn’t seem to think about or know, either because Vergil didn’t know them or because some things were lost when the two were separated. Being reborn had to be hard, you were always patient with him when a new problem rose up. V didn’t seem to mind either, it made the kids feel super important, like they could sense the poet’s vulnerability. Plus what could be better than having another person in the house to talk and play with? Julio in particular seemed to like the poetry, and asked the goth about it a lot.

Speaking of the kids, you knew that they would be going into town with Kyrie in the morning to practice for their performance in the spring festival. It was starting to get warmer outside bit by bit after winter came and went, but the day would be comfortably warm for the kids as they made props at Madame Elenor’s shop. You could hear them downstairs already, chattering excitedly about the prospect of seeing the other kids in Fortuna, practicing their lines and getting to paint trees and scenery to be moved into the theater at the square.

Now that you thought about it...almost a year had passed, hadn’t it? Since you were brought to this world.

So much has happened.

So many terrible, wonderful things.

Only this time around, everything is perfect.

You let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer against V’s wiry form and feeling him shift and mumble lightly in his sleep. It was April now, and you planned to go through May and June in peace and delight. Just having these past few months has been so wild, celebrating Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New year’s Eve...all the things you were once certain V would never have, but got to have in kind. It was shaping up to be an amazing year, and you were ready for each and every one after that to come.

That was the thought you drifted in and out of sleep on, knowing full well that you didn’t have to meet up with Kyrie and the others until noon. Nero would be out discussing the next mission with Nico, Dante, and Vergil as well until returning to go out with the rest of you. A day out to lunch was in order, his uncle and father declining the invitation despite how insistently Nero had offered it. Something about working some family things out had been their excuse--you were fairly certain they intended to visit their mother’s grave. Some things were far more important, you could easily understand that. Besides, being around Vergil felt...weird sometimes. Like staring at a painting that once held color, and seeing only black and white.

You tried to shake the thought, realizing for the first time in months you and V had the house to yourselves, peace and quiet reigning supreme once the kids were heading down the street. You loved your new family, you really did, but most mornings were rife with Nico’s invention shenanigans, or the kids finding their energy after breakfast and play-fighting with Nero. To finally be able to lie in bed with V, only the warm breeze drifting through the windows and the sun on your body...it was so nice, and needed. Maybe that was why Kyrie decided she would take the kids there herself, insisting you sleep in after “working so hard with Nero and the others”. Sweet woman, you adored her for that.

Especially when you felt V finally begin to stir, his muscles stretching and a soft groan leaving those beautiful lips. You decided to keep your eyes closed, wanting to savor the moments of relaxation for a little while longer and act like sleep kept you in its gentle grasp. You weren’t disappointed--V’s fingers stroked through your hair, nails tracing feather-light patterns on your scalp before trailing down your neck. If you were a cat, you would have purred at a feeling like that. As it was, you shivered softly in delight as you shifted even closer, one hand gracing his bare chest and over the faded tattoos that rested there.

After everything was said and done, you both shared a connection with the familiars. They generally spent most of their time in V considering he had been lacking in power for those first few months. But being born from the Void had left him with some byproducts, and he was learning how to use them at his own pace and tolerance level. The poet had been astounded at how much it burned to use the abilities of the Void, learning pretty early on that you dealt with it all the time--he didn’t like that, but reluctantly didn’t push things on it further.

The tattoos only extended over his arms and chest now, like sleeves that drifted over his collarbones. It was there that you traced your fingers, feeling his chest rise with a slow breath as your fingers danced a line from there to his stomach, resting there to feel the muscles bunch and relax. He was so sensitive, ticklish--a delightful thing, one learned pretty quickly after shenanigans had broken out on a particular evening. Cute. There were so many things about him now that were absolutely charming.

He let out a low hum, grasping your fingers lightly between his own and lifting them to his face. Those soft lips brushed your knuckles, tender and loving as you kept your eyes closed in an attempt to feign off waking a bit more.

“The sun descending in the west, the evening star does shine,” V murmured against your skin, his other arm wrapping around your waist to tug you closer as he continued, “The birds are silent in their nest, and I must seek for mine.”

You couldn’t help it--a smile broke over your lips, eyelids fluttering open to stare at his face in amusement. He always took your breath away, a vision of beauty and perfection. His hair was black again with Nightmare’s presence, and the tattoos were dark on one side from housing...was that Griffon this time? You paused, feeling Shadow rouse briefly in your thoughts before plunging back again, giving you both the privacy you so craved. The demons weren’t oblivious, they knew you’d have the house to yourselves come morning.

Regardless, you let out a contented sigh, resting your chin on his chest and staring up at him with adoring eyes as you mumbled sleepily, “Do you intent to wake me every morning to William Blake?”

He grinned at that, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as he replied, “Perhaps. Does it displease you, my little Sparrow?” He kissed the top of your hair, voice rumbling over you as he added, “Would you prefer I wake you to…. other delights?”

Judging by his low, husky tone you knew exactly what these other delights could be. The man was insatiable now that he had this new body and freewill--not that you were complaining.

“A beast has awakened in my tender poet,” You mumbled, feigning an exaggerated swoon and tucking your face against his neck again, “One that intends to eat me alive, always hungering for my supple flesh….!”

That earned you a low chuckle, V turning and nipping lightly at the skin behind your ear as he growled, “And you call me the dramatic one--you could put writers to shame when you speak in such ways,” Both of his arms wrapped around your waist, breath brushing your ear and making you shiver as he breathed, “Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.”

Leave it to him to find a poetry quote for everything. But he was right in an odd way--there was no restraining a desire like the one shared between you and the poet. It was a charged energy in the air, one that sent a bolt of arousal right to your core and left you aching in the best way. A soft sound of want left you as he pressed up against your back, his hardness very apparent through the thin fabric of your panties and body deliciously warm as it cradled yours. Feeling a bit bold, you wiggled against him, smiling when he sucked in a sharp breath and put a very firm hand on your hips to still the movement. There was definitely no room for restraint when you were playing games like that.

He flipped you over in the next instant, your back pressed to the bed and both hands pinned by his as he stared down at you with heady, jade eyes. Your heart picked up its pace immediately at the sight of him, feeling almost dizzy at his beauty. Hair tousled from sleep, eyes hooded and staring at you with the most delicious hunger...Christ, he was so achingly lovely, wasn’t he? Especially with the sun making patterns on him like that, the curtains drifting lightly overhead and stroking his bare shoulders like a lover’s caress. Your face flushed despite how many times you had seen this same view, flustered all over again as he brushed a thumb over those parted lips and released one of your arms.

Oh dear. You could come undone at this rate.

“How I enjoy seeing that,” V whispered softly, shivering when you nipped at his fingers in their exploration, “The way you gaze at me, sparrow...it makes me ache in the best way.”

You smiled, wiggling lightly underneath him and enjoying how desire grew in his expression in response, “I can’t help it...I feel like you get prettier and prettier every day.”

It wasn’t an understatement, either. Each time you awoke to his loving arms it was like seeing him all over again, overtaken by his lovely face and soft lips. Could you possibly love the man more? You had thought not, but each morning was proving you otherwise.

V clicked his tongue at your response, seeming doubtful as he kissed a line from your neck down to your chest. He plucked at the straps on the camisole covering the parts of you he desired, pulling them down agonizingly slow until your breasts were bare to the glowing sunlight. You let out a slow exhale, feeling him slide those loving hands up from your stomach to the pert mounds aching for his touch and shivering when he gave each one attention in kind. The idle swirl of his thumb over a nipple, his eyes staring at you with the most unbelievable fascination and desire as he dipped his head to taste as well…

Christ, you could have come just at that--his tongue was so warm, swirling over the pink tip of your breast and sucking gently until a light mewl of want left your lips. You buried your hands in his silken, ebony locks, eyes closing and head tilting back as you savored the tantalizing sensation of his mouth on your sensitive flesh. He was such a good lover, always loving, always willing to learn and try new things. The past few months had allowed him to come into his desires and sexual preferences bit by bit whenever you both could find the privacy, and that was always enjoyable. He was discovering a preference for being a bit more dominant in bed, which earned zero complaints from your end as well. The idea of V pinning you down and fucking you senseless was definitely an appealing one.

But moments like these, filled with gentle touches and soft exploration...they reminded you so much of that first time, but better. More familiar, more charged than ever before.

Especially when he finally leaned back, hooking his fingers over the lace of your panties and slowly tugging them down and off. You obediently lifted your legs for him, eyes opening to watch as he tossed the scrap of fabric unceremoniously to a corner of the room. The action almost made you giggle, a smile tugging at your lips at the way he dramatically flung them away. He returned his attention back a moment lady, eyes drinking in the sight of your bare legs and dripping desire waiting for the pleasure you knew would come.

“Pretty and pink,” He murmured, stroking his hands up your thighs and squeezing as he coaxed them apart, “Just for me.”

You let out a low hum in response, shivering when he bent your knees and pressed both thighs back a bit more. Fully exposed to his eyes, glistening in the drifting sunlight and just as he described. The anticipation was killing you--this slow pace was delicious torture, and every second was like heaven and hell in one. But if the past few months had taught you anything, it was that good things came to those who waited.

“What do you have planned for me, slick?” You whispered, biting your lip as he pressed a kiss from your knee then down to your inner thigh. Part of you knew, and the need growing inside was making your toes curl in excitement.

V smirked, raising his eyes from your body as a playful look slipped across his face. He slid one finger idly down your wet folds, smirk growing as your breath hitched and you actively strained to keep your hips pressed against the mattress. Infuriating man, he knew exactly what effect he had over you, and exploited it in kind.

“I’m simply playing my part, Sparrow,” He replied in a husky tone, swirling a finger over your sensitive clit and down to your entrance in one tantalizing movement, “Hungering for your supple flesh...a beast with the intentions of eating you alive. Who will save this fairest of damsels from me? Surely no one is around to hear your screams for help.”

You giggled at V’s low, ominous growl, squeaking when he pressed his fingers against that sensitive spot and jolting you in place. Very sensitive, very needy.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll scream for help…” You breathed, voice trailing off in a soft whimper as he continued those slow rotations of his fingers. Each touch made you ache, throbbing and wanting to reach that peak only he could bring. But V was purposely drawing it out, finding amusement in your response and pausing for a moment in his actions.

The dark-haired male grinned, eyes meeting yours like a predator ready to devour his prey as he let out a low purr of, “Oh, you’ll be screaming alright.”

Please--My heart will stop if you keeps saying things like that.

But you didn’t get to say that out loud. V dipped his head down in the next moment, spreading your glistening folds with his fingers as he stroked a tongue over your aching flesh. Your hips jolted on their own, a soft whimper leaving you as he started devouring you just as promised. Slowly, carefully, taking his sweet time and savoring at his own pace. It took every ounce of control to keep your thighs in place, trembling lightly with the strain of not moving. Restraint? What was that again? Your thighs were strong, you didn’t want to accidentally crush him between them with how fantastic he was making you feel. Stroke after stroke of his tongue, warm and wet as he teased your clit and swirled over your aching entrance.

Too much, not enough. You arched into his touch, soft moans leaving your lips and fingers gripping the bed sheets. What a wicked man you were in love with, bringing you slowly to the edge of pleasure with his tongue and not swayed by your soft pleas for more, for faster movements and more pressure. So close, fuck I’m already so close. He knew it too, a pleased hum leaving his throat and sending delicious vibrations over your clit as he sucked it between his lips.

“V...V…” You whimpered, fingers slipping into his silken locks to tug lightly as he continued to pleasure you right on the edge of that peak, “I need…please…”

The poet’s eyes practically rolled back in his head when you pulled his hair, knowing full well how much he loved it. That encouragement was just what V needed, his jade eyes meeting yours briefly before he tugged you closer, fingers gripping your thighs hard as he stroked his tongue over your clit, swirling and sucking with enough pressure to wring a cry from your lips. You were prone and gasping as he had his wicked way, hands grasping the poet’s head and thighs shaking as that peak grew and grew with his actions. Unrelenting, you were coming undone again. It was a good thing no one was home, because you couldn’t be quiet no matter how hard you tried. At least an attempt was made, but that wasn’t what V wanted. The ruthless man loved nothing more than to hear you wail with satisfaction, body writhing as he made you come on his tongue and fingers.

Which is exactly what he did.

Your head tilted back as you finally crested, something close to a sob of relief and pleasure bursting from your lungs and thighs shaking as he held them in place, “V…!” It felt good, so good your toes curled and hips arched into his touch. He was doing a number on your heart, that was for sure--it was pounding in your chest, especially when V continued to tease and stroke his tongue over your flesh, not having his fill until you were whimpering and writhing from too much stimulation. Only then did he pull back, jade eyes staring at your spent form with satisfaction and amusement. He licked his glistening lips, wiping them with those elegant fingers and staring at the traces of your arousal left behind. That expression almost looked smug.

The poet’s gaze traveled over your form, taking in your chest as it rose and fell with each breath, face flushed as you slung an arm over your eyes. What a way to start your morning, listening to the waves crash onto the sand outside and feeling the most unbelievable pleasure from the man you loved...what a gift, one you would cherish every day until the end of time. To have him here after months of feeling like you wouldn’t, reminded again and again that this was reality...it made the bad times seem so far away, like a dream long forgotten in the realm of waking.

V seemed to understand, even when you didn’t say it. He leaned over your body in the next moment, pulling your arm away so his lips could find purchase. You sighed in delight, kissing back and wrapping both arms around his neck as you shared a moment of peace and tenderness.

“Still with me, love?” V murmured, a grunt leaving him when you wrapped both legs around his waist, thighs squeezing lightly, “Ah...gentle now, darling...I’m not done with you yet.”

He must certainly wasn’t. You kissed a line from his cheek to that sharp jawline, biting down lightly where neck met shoulders. V shuddered at your touch, gasping when you stroked a leg over his hard length, fully erect after taking so much time eating you out. Someone was certainly eager, weren’t they? You doubted he wanted to wait any longer, especially not with you grinding on him like that.

“I’m all yours,” You murmured, stroking a hand through his hair and giving it a light tug. He groaned immediately, head resting on your shoulders and breath coming faster, “Do you like that?”

V gripped your hip with one hand, bracing his weight on the other as he murmured, “I do...quite a bit.”

Such a far cry from the bashful way he admitted it the first time around--now honest with desire and wants, needy as he leaned into each and every touch. You had learned so much about what he liked, what parts of that lovely body were the most sensitive. His fingers, shoulders, neck, hair, spine...all the best spots to kiss and touch, scraping your nails over the shoulder blades of his back and sucking the skin on his neck. That was going to leave a hickey, there was no doubt. But it would be yours to see, a secret.

“S...sparrow...Y/N…” V groaned, grinding his length over your slick heat and making you both pause at the sensation of it, “Are you...can I…?”

“Please.”

It was all the affirmation he required, V rising from you to position his hips right where he needed them to be. You eagerly tilted your legs back again, spread and wanting for his cock. An invitation, one he would never ignore. What did you look like in his eyes, right at that moment? Hair still messed up from sleep, breasts bare and body in a position that was clearly meant for him and him alone. All yours, always. The poet almost looked ...entranced by the sight, bowing his head over you as the tip of his hard length pressed to your entrance, slick with the arousal left from your previous orgasm and finding no resistance. A breath passed between you both as he slipped inside, groan breaking past his lips while you took him inch by inch. Wet enough that it was an easy slide, body trembling eagerly as he filled you up in the best way.

This felt so right, like it always did. Two puzzle pieces meeting together, like your souls were meant for each other.

A low groan escaped his parted lips, body pausing for a moment to feel your wet heat. You stared at his face in a mixture of desire and wonderment, loving how pleasure influenced his expression and made his hand grip your wrist ever so tighter. Even after all these months, your poet was so careful with you--waiting so there was time to adjust, your body relaxing around his cock and aching to feel him pound into you like before. You squeezed your legs around his waist for a moment, hips rising off the bed to grind encouragingly against his length. Such actions only elicited a gasp from you both, V’s head tilting back to show the smooth expanse of his throat and the slight bob of his adam’s apple upon swallowing. Such a pretty boy, struggling for control. You liked seeming him unrestrained every once in a while, but when he was trying to stay on his best behavior…

“So bashful,” You murmured, biting your lip when he tilted his jade eyes down to meet yours, “What happened to not restraining desire? Prove me wrong, Shakespeare.”

V let out a low, breathless chuckle at your challenge, leaning do so his nose lightly brushed yours. Breaths mingling in the air between, both bodies trembling with the need to seek pleasure in one another. His hips pressing on yours freed a whimper in your chest, resisting the urge to grind your clit against his skin.

“Ask me nicely, Sparrow,” He breathed, nipping softly at your lips while he continued to rub his body lightly against yours. Just enough friction to not be enough. Your breath was hitching in response, toes pressing into his lower back to urge on what you knew he wanted to, but purposely denied, “And I’ll indulge us both. Honesty would do us both good, wouldn’t you agree?”

You flushed at his coy, strained smile, those jade eyes firm and far more unyielding as you whimpered, “You are the worst, you know that right--ahhh...”

Your words slipped into a soft moan when he retreated a bit, thrusting in once more before pausing his hips. Damn it. You knew what he wanted--V always loved making you say things that made you blush. He grinned, as if sensing your thoughts and enjoying them in kind. Mischief played a part in the desire now--this was payback for every time you cock-teased him in the past few months, there was no doubt about that.

“Mmmm…” V hummed, lifting one of your hands and nibbling on each finger in order as he replied softly, “Perhaps I am, but acknowledging that isn’t getting you any closer to having me...is it?”

So smug, so cocky.

Your resolve was far weaker than his patience, tempered by neediness and desire. Especially when he was grinding on you like that, pausing right when pleasure started to build and leaving you aching. His elegant fingers decided to fondle your breasts, teasing the stiff peaks until you were practically squirming. Right how he wanted you.

Face flushed, one hand raised to cover his jade eyes as he chuckled lightly in victory, your lips parted to utter softly and desperately, “Pl...please...fuck me...V...Please…?”

He let out a pleased purr, pulling your hand off to see just how flustered you were and grinning in delight. A kiss to your warm cheek followed, V cupping your jaw with gentle fingers as he whispered, “So precious...you can take me making love to you every night yet cannot utter those simple words without embarrassment?”

Something about it felt a lot different than acting on instinct--begging always made you feel bashful, especially when he wanted it.

“Hush,” You muttered, pressing both hands to V’s cheeks like it would somehow convey your growing sense of need, “No more teasing, just--”

Your words were cut off in a sharp gasp when V finally yielded to your demands, hip snapping back before plunging in with one fluid movement. Blessedly--you could have sobbed in relief when the motion continued. Right there, just like that. He seemed to be done with the shenanigans too, drawing your arms around his neck with one hand and bracing with the other. Unrelenting now, lips capturing yours in a frenzied kiss while his cock plunged in and out of your aching sheath. It was definitely good that you both were home alone, because the lewd sounds you were making would definitely be heard by others. As it stood, anyone who walked down the beach could run the chance of hearing, but you didn’t care.

You bit down on V’s shoulder, kissing the mark a moment later and trailing those same kisses up to his neck. Something about V awash in pleasure and lust was poetic in its own right. Gorgeous, breathtaking. He was releasing sounds of pleasure, gasps and groans that vibrated deliciously against your eardrums. No longer bashful like that first time, noises released without hiding and face pressing to your shoulder. His cock throbbed inside, growing closer and closer to filling you with his cum with each frenzied grind of V’s hips. You wanted it, needed it, craved it. Ever part of you now strained for that second release, wanting to make him feel good too.

“Y/N…” V rasped, a heady moan leaving his lips as both hands entered his hair for a firm yank, “Just like that...I’m so close, dearest Sparrow…”

You let out a soft whimper, squeezing tighter around him and keeping that firm hold on his silken locks, “Come for me...Give me all of it, sweetheart.”

Your own orgasm was fast approaching, cresting when V tilted your hips a bit further back in his thrusts and stroked those beautiful fingers over your clit. Fuck--A sharp cry left your lips, hands gripping the poet’s hair hard as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. After the first orgasm, this one made your legs quake with the level of stimulation and muscles clench inside. Almost too much, right on the cusp of how much rapture you could stand. It spiraled V into his own pleasure, slender hips stuttering and a breathy groan brushing by your ear as his hot load spilled in spurts. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head, body arching up to take all he had to offer and chest rising and falling in gasps.

A gentle breeze drifted through the window as V slumped over, careful not to put all his weight on your resting body. It seemed so serene for a moment, your eyes drifting open to see the white curtains still swaying over you both, V’s shoulders rising and falling with his slowing breaths. Peaceful...tender, just as it should have been. Everything felt so unbelievably perfect, your body wonderfully spent and enjoying the fading throb of pleasure as you stroked a hand through V’s silken hair. He was your everything, every hope and desire and happiness wrapped into one bundle of a man. In that heartbeat of time, you felt so incredibly blessed, like a thousand years of lost happiness were nothing compared to what you got to share with him. All the loss, all the pain...they were a flickering, dying candle compared to the flame he kindled within.

Happy...you were so happy tears threatened to spring to your eyes.

You released a contented sigh, holding V in a tender embrace as you both caught your breath. Hours could have passed without caring, but...it took only a few minutes to gather everything back. There were still things that needed to be done, after all. Your poet was the first to raise his head, jade eyes meeting your gaze with an expression that took your breath away--One of absolute love and adoration, V staring at you like the entire world rested in your vision. A pleased rumbled left his chest, black hair swaying slightly as he leaned down to kiss your lips like you were air after years of suffocating. Such a kiss said a lot, more than any words could.

“Thank you,” He murmured against your mouth, peppering kisses from there to your jaw as he continued softly, “For loving me despite...everything.”

You hummed lightly at that, pressing both hands to his cheeks so he could meet an adoring gaze of your own. He was always saying things of such a nature, as if he had something to prove or loving him was somehow difficult.

“You make it easy,” Another kiss to his lips, this one short and quick, “I would love you no matter what, V. You know that right?”

Even if you betrayed me again.

Even if things fall to pieces.

You are the reason I breathe.

V wrapped both arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours as the words hung in the air for a few seconds. What was that expression he wore on his face? Something between thankfulness and...regret. Was he thinking of what happened in the Qliphoth tree again, about the moments he lied to you and became Vergil again? It had never clicked before, but...if V had been awake and present, he saw every reaction you had, every tear and heartache. It would explain why he couldn’t let go of his guilt, or why he felt the need to thank you every day for staying with him.it was so hard to move past all of that, but...you did have four months to work things out with friends and family while Vergil spent it all in hell.

Regardless...you knew these things could be worked on with time, and V was more than worth the effort.

So you smiled, pressing a light kiss to V’s nose before pulling back and reaching for the phone resting on your window sill. V took the hint pretty easily, letting out a quiet yawn as he pulled away and stretched his long arms over his head. You tried not to stare, really you did--but christ, he was so lovely. His muscles bunching and relaxing, skin of his shoulders marked with your kisses and bites... We have things to do today, no staying in bed. The movement slipped his length from your body, causing a light shiver and sigh in response while you say up as well. Making love in the morning was nice, but you would both need a shower after throwing the sheets in the washer. A small price to pay, one that you were willing to deal with.

V took up the task of cleaning you up at the very least, leaving the bed briefly to get a washcloth from the bathroom cabinet. It gave ample opportunity to stare at his cute little butt as he departed, which was an absolute delight. He smirked at you on the way down, not oblivious to your wandering eyes in the slightest. Some forethought made him grab sweatpants from the banister before heading toward the door, which was probably for the best--on the off chance someone came home early, seeing him naked would not be ideal.

Upon a brief glance at your phone, you saw it was ten thirty in the morning, giving plenty of time to shower and get ready for lunch at noon. There would be no viable excuse for being late, and it would be rude to the children on top of all of that. You never wanted to upset or disappoint them after all the terrible things that happened all those months ago, so it was the bare minimum you could do. A yawn left your own lips, flopping back on the bed and counting each peaceful second as it passed. Some time out in the city would be lovely, wouldn’t it? The smiling faces of your friends, delicious meal at a local cafe or restaurant...perfect. Everything felt like heaven.

It was on that thought that V returned, cleaning you up and helping gather the sheets to throw in the washer. You smiled when your gazes met, gathering clothes to wear out and heading for the stairs.

“I’m going to shower,” You announced to him, feeling his eyes on your ass as well while pulling on a light robe for modesty, “We should hurry up and get ready to meet Kyrie.”

V let out a low hum of agreement, footfalls following close behind as you entered the hallway, “Maybe we should bathe together, my sparrow?” He leaned over your shoulder, pressing a light kiss to your ear as he whispered, “I believe it will be beneficial to us both.”

Of course he would think that. You giggled lightly, turning around to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Depends on how quickly you get those clothes in the washer, slim,” You breathed, pinching his cheek with gentle fingers, “And only if you promise to be on your best behavior.”

V’s returning smirk was downright evil, jade eyes meeting yours as he stroked his fingers over you chin.

“Oh darling...you and I both know I am a gentleman before anything else.”

(Nero POV)

Nero had never been so glad to get out of a meeting early.

He and Nico were already driving back through the streets of Fortuna, heading for Madame Elenor’s considering they were able to head home earlier than expected. Honestly, why had they bothered coming by in the first place? The maps could have been sent via photo or email, but Dante and Vergil didn’t seem to have a god damn brain cell between them. His uncle in particular had a cell phone and an ancient computer, but only used the phone to play a really shitty version of tetris. As for his father...well. Spending so long in hell and other places had left him a bit out of tune with technology.

Regardless, they had gotten the needed information on the coming mission and swung back to catch the earliest ferry home. Dante and Vergil had been arguing about flowers of all things as Nero left, which Nico had agreed was incredibly strange. Neither of the two had any idea why the older men had flaked on what would be a friendly lunch in Fortuna, but whatever it was had them in...a bit of a mood. Nero wanted no part of it, and had practically dragged Nico out the door once the bare minimum amount of information had been met. Location? Check. Client? Check. Demon types they would be facing? You bet your ass that was another check on the list. And from there he would leave the planning to Dante and Vergil before they actually set out.

For now, he would stop by the shop and see how the kids were doing in their crafting efforts. Then the whole group could walk to whatever restaurant they decided on, maybe settle the day off with some time swimming on the beach or a bonfire. After the past week of work and demon hunting, some relaxation wouldn’t hurt anybody--hell, even Nico seemed excited at the prospect of having some free time to sunbathe, claiming she needed to work on her tan and rest her weary fingers. Nero wanted nothing more than to have some time with his wife, seeing her beautiful hair glow in the sun and a bathing suit…

He flustered himself a bit. She was so lovely it made him crazy.

“Jeez, it’s so obvious when you’re thinking about Kyrie,” Nico’s loud complaint made him jolt, looking over from the passenger side of the van to see her shutting off the engine and smirking mischievously, “You always get the goofiest, dopey smile on your face.”

He tried to scoff and play it off as nonchalantly as possible, but it was hard when his cheeks and ears were still tinged pink. Plus he doubted there was getting past Nico’s eagle eyes no matter how hard he tried.

“Lay off, Nico,” He huffed, scratching the back of his head and ignoring her chortles as he hopped out of the van, “So I love my wife--sue me.”

“You sure fuckin’ do, psycho,” Nico snickered, whapping him a little too hard on the back. Meanwhile, her other hand pocketed the keys to her van in those usual shorts she wore, “Just make sure to put on sunscreen today--Kyrie ain’t gonna fuck a tomato and I can’t see your sorry ass blush when you’re burnt like a marshmallow.”

She was certainly relentless in the insults today. Nero tried not to get more flustered, instead rolling his eyes in response to her taunts and pulling open the door to the Madame’s shop. The front windows were lined with costumes and small set pieces, a little bell jingling above them to sound of their arrival. It would seem Eleanor closed her shop early to make time for the kids, a “closed” sign hanging in plain view. But the door had been left unlocked for them, so Nero and Nico started making their way past the lines of costumes to the back area where they knew the kids would be hard at work.

“Madame…! How does it look?”

“Kyrie, I can’t find the pink paint!”

“I have the paint, sweetie--you’re painting trees right now, you need green.”

The children’s excited voices clamored within earshot, making Nero smile and press through the doorway. They were met with a medium sized room with sewing materials, an open archway leading to an open courtyard lined with cut out prop pieces being painted by the group of eager kids. The ones from their orphanage were here, mingling with some kids Nero only vaguely recognized from seeing them occasionally around the city. It was nice--seeing the young ones they cared about spending some time with others their age was a nice change of pace. Nero was also surprised to see you and V here earlier than them--this was one of the few days no one would be home all morning without interruption, so the fact that you were already present was unexpected. You were cross-legged on the floor, helping Emma with her brushstrokes and smiling cheerfully.

Even more surprising was V, hoisting a child up on his shoulders so they could reach the very top of a tree with green paint. He wore an apron over his black button up shirt and grey slacks, but it didn’t save his face from being smeared with some color. The poet didn’t seem to mind, nodding along to whatever the boy was saying and calmly replying to his questions with a small smile. As for Kyrie, she was on her knees beside Julio and Carlo, tracing a template for them to paint on and showing them the proper way to mix colors for what they needed. And boy if Nero wasn’t so smitten, seeing her hair pulled into a messy bun, hands stained with the colors of a rainbow and eyes filled with love and adoration for the kids.

God damn he was so lucky.

Nico rolled her eyes at the dopey look on his face, brushing past him just as Madame Elenor stood from her corner with the other kids, walking over with a limp in her step and wiping paint on the apron she also wore. The children from the orphanage waved and yelled in excitement when they saw Nero and the mechanic, but were so focused on their tasks that they didn’t get up. Which was for the best--they were covered in paint all over their little hands, and he would rather not clean purple and green out of his good clothes. Instead, the white haired boy smiled at his wife, turning away from her gaze to greet the woman helping the kids with this project.

“Nero, so glad you could join us,” The Elderly woman greeted him with a warm smile, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth as she grasped his hands, “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

The Madame had always been an incredibly kind woman. Getting up there in years, old age starting to slow her down a bit but not stopping the creativity and hard work. Nero could respect that.

He smiled lightly in response, wincing a bit at the sight of paint now on his fingers once she pulled away. Figures, “Thanks for helpin’ out with the kiddos, they’re having a good time,” Laughter punctuated his words, making the two look up and see Julio and Carlo giggling as they smeared paint on their faces. Kyrie chasing after with a handkerchief, of course, “The play too. Can’t remember the last time the theater set up anything worth doing.”

The elderly woman snorted, rolling her eyes as she settled on a nearby workbench to rest her weary legs, “Certainly. Making costumes for period dramas grew very tiresome--it’s a lot more energetic to work with the younglings.”

That was definitely an understatement. The devil hunter doubted the old woman had this much excitement in a while. But she seemed pleased about all of the activities going on, pale blue eyes tired but happy as she watched the kids make quick work of another prop, setting it up to dry in the wind and sun. Kyrie helped steady a little girl’s brushstrokes, the light making her hair glow a beautiful shade of auburn as she asked you a question. And that was a nice change of pace too--seeing you in such high spirits, smile no longer tampered by grief or pain and glowing bright as well. You seemed to be in your element among the kids, patient and kind enough to answer all their questions and help when needed. Very similar to his wife in a lot of ways--she had been a very good teacher, after all.

Nero let out a low sigh, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms as he watched the peaceful scene continue. Madame Elenor followed his stare, an amused grin tilting her lips as he kept a watchful gaze on his wife and family. The adoration and devotion was very apparent.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally settling down,” The woman commented, drawing Nero’s attention away briefly and meeting his gaze, “You were such a rebellious teenager--Kyrie is very good for you, such a kind and peaceful woman...her mother was the same way.”

She was one of the few people that didn’t tell Nero that Kyrie was too good for him, something he appreciated. As for her mother...he remembered her kindness too, and it was not lost on him.

So he let out a slow breath, smiling ruefully and scratching the back of his head, “I’m a lucky guy, there’s no mistake there...I don’t know what I would do without her.” She really was something special, carrying so much love and kindness in her body he sometimes wondered if there was any room for hate or animosity. Even when things upset her, she bounced back so fast he often wondered if she hid things away as to not burden others. But there was always communication, always talking with him and explaining how she felt about certain things.

There was always trust, and he needed that more than anything.

Elenor let out a pleased hum at his response, nodding a few times and pushing her glasses up a bit. Those pale blue eyes scanned the courtyard, watching as you and V started helping pull a tarp over one of the dried prop pieces, kids standing all around to aid. Nero wasn’t watching her expression then, more focused on making sure none of the kids were doing anything to hurt themselves or spilling any paint on their clothes. The children from the orphanage still had to go out to lunch after this, but the other kids would be picked up by parents and family members. So focused as he was, he didn’t notice the curious look on the Madame’s face, the searching one as she kept her eyes on you. Observing as you laughed, picking up one of the kids and pressing a kiss to their cheek.

So that’s why it surprised him when the elderly woman spoke again, her voice low and thoughtful as she murmured, “Your other friend is like her mother too.”

That certainly made Nero blink. He turned, staring at the Madame in confusion and seeing a faraway look in her eyes, one of remembrance and wistfulness. What the hell was she talking about? There was no way she could have known your mother, right?

“What do you mean…?” Nero asked slowly, brow furrowed as the Madame turned to meet his perplexed gaze.

She pursed her lips, head tilted in your direction as another prop was covered slowly and carefully, “I never forget a face, you know that,” The elder locked her eyes on you again, frowning now as she watched the children interact and clamor in excitement, “Even one I’ve seen a long time ago--I can remember the faces of Kyrie’s parents perfectly, and I remember another face too. A woman used to come into my shop years ago, a year before you were even at the orphanage I think...she looked just like Y/N, spitting image.”

...What?

Nero stared in blank shock, brain not sure what to do with the information and halting like the screeching of tires. Someone who was the spitting image of you in this city, before he was even born? But...how was that possible? Surely not, there was no way you would have a parent in Fortuna, that was very clear after all the information they learned about your past. Even while not knowing anything about your family, you were firm in the fact that it was a different dimension entirely. Wisps of memories, small feelings and Foresight told the truth in your statements--not to mention the fact that the Outsider changed your appearance after your first death to distance you from the life you lead. A fresh start, an entirely new you--even your name had been picked by him. From what you could gather, your parents lived in a small town anyway, not a city. So...how?

How could someone be here that looked just like you? Maybe the elder had finally gone senile, maybe it was just a simple mistake? But...practically everyone in Fortuna knew of her memory. Hell, the old woman could recall days from his childhood that blurred even for Kyrie and himself. Faces, names, events...Old age never soured her mind, not for a second. Conviction was in her tone, eyes firm and certain as she stared at you, like seeing a memory from long...long ago.

But...that couldn’t be right.

This didn’t make sense.

You said you’d never been to Fortuna before, this dimension before.

So...why?

Nero’s tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, heartbeat starting to pick up while his head tried to piece things together, bit by bit. You were prone to having your memory erased, right? So...maybe you had been to this place before, without even realizing it? It was possible, especially with how unpredictable the Outsider was. But...didn’t the God only erase your memories with trauma? And what could he have sent you to do in Fortuna at the time? The Order of the Sword hadn’t been affected, and no big events had gone on until they were taken down. Not unless there was an event you did manage to prevent, one he didn’t know about.

The devil hunter couldn’t find it in himself to reply, even as the Madame continued on wistfully in her story. And as the words continued to flow, his trepidation grew in spades, like icy fingers tapping their way along his spine.

“Timid little thing, she came in a few times to help me with odd jobs in return for coin and food,” The Madame sighed, closing her tired eyes and pausing briefly as she remembered the past, “She started coming by less and less, spending time with a tall, cloaked sword-wielding man walking the streets. An outsider like herself, I think. And then...well, I stopped seeing her at all. I got worried for a little while that something had happened to her after rumors circled the town but…”

The Madame shrugged, smile returning as she watched you hug Kyrie around the waist and giggle about whatever joke was said, “Her daughter is alive and well, a very kind person. If she turned out this way, I have no doubt that her mother ended up safe as well--I imagine the cloaked man she was with must have got her off the island before the Order fell...I just wished she would stop by and say hello before then.”

A...cloaked man?

Rumors?

The woman slowly rose to her feet, wincing when her bones creaked and ached in protest, “I’ll have to ask your friend about her parents another day, when things aren’t quite so busy. It’s strange...she shares the same name as her mother too, which is a bit...odd. But she’s far too young to be the same woman.”

She didn’t notice Nero’s frozen expression, especially not when a couple kids ran up to her and loudly asked for help with a prop. Walking away before any more questions could be asked, things seeming to pass in slow motion for a brief second. He wasn’t able to move, watching numbly as she was pulled away by tiny hands, chuckling lightly at their enthusiasm. Things seemed so normal in comparison to the new truth laid at his feet--the kids didn’t notice Nero leaning against the doorway, a hand on his mouth and posture frozen in place. Nor did you, V, or Kyrie. All so focused on the task at hand, while he was left wondering just what the fuck was going on.

The elderly woman’s words had...struck a heavy chord of unease, one that gripped him in its tight vise and refused to let go no matter how hard Nero tried.

His mind was working overtime, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on with so little information in front of him. Same name, same face...that had to be you, right? What the hell happened to you in Fortuna all those years ago, if he was to believe what Elenor claimed to be true? If you could travel from dimension to dimension, what was stopping the chance of going to a certain place twice? It was completely probable that Fortuna could have been one of your mission places, but...maybe you had failed? Something traumatic must have happened, and you had each memory erased. The Order of the Sword could have been a big target, but…

But.

The timing of it...was far too uncomfortable for Nero’s liking.

A lot of these things were.

Nero’s brain was connecting things he absolutely should not be trying to connect--but it wouldn’t stop, it refused to. Not with this new information, not with things he had felt on the edge of his consciousness for a long...long time.

He had heard rumors too...hadn’t he? When trying to figure out the identity of his parents as a teenager, asking anyone who would listen if they could remember anyone dropping a baby off at the orphanage. Claims ranging from it maybe being a teenage mother who made a mistake, him being a cursed twin left by a frightened family. Ect, ect. But...those all came up empty. And besides, he had demonic blood in his veins, so anything stating he came from normal humans was implausible anyway. No, he only took to heart things that could actually depict something other than human.

And a couple tales came to mind. Not ones he heard while searching out his parents, but rather things heard in passing. Demon attacks were a common thing in the city until the Order fell, but people who actually held their own against the creatures outside of said Order were...rare. Nero remembered tales of an inhuman man in a cloak who once traveled the city streets for a short time, witnesses seeing him take out demons with speed and precision no mere mortal could have. As a teenager, it had all seemed so silly--why should he think that this man had to be his father, especially with nothing to go on? This apparent stranger came and went in a matter of a couple months, leaving no trace behind.

In retrospect...that did sound like Vergil, a lot like Vergil. Tall, cloaked, deadly and precise. Wielding a sword, obviously. But...Nero hadn’t put much thought into the stranger’s companion this late in his life, not when he was still trying to grasp the fact that he had a father in the first fucking place.

Less was known about her--a lady in red, according to a few passing voices that could barely recall the tales. After all, why did such things matter years later? Those people were gone, but some fleeting memories remained. Coming and going from Fortuna was incredibly rare, outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb and were generally met with wariness and fear back then. Some rumors claimed she was human, but a few more...a few more mentioned powers too, didn’t they? He had waved those away--he was mostly human, right? Mostly human meant only partial demon, the woman had to be human.

Had to be.

Right?

But…

The timeline...the timeline. It fit, didn’t it? This woman who looked like you was in Fortuna before he was in the Orphanage, a year before. Around the time Vergil was in Fortuna, a tall, cloaked man with a sword. There was no fucking way that could be anyone else, right? You already stated your age was a question mark after traveling for the Outsider for so long, and visiting to the same dimension twice without remembering it was...plausible. If something trauma based had happened to you in Fortuna...it would explain why you disappeared without warning, especially when he considered the fact that you had not been with his father when all the conflict between him and Dante had occurred. At least...that’s what he assumed.

Vergil would have remembered your face, though, wouldn’t he? But...his father claimed to have lost memories after a particularly bad run in with Mundus, avoiding the topic like the plague and growing agitated whenever Nero brought it up. So the younger Sparda learned to stop asking about it, not wanting to fuck things up when the once-surly male was clearly trying his best. Although that was what he claimed, Nero had always felt there might have been more knowldge to find, especially with the mentioned trials.

Thinking back on it...Nero’s foreboding grew in spades, leaps, and bounds.

You had eventually spoken of what happened in the Void, Vergil forced to go through three trials in punishment for his actions. The first was reliving the trauma of his mother’s death, the second seeing what happened with Mundus and becoming Nelo Angelo. And the third...well, your memory went blank at the third, fairly certain that the Outsider took your memory of it, but not knowing why. It was of little consequence at the time--you were just happy to have V back, and didn’t put any thought into it.

Nero had asked his father in passing about it, and V too since they seemed to share memories. Both clammed up at the third trial, Vergil stating curtly that it was a part of his past he’d rather not repeat aloud or bring into light, and V...well, V replied that Vergil’s memories weren’t his to share, nor were his traumas or mistakes. And it ended with that, Nero shrugging it off just as easily now that things had seemingly grown so calm.

But now...less calm. There was a reason your memory of the third trial had been removed, especially if that reason was…

That’s not possible.

Nero turned, stalking back into the shop before anyone could notice the growing look of panic and confusion on his face. Both hands ran through his hair, heart pounding in his ears as he walked out to the van and leaned against its metal form, trying to talk out of his own reasoning and just carrying the disbelief and fear in circles. Not many people were on this street so early in the day, more than likely on the square or on the beach so there would be no one to see him trying to collect himself.

Vergil wasn’t the type to screw around with multiple women, that was obvious. But he was the type to reluctantly start traveling with one, maybe get too close. If something bad happened, if you had died...there would be no memory, no trace, no knowing him. Maybe no knowledge of having a...

There is no fucking way.

Nero felt his blood run cold, brain scrambling with this knowledge and sending off several warning bells that made him feel sick to his stomach. There was no way, right? This was stupid, foolish, idiotic--his head was just doing things it shouldn’t connecting dots that weren’t there.

As hard as he tried to tell himself that...the seed of doubt had been planted, and it was flourishing. He couldn’t even form the proper words or coherent thoughts, unable to even comprehend it. His friend, his best friend...the same one he had laughed with at home, messing up your hair, calling each other “jackass” at any given moment, flinging food at the dinner table. The one who he watched fall apart in the Qliphoth, who he had carried home and helped build back up for so long. There was no way that you could be his...no. That wasn’t possible, and as much as he wanted to ask…

He couldn’t, could he?

Memories of trauma were taken for a reason. According to you, the Outsider only took things that were too overwhelming for you to handle. Things that could break you, weights to heavy to bare. If he asked you about it, made you remember something on accident…That wasn’t a risk that could be taken. But there were other ways to find out, right? Maybe that would be best, a simple DNA test without your knowledge could easily show him that this theory was foolish and contrived, take the burden off his shoulders and allow things to continue in peace as they were.

But...what if it only proved the truth? Would he be able to keep treating you like a friend as before, would he even be able to look at you the same way?

He couldn’t live with this ignorance...somehow, not knowing seemed worse.

I need to know. I need to be sure.

Even if it changes things...I spent so long not knowing.

Now that the thought is there...I need to do something or else it’ll get worse.

And even if he did find out it was true, what did he have to change? His mind was starting to calm, looking for reason and stability anywhere he could find it. You were his best friend, incredibly kind and caring to everyone around--even in the Qliphoth, making sure people were eating, encouraging him when it seemed like no one else would. If the truth came to light that after all this time, after all the wondering, hate, and resentment that maybe he wasn’t an unwanted child...It was startling, it went against everything he taught himself. If you had died, if you didn’t remember anything...it was very possible that he had been loved, right? You definitely weren’t the type to just throw away your flesh and blood, there was so much love in your heart, like Kyrie. But...it made sense if things happened outside of your control, a tragedy.

If he found out that...you were his mother, after all this time...then wouldn’t that be a relief? To know his mother was just a timid, lost girl under the guidance of a distrustful God, one who went through something terrible and wasn’t able to keep him--compared to all the ideas of him being abandoned for being partially demon, of his mother not wanting him, this was a blessing in comparison. And he could hold his tongue, bottle it all in even if he knew the truth. Because at the end of the day, you had always been family, his friend...All he wanted was the truth, and if he could get it then that would be enough.

I was wrapped in a cloth when Kyrie’s mother found me on the doorstep, dry despite the rain. The cloth was stained in blood, like whoever gave birth had me and dropped me off not long after.

Nero made up his mind, resolve snapping in place like steel chords inside and binding every decision in place. By the time Kyrie emerged with the kids an hour later, he had a casual smile on his face again, all the traces of panic and confusion tampered down even when you emerged with an arm locked around V. Smiling, happy, greeting him with a nudge of your elbow and a teasing comment about Vergil and Dante giving him a hard time. No one would notice anything was amiss with him, at least...that’s what he hoped.

“...Nero?”

The white-haired boy paused, lagging behind the group a bit as they started walking toward the square. You and Nico holding the kids hands, Kyrie pulling Nero’s arm with her gentle fingers and staring at him in worry.

But all he could muster was a small smile, leaning down to kiss the top of her head while pulling her along toward the others.

“Later, I promise.”

Kyrie’s eyes missed nothing, but this wasn’t something he could talk with her about, not yet at least. He needed to be certain, things needed to be proven and solid first. If the white-haired boy discovered that his theories were wrong and just his brain foolishly searching for what wasn’t there...well, he would tell his wife and have a little laugh, and maybe wonder about what happened to you in Fortuna all those years ago. She only nodded at his words, still seeming concerned but lacing her fingers with his as they caught up to the group just as they were deciding on the restaurant. You briefly looked at him, as if sensing his off mood yourself, but...knew not to say anything.

If it was the truth...Nero would tell Kyrie, warn her not to bring it up to you. And then he would ask Vergil about it, proof in hand and get the story from his mouth. Because there was no doubt that he and V both knew something that they weren’t telling.

Nero would be able to keep his cool through lunch, through everything. Arguing with Nico, talking with the kids, watching you laugh with Kyrie and the others while one hand grasped V’s tightly. There was truth to be had, but at the end of the day you would always be his family and friend above all other things. And that came first, your well-being always came first.

Some things were more important.

If he discovered you were this woman in red, his mother...then he would get the story from Vergil and be done with it. Just being able to know both parents was something Nero thought he’d never have, and to know his mother was someone kind and sweet in comparison to Vergil? Well...he could live with that, could go on being your friend without changing a damn thing if it meant saving you from trauma. Life would go on as always, but he would just have one less mystery hanging over his head.

There was definitely a truth to be had. But at the end of the day...family was family. And he was willing to do whatever it would take to defend it.

“Hey Nero?”

The boy looked up as he walked alongside his wife and the children, seeing you looking at him with mischief in your expression. The afternoon light making your hair glow, one arm locked with V’s as he chuckled at whatever you had cooking up.

Nero swallowed down the hesitation and uncertainty, replying easily enough, “Yeah?”

You grinned, jabbing him in the side once with a hint of challenge in your tone, one he easily caught onto, “When we get back, we should spar on the beach. You, me, and some good old-fashioned water guns.”

What was that in your expression? A hint of concern, worry for him that you were trying to mask with playfulness. She’s worried, and trying to cheer me up--Nero clicked that in place right away, knowing damn well that sparring was one of his ways to blow off steam. Of course you caught onto his unease as well, just as observant as Kyrie. He felt his wife squeeze his hand too, punctuating the offer with support of her own.

And it was in that moment, Nero realizing how very blessed he was. To have people who cared and loved him that much, to have a chance of discovering his mother was something like you, someone already close to him. It made him smirk a bit, picking up Carlo from where he walked with the other kids and letting the boy hug him around the neck.

“You’re on,” He replied with a low smirk, eyeing V at your side and adding cockily, “Bet I could take you and Shakespeare on at once.”

V rose a simple brow at that, lips quirking up in a smile as he replied with a low chuckle, “You can certainly try.”

The kids all chattered in excitement, wanting in on the battle and eager at the prospect of playing with super soakers. Nico seemed to want in on it too, pinching one of Nero’s cheeks and claiming she would ally herself with him in this so called “battle”. Nero was willing to bet there would be treachery afoot, but Kyrie would always be there to back him up in the long run.

They all would. And when the truth eventually came...that would always remain the same.

~The End~

Read on AO3

Like what you see? Consider buying me a coffee

Tagged: @nightshadow4713 @slightlylunatic @silentwhispofhope @just-call-me-no-name @efiicitia @raven-huntress @shaelin444

101 notes · View notes

varietydisco · 5 years

Text

Catch of the Day

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Kieran Duffy Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Mutual Pining, Crushes, First Kiss, Both of them being mildly touch-starved, Kieran rubbing down Arthur “butterball” Morgan with aloe vera Word count: 4500

Description: Arthur and Kieran let their minds wander on an unsuccessful fishing trip, and Arthur gets a sunburn.

Arthur felt his presence before Kieran even had the chance to say a word.

Kieran walked quietly, as if he were afraid to make too much noise or to assert himself into his surroundings. He seemed to slink around camp, shoulders slumped and head down, despite being surprisingly tall and just as lanky. He had an air about him, though, that was impossible to miss; sitting alone at the table scribbling in his journal, it made the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stand up when he felt Kieran looking at him.

Kieran seemed to do a lot of looking these days, though that could have just been a coincidence.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder.

Sure enough, Kieran was standing a few feet off, all gangly limbs and strange uncertainty about himself. He held a fishing pole and a bucket in both his hands, with a worried expression. When Arthur looked at him, Kieran seemed to jolt, as if he weren’t expecting this development, and a little like he was ready to take off and run.

Arthur gave Kieran a second to speak, and when he didn’t, Arthur took the lead into the conversation.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, despite it being closer to noon by then. He flipped his journal shut and twisted around in his seat. “Whaddya need?”

“N— nothin’,” Kieran replied almost instantly, tripping over his words.

“Well, obviously there’s somethin’,” Arthur said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be ooglin’ me.”

Kieran’s cheeks flushed hot. His eyes dropped to the ground and the words sounded as though they were tumbling out of his mouth.

“I— I wasn’t ooglin’ ya! I was just… Well…”

A lot of people commented on how much more confident Kieran had gotten since they let him loose from the tree. He still had that damn stutter, but he was slowly getting less afraid to talk to people and speak his mind. Awful with looking people in the eye yet, which was something that bothered Dutch to no end (but really, what did he expect from a glorified ex-O’Driscoll-whipping-boy?). Otherwise, he was getting better, according to the others.

Arthur didn’t seem to get that from Kieran; he got an awkward man with a secret on his mind that was eating him inside out. If Arthur were better at reading people, he might try to figure out what Kieran was hiding, but he just wasn’t, so he stayed weary of the other man best he could.

“I’m tryin’ to rally my nerves, is all.” Kieran finally finished.

“So, you do want a favour.”

“No, not exactly. I— Well…”

“You’re wastin’ my goddamn time, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran’s freckled cheeks flared red. Despite the nerves which still wracked his voice and held his shoulders, he managed to sound more assertive.

“I told yous a million times over— I ain’t no O’Driscoll. I hate when y’all call me that. I’m… I’m more van der Linde than I ever was O’Driscoll.”

Arthur sort of half-shrugged his shoulders, before settling back and crossing his arms. Quickly, he scraped his eyes over Kieran’s lanky body. There was nothing in particular to note, except that when he got defensive and annoyed he stood a little straighter and a little taller, almost enough that it made him look good. Or at least better.

Arthur didn’t want to approach where that thought came from, so he quickly pushed it right back down.

“Just tell me what you want an’ be done with it. No sense runnin’ circles.”

“I’m only— I was wonderin’ if you’d wanna go fishin’ with me.” Kieran finally said. For emphasis, he shook the bucket in his left hand; it rattled presumably with extra hooks and bait.

Arthur looked at the bucket, then Kieran, then to the rest of the camp beyond him.

As the afternoon heat started settling in, most of the people had drifted away from their work towards whatever shady spots they could find instead. Either laid-up under tents to sleep away the heat or tucked under outcroppings from the waggons while they chatted quietly among themselves, the entire camp had fallen into a peaceful hush. There was no loud talking, or nagging, and most surprisingly of all, no arguing. Usually the heat brought out the worst in people, but for some reason, not today.

A secret little part of Arthur loved the thought of getting away from camp today. If he waited too long, Dutch or Pearson or one of the girls or someone would come wandering around, asking him for this or that. An errand to run in town, a trinket to go find, a harebrained scheme that would promise them big pay for a little elbow grease. Frankly, Arthur wasn’t in the mood for any of it. A day of peace might do him good.

Arthur turned his eyes back to Kieran and narrowed them. Being skeptical was always in his best interest.

“Why?” Arthur inquired. “I thought the fish didn’t bite this time of day… Somethin’ about the sun, or the bugs on the water.”

Under his intense gaze, Kieran acted funny. He wet his lips, shifted his feet, and dropped his eyes. His shoulders slumped forward again, as if what little confidence he had before was sucked out of him.

“Well, you’re— you’re the nicest person here to me. We did good the last time we went fishin’, too.” Kieran admitted. “And I figured you— well, I figured you needed some rest. You’re always runnin’ around for the others an’ I ain’t ever— p- pardon me sayin’, but I ain’t ever seen you sit your ass down anywhere for long. An’ fishin’, it’s just…”

The words were falling quick and nervous out of Kieran’s mouth. “It’s just sittin’ on your ass. Relaxin’.”

Arthur tilted his head back a little bit. Despite himself, he cocked his brow and smirked with the corner of his lips.

“Spend a lot of time thinkin’ about my ass an’ what I do with it, O’Driscoll?”

Kieran’s eyes bugged.

“That ain’t what I said at all!”

Admittedly, his reaction made Arthur laugh. Deep and quiet, Arthur settled back in his chair as he chuckled.

Kieran’s face went red up to his ears as he shook his own head. He chewed his lip and went to turn on his heels.

“Nevermind my askin’. M’ sorry to bother you.”

Arthur scoffed as soon as Kieran started to walk away. He uncrossed his arms, sat forward and waved his hand.

“Come on, now. I’m only teasin’.” Arthur said. He waited until Kieran looked back at him to keep talking, carefully. “I never said I wouldn’t come. I reckon it’d be nice… Relaxin’, an’ whatnot.”

Kieran perked up. Despite his nerves and doubts and every other weird, squirming feeling inside of him at the sight of Arthur’s bright blue eyes that he’d rather ignore, Kieran couldn’t help himself being drawn in. He smiled, a small quirk in his lips that quickly broke into something more excited.

For a second, the sight of it made Arthur forget what he was going to say.

Kieran didn’t seem to smile a lot, but then again, why would he? Not a lot to make you smile when you were the butt of everybody’s jokes.

But he had a great smile, Arthur had to admit, whether he wanted to or not.

Arthur cleared his throat and rose to his feet. As he went, he grabbed his journal and tucked it firmly under his arm.

“I ain’t much of a fisherman, though.” Arthur warned. “You know that.”

“Don’t matter. Most of the fun’s in the company, anyhow.”

Arthur pursed his lips. He couldn’t help but notice how Kieran’s eyes flickered to his mouth.

“Hold yourself in pretty good esteem?”

Even though Kieran still had that same nervous look to him, he kept smiling.

“Not hardly. I just think… We get along good, is all.”

Something about Kieran’s genuine smile made Arthur’s heart ache. He pushed it down, forced away his own smile, and only offered a nod in reply.

“…Yeah, you’re alright.”

—30—

By the time they got to their private nook on Flat Iron Lake, the sun was high in the sky and impossibly hot and stifling. Sweat rolled liberally down the sides of Arthur’s jaw and collected in his stubble, sticky and uncomfortable. There was hardly any shade for them, so the sun beat down awful vicious. Arthur felt the burn of his shirt against his shoulders.

But, for some reason, the peace was nice. All things considered.

Kieran talked, mostly about nothing and mostly just to fill the silence. His voice regained some of that confidence people were always commenting on. While they casted their lines and slowly reeled in, Kieran’s words floated up into the hot summer air and kept Arthur entertained.

“You know I— I heard once that there’s catfish in some lakes that’ve gotten so big they could eat a man,” Kieran said. His eyes were trained on the water, as he sat on the sandy bank and reeled his rod. “Heard that’s why in some places, they… They don’t eat the catfish. ‘Cause they’ve fed on humans.”

Their conversation was following a train of thought, constantly shifting topic and moving this way and that. Considering how quiet he normally was, Arthur just appreciated that there was someone to take the lead in the conversation.

“So, if we catch a real fat one,” Arthur mused. He reached up to wipe his forehead on his arm. “We ought to assume Pearson fell in the lake and got made dinner?”

Kieran laughed, short and surprised. Arthur glanced to the side in time to see it happen, and almost wished he hadn’t.

Seeing Kieran smile and watching his eyes crinkle as he laughed made Arthur’s heart ache again. There were so many implications to it that Arthur didn’t want to think about, much less dwell on or try to dissect.

He didn’t want to think about how Kieran’s presence made him feel, or the way the hairs on his arms and neck rose when he felt Kieran looking at him. And the last thing Arthur needed to be thinking about was how Kieran looked then, and how he wished he could have immortalized the scene in a drawing, with Kieran’s straw hat pulled low to his eyes, his body pitching forward slightly as he laughed, the quirk in his thin lips and the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. Arthur didn’t need to think about how much warmth and light Kieran managed to hide in that nervous face of his.

Maybe Kieran felt Arthur staring at him, because as his laughter died he looked to the side. His smile kind of dipped, shifted towards uncertainty.

“S— somethin’ wrong?” Kieran asked. His own heart thundered so loud in his chest, he prayed that Arthur couldn’t hear it.

Arthur never had a way with words. He had them all in his head, but never the means to express them proper. Instead of answering truthfully, Arthur shook his head, turned his eyes down, and drawled out a, “Naw. It’s nothin’.”

—30—

They didn’t catch a lot, and most of what they did were too small to keep. Even though their bucket was mostly empty, it was still in good fun; the peace and the quiet was better than anything else. For a few hours, at least, Kieran was glad to be away from the loud voices at camp mocking or teasing him.

Arthur was great company, all things considered. While they fished, and after their conversation had tapered off into sparse silence, Kieran kept stealing little glances at the other man.

Progressively, over the course of their fishing trip, Arthur had been undoing buttons from his shirt, trying to invite the weak breeze onto his skin. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and all the buttons undone on his front. His shirt basically hung off his shoulders, presenting all the soft, hairy rolls underneath.

Even though he was an outlaw on the run, he was still pudgy and heavy-set. Kieran knew better than to stare, lest he be caught and teased or chastised for it, but it felt impossible to look away. The sight made Kieran smile, and a collection of feelings and thoughts rush through his mind.

Arthur’s line snagged and immediately he jumped into action. He jerked the rod, and started to reel, though quickly the line went slack again.

As frustration crossed his face, Kieran laughed gently.

“You ain’t caught a single thing, just about.” Kieran pointed out with a grin. “You’ve just been feedin’ the fish all day.”

“I told’ja, I ain’t no fisherman.” Arthur replied, trying to mask his annoyance.

He reeled in his line quickly, shook his head at the empty hook when he examined it, and then baited it up with another worm.

Kieran watched Arthur’s hands work, impossibly big and rough, yet still deft and delicate in their movements.

“It’s all in how you reel,” Kieran eventually said, after Arthur casted his line again. “I could show ya.”

Arthur held his rod out to the side. “By all means.”

Kieran took the chance to scoot in closer to Arthur. The sandy beach shifted, hot and imposing under his legs; somehow, though, when his shoulder brushed with Arthur’s, it felt even hotter.

“You’ve got a good cast,” Kieran explained, keeping his eyes down on their hands. “But when you feel a bite, y’ gotta give it a hard, quick yank. Make sure that sucker stays on…”

Kieran placed his hand over Arthur’s and adjusted it. Arthur fell completely silent, settled instead on watching Kieran.

His eyes flicked between Kieran’s face and their hands, his heart starting to race. Maybe it was because people’s hands on Arthur usually had the intent to hurt, and that’s why it felt so hot and odd. Not exactly unfamiliar, just… Different. Good, in a way. Too good. Arthur’s mouth felt kind of dry.

Then, just as soon as Kieran’s hands were there, they were gone again; taken back quick and wrapped around his own fishing rod again, as though it had been a mistake to make contact at all.

“Then you just gotta… Keep reelin’.” Kieran finished. He wet his lips and glanced towards the water, away from Arthur. Feeling awkward and strange himself, with the lingering sensation of Kieran’s hands on his own, Arthur did the same. “If you pull the line too much, it’ll… It’ll dislodge the hook. Then the fish gets away with the bait.”

Arthur nodded. Under the brim of his hat, his shaded cheeks felt hot.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem.” Kieran replied just as weakly.

Silence overcame them, aside from Arthur clearing his throat and them quietly reeling in or casting out. It took a few seconds, but Arthur soon realized that Kieran never moved back to his spot. They stayed together, shoulders barely touching.

“You’re awful close,” Arthur pointed out, maybe because he felt an obligation to. It didn’t feel quite right to admit that he liked it.

Kieran glanced to him.

“Oh. I guess I am.” There was something uncertain in his expression as Kieran smiled with the corner of his mouth. “Do you mind it?”

Arthur didn’t know what to say right off, so he mumbled, “Not especially.”

Kieran didn’t look away immediately and neither did Arthur. They kind of gazed at each other for a long moment and it left Arthur unsure and nervous, because sitting this close he noticed how pretty Kieran’s eyes were, and that was something he would rather have not to think about.

“This is nice, don’tcha think?” Kieran asked. “Nothin’ to worry about, nobody wantin’ anythin’ outta ya.”

“It’s different.” Arthur admitted. He couldn’t be sure if he were referring to Kieran’s statement or his own feelings.

“We ought to do this more often. At least for your sake.” Kieran laughed weakly. He turned back towards the water. “What, with the way they’s run you ragged at camp…”

“How many times can you see my ugly mug before you get sick of it?” Arthur inquired. “Or do you just enjoy bein’ the most competent man in the area?”

“What? No! ‘Course not.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked with a smile.

“Oh, sure.”

“Honest and true,” Kieran insisted. “Its like I said, I— I just enjoy your company.”

“Nobody just ‘enjoys my company’ unless they want somethin’ or they’re sick in the head.” Arthur said it as a joke, in his own gruff way, but Kieran didn’t laugh or smile. Instead, Kieran paused, kind of furrowed his brows together in worry.

“You don’t really think like that, do ya?”

Arthur’s stomach twisted and he quietly faltered. It took him a second to shake off the comment.

“Come on, I don’t need pity from an O’Driscoll. It’s just a joke, is all.”

“Well, alright…” Kieran’s voice trailed off, and even as they both looked back to the water, he stole glances at Arthur through the corner of his eye. “…I don’t think it’s true, though. I think you’re fine company to keep.”

“You don’t know me very well, apparently.” Arthur felt a tug on his line, so he jerked the rod and did as Kieran showed him. “Or you’ve got a terrible judge of character. I kept you chained to a tree.”

“We all done things we ain’t proud of,” Kieran said. He let his own line lay to waste as he watched Arthur reel.

Arthur grunted with effort. “Who says I ain’t proud of it?”

“I like to think I know you better’n that.”

“You barely know me at all.”

Arthur tugged and reeled, and then stood up to get a better grip. Whatever was on the end of his line put up an awful fight.

Kieran’s eyes quickly looked over Arthur’s form, before they settled on his face.

“If that’s what you think, then I…” Kieran hesitated a second. “…I’d like to get to know you better, Mister Arthur.”

Arthur casted a quick glance to Kieran, part flustered and confused and unsure what to think, then pulled his catch out of the water with a great yank.

—30—

Arthur caught their biggest catch of the day because of course he did. As with all things, even though he put himself down, he excelled in the end.

Kieran didn’t have it in him to be jealous or angry about it, though. If anything, he was impressed, enthralled; starstruck, maybe, if it didn’t sound so cheesy to admit. When they came strolling back into camp that afternoon and Arthur handed his catch off to Pearson to be gutted and cleaned, people gawked and congratulated him and commented on how the fish had to be as big as Jack. Per usual, Kieran hung to the background, mostly forgotten and unnoticed. He didn’t mind.

He spent the whole day with Arthur, and that was more than he could have asked for. Except at one point, while a few people admired his catch, Kieran caught Arthur glancing over at him and giving him a small, crooked smile.

It made Kieran’s heart leap, his knees feel weak.

The smile only lasted a second, because quickly Arthur had to return to his scowl, lest people know that he wasn’t as rough, tough, and mean that he tried to sell himself as. Kieran didn’t mind, not really; he savoured the thought of Arthur smiling at him, then went about his work. He offered to help clean the fish for Pearson while the excitement around camp died down, and after that was done Kieran slunk back towards his own station by the horses. Back to the routine he knew.

Except he couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur. From his small smile to the power in his body when he rose up and reeled his fish in— it all stuck with Kieran, made him feel antsy and flustered like a teenager.

It also made him pause as he passed by Arthur’s tent, and note that the door of such was wide open.

Kieran didn’t try to be sneaky as he looked in. Struck with curiosity, Kieran openly peaked inside.

Arthur was sat on the cot, shirtless, as he rubbed ointment up and down his strong arms. His expression was stern and set. It twisted a little here and there as he rubbed himself down, no doubt dealing with the on-set sunburn from the afternoon. He applied more ointment to his hand, then reached behind himself to get at his shoulders.

Arthur didn’t look up, but his voice rang out, deep and commanding, “Kieran Duffy, quit that starin’. What d’you need?”

Kieran jolted and was suddenly overcame with the desire to run. He felt shame swell in his chest, like he was a peeping tom that had been caught in the act.

“I— I don’t need nothin’,” Kieran replied. He shifted towards the open front of Arthur’s tent. “How come you keep thinkin’ I do…?”

“Remember what we talked about? With you wastin’ my time?” Arthur twisted his body to try and reach his back with the ointment, but seemingly he had little success.

Flustered, Kieran looked at the ground.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. His eyes trailed back up to Arthur, quickly scanning over his heavy-set and half-naked body.

Watching Arthur struggle to apply his ointment was comparable to watching a seal try to wriggle back into the sea. It was like a disaster you couldn’t look away from.

After a moment of Arthur pretending that he didn’t notice Kieran was still there, and that he wasn’t getting embarrassed, Kieran spoke up.

“I could help you with that, mister Arthur.” The words felt heavy and laden with unspoken thoughts. Kieran swallowed, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Or I could… Grab one of the girls to help ya…”

Arthur gave up trying to rub himself down and motioned his hand with a scoff. He didn’t look Kieran in the eye.

“Just get in here. Close the door behind you.”

Kieran didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t want to see who might be watching them, so Kieran ducked inside and tied the tent door shut with his eyes set forward. It was warm and a little stuffy in the tent, as the remainder of the hot afternoon sun burned off, but it was shady, at least.

Arthur twisted himself around, to put his back to Kieran, and held out the tub of ointment. As Kieran slid down onto the edge of the bed, he took the tub.

“You look pretty worse for wear, mister Arthur,” Kieran commented. As he dug into the container, he eyed Arthur’s bright red and painful looking back and shoulders.

“Ain’t gotta tell me.” Arthur grunted. His voice tapered off and went silent a moment. “…Just call me Arthur. No sense in formalities.”

“Okay… You got it.”

Kieran hesitated a second, the ointment in his palm and his hand awkwardly held in front of him. It took more courage than it should have to actually lay his hand across Arthur’s back.

It was in part because of the tension he felt in his chest. Kieran felt almost lightheaded at the thought that he was getting to touch Arthur beyond a slap on the shoulder or a handshake or something like that. But it was also the uncertainty that it was Arthur Morgan he was touching— a man who, in the past, had shown he wasn’t to be trifled with.

They were both silent, deep in their own similar thoughts.

Kieran’s heart slammed. His eyes groped along Arthur’s naked back, as he tried to keep his mind clear. Similarly, Arthur did everything in his power not to think about Kieran— not the way he touched him, and how it was the gentlest anyone had treated him in a long while.

There was an undeniable stirring excitement between them, like a low rumble. Kieran slid his hands across Arthur’s broad shoulders and then down his shoulder blades, following the dip of his spine to the slight rolls at his hips. Arthur shifted, grimacing and sighing, as he gripped the pantleg of his jeans to keep himself focused.

Briefly, they parted as Kieran dug more ointment from the tin and Arthur let go of a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Sorry if I’m hurtin’ you any,” Kieran mumbled.

“You ain’t, don’t worry. Been through worse than this.”

“An’ it ain’t… Weird, or nothin’?” Kieran treaded carefully. He slid his hands over Arthur’s lower back and he thought he could melt. “It bein’ me doin’ this for ya? ‘Cause I ain’t one of the girls, or, well…”

A shiver shot down Arthur’s spine.

“I don’t mind. Wouldn’t be my first choice havin’ one of them rubbin’ me down, anyway.”

“Really?” Kieran flushed and smiled a bit. His hands slid down to Arthur’s sides. “I figured you an’ Mary-Beth, just on how she looks at ya—”

Arthur couldn’t take much more. Despite the pain in his burnt shoulders which ebbed through him, Arthur twisted around. Kieran faltered himself, voice trailing off as Arthur stared him down.

“Trust me, Duffy, I’m sure.”

All the tension and emotions that had built up inside of Arthur were catalysed by Kieran’s touch. So, against his better judgement, Arthur grabbed Kieran by the cheeks and kissed him full on the lips, hard and uncoordinated.

Kieran’s eyes shot open with shock first. Arthur’s weight leaned into his skinny body and Kieran realized then that this was real; Arthur Morgan was kissing him.

So, Kieran took it in stride. He threw his hands into Arthur’s hair, pulled him in, and kissed him just as hard.

They kind of fell together like they were meant to fit against one another. Though weary at first, quickly Kieran fell into rhythm with Arthur’s moving lips and gained his own confidence. Arthur tilted Kieran’s head back and kissed more into his mouth, earning a soft moan from the latter. Ultimately, when Arthur leaned back, Kieran fell in on top of him.

Kieran’s heart raced and the extent it all hit him a second later. He realized then that he was mostly laid down on top of Arthur. With shaking arms, Kieran planted his hands on the cot beside Arthur’s head and pulled himself up, breaking their kiss.

“Uh,” Kieran started, only to be cut off by Arthur who shook his head. He sounded a breathless, and his lips looked incredibly inviting.

“Don’t say nothin’,” he warned.

But Kieran spoke anyway, with a slow smile and curious voice.

“How… How long’ve you been waitin’ to do that?”

A strange expression crossed Arthur’s face that was equal parts confused and shocked with his own actions. It settled after a second, when his eyes focused in on Kieran again. It made the latter’s heart race.

Arthur shook his head.

“Too damn long,” he replied, and then he kissed Kieran again.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #kieran duffy #arthur/kieran #people go on abt ship names n shit but tbh i... dont know any of them #aside from like. two #my fic #sorry its gay and long??#kierthur

72 notes · View notes

mancavecloset · 5 years

Text

The Waterpark - pt. 1

It was a cloudless, mid-August day in the northeast United States. The year was 2012. I had two straight days off from work, which was rare for me, as I’d been juggling three jobs all summer to build up some savings for my first year of college. And for once, all three of my best friends from high school - Sam, Josh, and Kyle - were in town. I was eager to reunite with them and have one last hurrah before we all headed our separate ways for college.

A few weeks back when we’d realized we would all be free for the same 2-day span, we decided to go on a small road trip together. We settled on a mountainside waterpark ‘resort’ a few hours north from where we lived. Though, ‘resort’ was probably a bit too generous a term. I’d been up there for a day trip with my family a few years back, and while the waterpark was neatly built-out alongside the slope of a mountain, with tons of cool rides, pools, and places to eat, the “resort” part pretty much began and ended with a fairly ritzy lodge-style hotel (the place doubled as a ski resort in the winter). On the far south end of the forested property, some campsites and small, rentable cabins dotted the area, with a small rec hall, café, and communal bathhouse in the center.

We decided against splurging on a room in the hotel, since for one, we all were trying to save money for the fall semester. More importantly, we planned to get shit-faced drunk that night, and didn’t want to deal with noise complaints from wealthy hotel guests. Nobody was trying to get an underage drinking citation right before college began. Instead, we went with the thriftier option of renting one of the small cabins, which from the website was said to have two full size beds and a refrigerator. It also had its own grill and fire pit off of the patio so that we could bring our own food and cook. Most alluringly, the cabins seemed to be spaced far enough apart in the woods that we could do a fair amount of loud, annoying, 18-year-old things without causing too much of a disturbance.

I, being the planner of the bunch, booked the cabin and elected myself the driver. I woke up that morning and texted the boys to make sure they were getting up and around. Sam was supposed to be dropped off at my house around 8am, and then I was to pick up Kyle and Josh once we headed out, since their places were on the way.

Sam was the only one of my friends I had really seen at all that summer, but he was busy with band friends, his summertime golf course job, and his newfound passion for yoga, so I really had only seen him a few times since graduation in mid-May. Sam and I did occasionally meet up late at night to drive around, smoking weed and shooting the breeze, but other than that we never really got to see much of each other. I was glad that he was in town and that we had the chance to bond one-on one, since he was the newest of the group of friends. He had only moved to our school about three years ago, and we didn’t really become close until junior year.

Sam was charming and easy to like. He was a bit of a music nerd, and this past year was the drum major for our school’s marching band, but he got along well with everyone. From cheerleaders to football players to artsy wallflowers, everyone seemed to know and like Sam. He was very non-threatening, but carried himself with more confidence than you would expect for having just a 5′6″, 145 lb frame. He narrowly missed being crowned homecoming king, losing by single-digit votes to our school’s admittedly endearing quarterback. Especially impressive, given that he had only been going to our school for just over two years. Sam was naturally handsome, with thick, long-ish brown hair that waved down around to his ears and framed his boyish face nicely. His eyes were big and expressive, and his nose small, upturned and cherubic. He had a wide, almost feminine mouth with curvy full lips, which were contradicted by a masculine, pointed jawline. His smile was infectious, and he always knew how to charm people with jovial banter.

Sam and I shared a few classes together my sophomore year, and though we were friendly with eachother, we never really hung out outside of school. At the start of junior year, we were assigned as lab partners for AP Chemistry. That semester, we became workout buddies. My previous workout partner, Josh, and I had stopped going together, Josh instead opting to go with his jockier friends to his volleyball team’s lifting sessions. As I began to get to know my new workout buddy and chemistry partner more closely, we became fast friends. I started inviting him to hang out with Josh and Kyle, forming the aforementioned core group of four that would be heading up to the mountains together in a few hours. Josh and Kyle quickly took to him and his one-of-the-guys attitude, though when one-on-one with me, he always flashed a bit more of a contemplative and sensitive side. We could talk about deep things that I never really could with Josh and Kyle, which was very refreshing, and allowed me to be more authentic and vulnerable around Sam.

I had begun realizing I was gay right around the time my freshman year started, but I had always been terrified to tell anyone how I was feeling. I knew if I ever told anyone, it’d be Sam. He was just such a safe and understanding guy. He had a few gay friends and it was not something he seemed to be phased by, so I figured he would be the most understanding person I could tell without fear of judgment, or making it awkward.

But my inkling to confide in him faded fast a few months into senior year, when I realized I had started developing sexual feelings for him. This caught me off guard, as up until that point the only guys that struck my fancy were tall, muscular studs and pudgy beefy types who had big appetites and growing paunches. Sam was neither of those, as his short and relatively lean frame would suggest, but he did have one asset (pun intended) that really got me going: his perfectly round bubble butt. No matter what type of pants he wore, the two perky globes protruded proudly from his backside and bounced firmly as he walked. His newfound passion for yoga brought him to wear more athletic pants that often let little to the imagination. The circular slope of his cheeks jutted out below the small of his back at an almost 90 degree angle, rounding perfectly down his rump like meaty tear drops above his hamstrings. The ass truly defied gravity. Plenty of times I’d steal glimpses of it as he changed before our workouts after school, testing the back seams of his Calvin Klein boxers as he’d change from school clothes to gym clothes. But annoyingly, he was hesitant to shower at the school after our workouts and instead opted to go home in his gym clothes. I’d never seen him or his juicy ass fully unclothed. Sam’s body was boyishly smooth- just the tiniest amount of fuzz between his pecs and the faintest little happy trail underneath his cute belly button. No chest hair, no back hair. I could only image how soft and smooth his bubble ass would look in its full bare glory.

While up and showering, the thought of Sam’s gravity-defying butt started to chub up my fairly average cock. I know “fairly average” is not descriptive, but it literally is the most standard cock. If I must describe it (you horny bastards): cut, hangs just slightly to the left, no big veins, a little over 6″ on a good day, and average girth. Though, I do have a nicely pronounced ridge where the head meets the shaft that does give it a bit of character, and at the end of the day I really can’t complain about it. I’d been in swim team locker rooms for four years… there were some pretty ugly dicks out there. For a long time, it had been much smaller, and I worried it would never grow, thus I was elated to have reached the 6” threshold when the later stages of puberty finally kicked in. So, yeah. Average was good.

As the water from the showerhead cascaded over my body, I mindlessly rubbed soap suds up and down my shaft and lazily imagined that Sam was standing in front of me: facing the wall, ass jiggling towards my swelling package. Eventually, I just decided to leave it at half-mast as I cut the water, stepped out, and toweled off, inspecting my body in the mirror as I did.

I was pretty proud at how I’d managed to stay in decent shape despite my hectic schedule this summer. My primary job was as a lifeguard at the local country club. On rainy days when nobody showed up to the pool, I’d do crunches, push ups, dips, and body squats under the roof of the pavilion, since I wasn’t getting regular workouts in like I did during school. Being a swimmer had its perks, like being able to eat whatever I wanted and not gain weight, but it always made my body a little more slender than I’d prefer. My 6′ 175 lb frame was probably no more well-muscled than it had been 4 months ago, despite my rainy day efforts. My limbs were especially lanky, something Josh liked to tease me about since he had upped his workout intensity a few years back. Over the past two years he bulked up considerably, after swapping our tame thrice-weekly gym regimen with daily, 2+ hour training sessions with his volleyball friends. I styled my short, brown hair in a tight coif, and brushed my naturally straight, white teeth. I was good looking enough, but never considered myself much of a heartthrob. I inspected my lean, hairy chest in the mirror. Gotta start benching again, I thought to myself, as I tried to make my baby pecs dance.

I heard a slam of a car door and out of the bathroom window saw Sam exiting his mom’s SUV at the bottom of my driveway. He was wearing annoyingly baggy athletic shorts that went about mid-thigh, and a white t-shirt that he seemed to fill out more than I’d have expected him to. I quickly threw on my Saxx boxer briefs, some cutoff khaki pants, and a RVCA tank top, and hurried out into the living room where my mom was busy greeting him at the door.

“Micah!” Sam exclaimed as I pulled him into a hug. A real hug, not the bro kind that alot of guys half-assed. I guess most people wanted to stave off the slightest hint of anything other than pure masculinity, but Sam didn’t give a shit what people thought about his hugs. It was one of the things I both admired and envied about him. I gave him a friendly squeeze as he smiled, “I missed you buddy.”

Shit, I thought, how long has it been? “Almost a month,” I answered myself, realizing that statement was not really cohesive to what he had just said. I quickly added an “I missed you too Sam,” and smiled warmly back.

“You ready for an epic weekend?” He asked, eyebrows moving upwards as he spoke. I chuckled.

“Today is Wednesday.”

“Oh shit,” he jokingly pondered. So like him to not know what day it was. “Well whatever, it’s a weekend for us! Road trip! Did Kyle give you his most recent pretentious music playlist for you to blare in the car?”

I chuckled, “Oh yeah man, Thom York’s greatest hits only. With a brief intermission for an inspiring TED talk on how to get ‘jacked’ in no time,” I sarcastically air-quoted. Sam laughed.

“Oh Josh, bless his meathead soul,” Sam shook his head in feigned sympathy, the corners of his mouth turned up as his eyes shone playfully.

Josh always meant well, but he had a big ego, and we never let him live down last summer when he came back from a six-week volleyball camp and tried to explain to us how we too could get jacked in two months.

My mom, back from filling my car with what I assumed was her liberal interpretation of “the essentials,” fluttered around us making sure we both had everything packed. “Swimsuits?” Check. “Cash?” Check. “Socks, underwear, towels?” Check, check, and check.

“I put the coolers of food in the trunk!” She called as we carried our bags down to my trusty old Mazda.

“You mean the amount of food that could feed the Packers’ offensive line for three months? Yes, mom.” I chuckled back. She really overdid it. There were six packs of hotdogs, three lbs of ground beef, a small mountain of hot dog and hamburger buns, several bags of chips and other salty snacks, two 24-packs of chocolate chip cookies, 12 PB&J sandwiches ‘for the road’ (it was a 2-hour drive), along with a family size jar of peanut butter, a giant bag of granola, a king size carton of candy bars, a family pack of Oreos, three bags of marshmallows, two boxes of graham crackers, a Costco-sized thing of Gatorades, and eight two-liters of soda.

“Well, I don’t know! You eat alot! And your friends eat alot. Not you, Sam, but Kyle and Josh do!” I rolled my eyes. I really hadn’t been eating a lot since swim season ended, because when I wasn’t training but still eating like my leg was hollow, I’d pudge up a few lbs pretty quickly. I liked my abs, and wanted them for college, so no – I wasn’t planning on eating that much food. She had a point though. Josh and Kyle did eat alot.

Sam chirped in, “Thanks Mrs. K! Plus, it will be good to have extra in case we run into any laaaaadies.” He drew out the ladies part as he shimmied his shoulders at me. I rolled my eyes even harder.

“Okay Sam, what kind of girl would even put a dent in that much food?” I motioned to the cornucopia of coolers and grocery bags basically spilling out of my car.

“Who said it’d only be one,” he winked. I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Sam was little, but he could ham it up bigger than anyone I knew.

“Drive safe! Don’t speed,” My mom said as she kissed me on the forehead.

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Mrs. K, do you know how aggravatingly slow your son drives?” I punched his arm and he let out a fake whimper.

My mom moved to kiss Sam on the forehead, which he happily accepted, clutching his heart dramatically. “Hush you. Have fun boys!”

And with that, we climbed in the car and drove off, heading for Kyle’s house.

...

Kyle had been away for the summer at his dad’s house in Kansas City, and his annoyingly scarce use of social media made it impossible for me to keep in touch with him. A sporadic text between work shifts or a call here or there was really all we’d done this summer, and even then it was mostly to discuss the newest music we’d been listening to. Kyle and I loved curating music playlists, and our evolving tastes in music were often a bonding point for us. Kyle was my first friend in middle school, as I was new to the school district and he was in all of my seventh grade classes. We quickly bonded over our shared interest in talking shit about our teachers and rolling our eyes the “popular” girls behind their backs, and soon became close friends outside of school as well.

Kyle was really easygoing, and was always quick with a one liner or funny observation. I liked hanging out with him, because when we were doing something he was into, he took the lead. That was a welcome change for me sometimes, as usually I feel the need to plan everything out and make sure everyone is happy at all times. Kyle didn’t play sports but was always fairly active, so we would often go on bike rides around town or kayak at the nearby state park. He went to the gym a decent bit, but compared to even most serious athletes, he could mindlessly put away ridiculous swaths of food with little effect. Anytime him, Josh, and I had a sleepover in middle school and into high school, he’d almost singlehandedly clean out whoevers house’s pantry before we were even halfway through an all-nighter of video games and movies. His metabolism had to have been the hardest working one on earth, because the kid just ate non-stop. Though he was never what you would call skinny, he never was really big enough to make fun of, or even notice when he had a shirt on. He always had a small layer of chub, especially around his bellybutton and lovehandles, but he certainly wasn’t fat. And the way he ate, he should have been.

Kyle wore artsy t-shirts and hats alot, and his wayfarer glasses framed his face well. He had light, dusty brown hair that wisped down his forehead and framed a very midwestern, salt-of-the-earth set of cheekbones and jawline. His thin lips and broad chin sat below a symmetrical, average-sized nose and intelligent blue eyes. He was understatedly handsome, in the way you would associate with the lead character in an indie move. At the end of high school, his 5′11, 200 lb frame was stockier than it’d ever been for sure, but sturdy and strong too as he started to take the gym more seriously. Growing up, I always relished in seeing his few chub rolls and slight love handles when he would remove his shirt, but those were rare times. He was really only shirtless at the pool, or when we gamed late at night at Josh’s house in his cramped and stuffy basement. It was enough flab to pique my fancy, but never enough to make me see him in too much of a sexual light. He was always, in my mind, squarely my friend. Admittedly, I did sometimes wonder how he’d look if his metabolism ever called it quits and the pounds poured onto that sturdy, rugby-player frame.

I didn’t have to wonder long. As Sam and I pulled into Kyle’s townhome complex, I saw him bound down his front steps in some tight forest green khaki shorts and an even tighter Obey tee. Kyle didn’t wear tight clothes normally, so it took me a few seconds to even comprehend that it was him.

“Man, I’ve always heard Kansas City barbecue is good, but I guess there’s the proof,” Sam said in awe, chuckling dryly as I pulled my car into the parking spot at the front of Kyle’s place.

“Hush,” I almost whispered, not being able to say much else. I was dumbfounded at the change heading down the steps in front of me. Kyle was big. Yes, it seemed like he had put on a bit more upper body muscle, but that was the least noticeable part of his transformation. His thick, fleshy thighs filled out his shorts completely, sending them in slow swaying jiggles as they moved, his meaty ass pushing the waistband of his shorts down to reveal his plaid boxers. Thick arms filled out the sleeves of his tee, his sizable muscles covered in a generous layer of soft flesh as he carried the duffel with his left arm. Where his arms met his torso, the beginnings of moobs strained against the fabric of his shirt, bridled but still visible as they bounced in cadence. The most impressive of all was his stomach, which billowed out and down from well beyond his moobs. The lower you looked, the bigger the belly swelled, and the bottom of the jiggly gut flashed from under his shirt with each step down the stairs. Kyle nodded his head upwards with a smile to acknowledge us, his face relatively unchanged except for a slight patch of extra padding under his chin. It was abundantly clear that Kyle had finally eaten himself past his metabolism’s breaking point this summer. At first glance I estimated that he had gained at least 35 lbs in the three months he’d been gone, maybe more.

“Hey big guy!” Sam was out of the car quickly and collided with Kyle in his trademark embrace, causing Kyle to drop his duffel on the ground with an oof. Sam looked more dwarfed than usual in the shadow of the pudgier new Kyle, his torso nearly disappearing as Kyle’s large arms wrapped back hesitantly. Sam was on his tiptoes, so despite the baggy shorts, his ass cheeks pressed out proudly from the fabric like two wrestling cantaloupes. They wiggled ever so slightly as he continually adjusted the weight on his feet to his toes. Finally released from Kyle’s meaty arms, he playfully poked a finger into the side of Kyle’s gut that had just nearly swallowed him. I silently cringed, not wanting him to draw too much attention to the fact that Kyle had packed on some serious weight.

“Ha, yeah, I’ve been hitting the gym with my dad this summer - in the middle of a bulk,” he smiled, a hint of pride in his voice. He was never one to care about his body much, so it seemed like such a foreign concept for Kyle to be “bulking” for a specific purpose.

"You look like you could lift a house!” Sam said, punching Kyle on the arm. Kyle smiled sheepishly and let out a light chuckle. I was glad glad he left it at that, as the last thing my slowly engorging dick wanted was for Kyle to be self-conscious about his body this weekend.

“Good to see you man,” I ambled up to him and opted for a more reserved bro hug. Even still, just a lightly pressing against him made his stomach give way much more considerably than I’d have thought. Up close, his body seemed even flabbier than it did from the car. My cock stirred ever so slightly at the sight of his now unmistakable gut.

I zoned out a bit as I climbed into the driver seat while Kyle and Sam chatted, catching up as they stood near the car. I became entranced by Kyle’s shirt riding further up his round, flabby belly, until eventually I could make out the bottom edge of a cavernous belly button. I realized that while I had zoned out, Sam had pulled a thing of Gatorades out from my hatchback, as well as one of the grocery bags that contained the PB&Js, along with a carton of the cookies and two bags of chips. He and Kyle were both chugging a Gatorade and fishing sandwiches from the grocery bag.

I noted a considerable dip in my shock absorbers as Kyle finally plopped into the front seat, drink in one hand and sandwich in the other. His belly rested heavily on the upper part of his quads as his fat rolls strained the fabric of his shirt. I shifted in my seat to hide my growing boner as I backed out of the parking space,

“Enjoy the front seat for 3 minutes,” Sam said to Kyle. “As if Josh is going to let our short asses up there to DJ.”

He wasn’t wrong. Josh was notorious for playing the “I’m tall” card and claiming the front seat, but Kyle relished the opportunity to play his newest playlist through the aux cord on the way to Josh’s house as we talked about what he was doing up in Kansas City.

“Mostly I just went to the gym in the morning with my dad and then explored the city. I tried all the barbecue I could,” Kyle said. “It was awesome.” I could feel Sam’s knowing smirk from the seat behind me. “So glad my dad moved there, it is way nicer hanging out there than starving out in California with his fitness-freak ex. But damn if it isn’t hot as hell in the summer. Thank God for air conditioning and Call of Duty...”

I immediately imagined the daily ritual Kyle employed during his time in Kansas City. Wake up, eat his typical four or five bowls of cereal and a muffin or two, go to the gym, venture out for barbecue, get home, peel off shirt (maybe even his pants, I thought, penis hardening even more at the mental visual) and snack non-stop while playing video games and downing sugary drinks. I thought about what I’d give to be a fly on the wall, watching day by day as Kyle grew stronger and fatter, smooth moobs and belly jiggling away as he mashed controller buttons and shoved processed food in his mouth.

I felt my cock start to stiffen impossibly more hard as I drove, as I stole glances at his smooth, jiggling stomach, which was now peeking out from below his t-shirt. He guzzled his Gatorade and munched away on his PB&J, and they were both gone before I had even gotten to the end of his street. I was kind of freaking out - I’d never been this aroused by Kyle, but weight gain was a huge turn-on for me, and it looked great on him. I could hear him conversing with Sam in the background of my lustful thoughts, and I started to feel guilty for tuning him out again as we were trying to catch up. I shifted in my seat again to try and covertly hide my now-raging boner as I snapped out of it just in time.

“Yo Micah, have you heard of ‘Young the Giant?’”

“Actually I have! But I haven’t gotten around to listening to them yet!” I enthused, shaking the lust off for the second time today. Kyle cranked up the volume as the sounds of alt-rock filled the car, and we turned on to Josh’s street.

...

There was weird history between Josh and I. He and Kyle were elementary school best friends, and I was quickly a welcome addition to slumber parties and hangouts once I’d made friends with Kyle in seventh grade. Soon, Josh and I had bonded over our love for sports, our tv-show preferences, and our shared interest in talking about sex. He was always taller than most of our classmates, with dark buzzed hair, a killer jawline, and plush, masculine lips. He had a ruggedly handsome face, yet his features were mostly soft. His eyes were intense and full of emotion; He could make you feel on top of the world or totally disarmed with just a glance. As puberty did wonders for him and stalled for me freshman year, a mix of jealousy and attraction for him washed over and confused me.

Thus, he was a large part of my sexual awakening that year. He dated my childhood best friend, Paisley, from the beginning of freshman year through a decent chunk of sophomore year. Because I was close friends with both of them, I got to hear details from both sides: when they’d had their first kiss, first make-out, second base, and so on. What really piqued my interest was when they started messing around together. I got to hear Josh talk about how great a hand-job felt, and Paisley talk about how long and thick Josh’s dick was.

From then on, I was obsessed with his dick and finding out just how big it really was, even convincing her to measure it the next time she serviced him. I pretended that I didn’t believe that it was really ‘all that big’. So one day, she actually measured. Over 7″ she said, and she couldn’t fit it in her mouth without scraping her teeth on it. Unfathomable to freshman year me, as at that point I was only packing 4″ and I knew that anyone could fit mine in their mouth with ease. I became more and more enamored with the thought of it, as a side effect really, because I eventually realized that I was head over heels in love with Josh.

I constantly tried to see it in person freshman year. At the gym when we’d work out, I’d say things like “we smell, lets shower before we go home.” When I slept over, he would shower and I’d pretend to be asleep so that he would change in the room without worrying about me seeing him, and I could steal a few quick glances at it. Eventually he started to pick up on the attention I gave him, and began reciprocating. When it was just the two of us at sleepovers, he would have me lay on his lap while we played video games. In front of Paisley, he would tease her by having me sit on his lap or big spooning me on the couch. Eventually, it just became a ritual to sleep in the same bed, cuddling and sharing warmth. I loved being held by someone taller and stronger than me. I loved his smell. I loved feeling the rise and fall of his breath. And I wanted more.

Paisley and I had kissed in the school play in eighth grade, and one day late freshman year, she teased Josh that I was the better kisser. This drove him mad enough to kinda-joke, kinda-argue with me about who really was the best kisser, which culminated one night at a sleepover. We thought Kyle was asleep by then, so I felt a little ballsy and said “well I guess there’s only one way to find out.” We leaned closer together, and Josh’s hand grabbed the back of my head and started to bring our faces nearer. I felt the warm air of his breath as our lips began to close the distance and our faces got mere inches apart. I remember his eyes looked at me in a way that caught me by surprise. He looked at me as if he wanted me, and I was sure he knew as I locked eyes with him, that I wanted him too.

A groggy Kyle, without even looking up, mumbled “If you guys kiss I’m leaving.” That was enough to break the tension of the moment. We all laughed it off, but deep down it felt like a blown opportunity, and I then longed for that kiss that never came.

Sophomore year I did get my other wish. He and Paisley broke up, and word spread around the school that he had an especially large member. He made the varsity volleyball team, impressive for a sophomore, and started going to the gym with his volleyball friends more often. We still worked out together when I went, but he was going twice as much as I was due to my 2-a-day swim practices prohibiting when I actually had the time. The rumors, his varsity status, and his swiftly muscling physique swelled his head quite a bit, and at large sleepovers which we now referred to as “parties”, he always made things a bit rowdy. He would joke in front of the group by randomly threading his flaccid dick through the hole in his flannel pajama pants, waiting for someone to notice it. When it finally got noticed, the room would explode in laughter. I remember the first time I saw it. He popped it out while standing up after winning a match of Fifa, and swung it like an elephant trunk by shaking his hips. This caused an eruption of laughter from the mix of volleyball guys and other friends at the party. I quietly left for the bathroom to rub one out. His dick was as big soft as mine was hard.

Soon Josh and I had left the cuddling sessions behind, and our friendship went back to a more “normal” one. We still had fun together, talked sports and girls and movies. I even got to see his dick a few more times when we would swim together at the high school pool. I was teaching him the more advanced strokes that he wanted to learn for his rotc training. But it was always soft, and he never kept it out longer than he had to.

All this to say, I was pretty much past my puppy dog love for Josh by the time we graduated. He was still undeniably attractive, and he seemed to perpetually put on muscle, so he still occasionally entered my lustful thoughts as I’d lay in my bed at night jacking off. By graduation he was probably 6′3″, and about 215 lbs. His handsome face had become more chiseled and strapping as he got older. He had left straight from graduation to vacation with his family at the shore, and then headed off to a two-month volleyball camp at his future alma mater upstate. So like Kyle, I hadn’t seen him since May.

Let’s just say that Kyle wasn’t the only one who transformed over the summer.

“Oh what the fuck, that’s not even fair,” Sam complained from the back seat as we pulled into Josh’s driveway and saw him waving at my Mazda from his front porch.

As I put the car in park, Josh locked his parent’s front door and swung his hefty duffel over his shoulder with ease. He looked like he was an inch or two taller, but more notably was the sheer amount of muscle that he’d impossibly packed on in the past 3 months. His shoulders were the size of melons, his biceps looked like they were seconds away from popping, and his pecs almost needed a bra as they bounced in his flattering grey tank top. He’d cut the undersides of the tank’s armholes to let his riplping lats breathe out from the sides. His narrow waist connected to a well-muscled ass, which was hugged attractively by a tight pair of athletic shorts. A ridiculously big crotch bulge bounced between his thighs as the tight athletic shorts hugged the upper part of his quadriceps, revealing tree trunk legs and bulging calves. Sam’s jealousy wasn’t misplaced – Josh looked cut out of a magazine.

Josh’s size 14 sandals clapped against the ground as he bellowed, “who’s ready to get wehhh-ehhht!” He was in a chipper mood. I liked him most when he was like this, jovial and positive. His eyes were beaming; it was a dorky type of joy he rarely let people see anymore. I couldn’t help but smile as I climbed out of the Mazda. He pulled me tightly into a crushing hug, muscles rippling, lifting me off the ground as I mashed against his boulders-for-pecs. It was a genuine hug, but I almost felt he did it to force me to take notice of just how strong he had gotten.

“How are you, Lank?” Fuck, I hated his favorite pet-name for me, but it felt kind of good to feel like he was kidding around with me in such a happy way. There was sometimes an intangible distance to our friendship now, as if we both feel guilty about what transpired when we were younger. I was glad to avoid those eggshells for the time being.

“I’d be alot better if I could breathe, you giant ape,” I shot back, punishing him for using the lank word. A stupid grin plastered itself on my face. He smiled back, setting me back down to earth as our eyes locked, and I could see the happy glow falter in his irises for a millisecond. “I missed you man,” I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it.

“I missed you too, M,” he spoke quietly, in a gentle, blissful voice that he really only used to use in early high school when it was just the two of us together. It caught me off guard for a half-second before I was able to smile and clasp my hand on his shoulder. Maybe this weekend will be a fresh start for us, I thought to myself.

Sam waited patiently for his turn to maul Josh in his trademark little-guy-bear-hug, and looked his muscular body up and down as I stepped back from the encounter.

“Hulk hug?” He joked, trying his best to wrap his arms around Josh’s broad, solid thorax.

Josh lifted him up and slung him over his shoulder with a single motion, which put Sam’s shorts-straining ass on full display. Josh swung him from side to side, his ass cheeks swaying in the air like two bouncy orbs. Sam’s shirt rode up during the antics, and I took notice for the first time a small but definite pudginess to the south of Sam’s belly button. I put two and two together, realizing Sam had probably put on a few lbs since the beginning of the summer, and I filed it away as something to watch for later that day. Josh finally released Sam from his shoulder by placing his hand directly onto the jostling globes of Sam’s bubble butt, and guided him off of his body and back to the ground.

Sam slapped his back. “You look great man,” he said in a more serious tone, giving Josh the genuine compliment I’m sure he wanted to hear.

“Thanks man,” Josh said, much more humbly than I’d have thought he would respond. “They really put me through hell up there.”

Just then, I realized Kyle had still not exited the car, and I spun around to see what the hold up has been. I noticed him polishing off a second PB&J, as he reached for a third, tearing it from its Ziploc. Finally, he shoved the door open with his free hand. He took a bite of sandwich as he hoisted himself out of the car, and the shock absorbers breathed a sigh of relief as he stood. His shirt, earlier able to fully cover his gut when standing, now gave way to expose two inches of soft belly flesh on the verge of overhang. The shirt must’ve stopped doing its job somewhere between Kyle’s house, and the two gatorades + two and a half PB&Js that he had inhaled on the way here.

I noticed Josh notice Kyle from across the driveway, and saw the slightest evil smile flash across his face before a much tamer expression replaced it. Teasingly, he called out across the driveway, “Perma-bulk!”

I got the vibe that Josh was already aware that Kyle had been trying his hand at putting on muscle this summer. Though I’m sure when he had explained to Kyle that bulking takes a concerted effort to eat more food, he underestimated the willpower to eat that Kyle was capable of.

Kyle was slightly indignant but smiled back. “This is nothing! My dad puts on at least 30 lbs before he cuts!”

I cocked an eyebrow and glanced over at Sam. In a look we both silently share our questioning of Kyle’s weight logic. He’s had to have gained 30 lbs at least during the summer, I telepathically communicated to Sam with a look. He seemed to have correctly translated my facial expression as he mirrors it back my way.

Again, though, instead of taking it further or piling on, Josh retreated as Sam did earlier. “You look solid, man. I bet you could take me in an arm wrestle.”

Kyle took the last bite of his second sandwich and pulled Josh into a tight bro-hug. With a mouthful of PB&J, he responded, “Bet.”

I felt my cock dance in my pants as I watched my two fantasies hugging in the driveway- a tall, hung, muscular stud and a soft, fattening hunk. Kyle’s soft, doughy moobs pressed into Josh’s hard, boulder-like pecs. His big jiggly stomach smashed into the side of Josh’s solid, washboard set of abs. Kyle’s belly rested so low and poked out so far that as they hugged, it noticeably shifted Josh’s bulge. I could make out the outline of Josh’s egg-sized balls, displaced by Kyle’s nearly-overhanging gut. I adjusted my cock in my pants to hide my growing erection, and noticed Sam turning towards the car. “Lets go get wet, bitches.”

I scurried back to the drivers seat, mainly to watch both Josh and Kyle jiggling as they walked towards the car. Josh’s pecs and bulge bounced as he walked towards the passenger side, while Kyle’s gut and widening love handles jiggled as he looped around the car. He grabbed another Gatorade and a bag of chips from the backseat. Josh had nestled his firm muscled ass into shotgun, and his thick, tree-trunk thighs pushed his oversized bulge into view. He looked up towards my face, and I quickly diverted my gaze to the back, catching Kyle’s belly shake as he tore open the chip bag, sending the scent of barbecue flavor emanating through the car.

“You guys have everything you need back there?” I asked as an excuse to watch Kyle shoveling a fistful of chips into his mouth.

“Myupf,” he says back through a mouthful of chips.

I turned my head back toward the dash and nearly bump my face into Josh’s, who was careening his head around to look at Kyle. “Give me some, I’m staving!” He demanded.

“It is 8:30 in the morning,” Sam observed from next to Kyle, incredulously. Again I shot him a quick glance as Kyle handed over the chip bag to Josh and reached into the grocery bag for a fourth PB&J.

“There’s PB&Js?!” Josh asked excitedly.

“Courtesy of Momma K,” I reply. “She packed 12 for the road, so dig in.” I noticed in the rearview Kyle’s face register that his current sandwich was one over the fair limit for each of us, so I quickly add, “I ate breakfast so I’ll probably only have one, if that.” This seemed to placate Kyle as he happily munched down on the last of sandwich number four.

“Same,” Sam echoed. “Well, actually, I’ll probably have a second.” I heard him reach down into the bag to fish out another PB&J. This surprised me, because it was before 9am and Sam had eaten breakfast and a PB&J already, and was reaching for a second one. My cock basically whimpered as it throbbed hard in my pants for the fifth time in a few hours. I imagined the extra calories going straight to Sam’s bubble butt, causing it to grow bigger and plumper. I fantasized about how much rounder, bouncier and fatter his ass would begin to look if he gained even just 10 lbs.

I smiled then, remembering what else was below the sandwiches in the grocery bag. “I think there are some Wegman’s chocolate chip cookies too.”

Josh’s hips twisted toward me as his head turned towards the back, immediately rummaging through the bag to find the carton of cookies. This gave me a wonderful side view of his athletic shorts pulled taut by powerful legs, a meaty ass, and a tremendous dick bulge. He pulled the cookies out victoriously, took three for himself, and passed them around to Kyle and Sam. By the time they got back to Josh, more than half of the 24 pack of cookies was gone. He offered the package to me as I drove, and I pulled one from the carton. One can’t hurt, I thought, glancing in my rearview to see Sam double fisting two cookies in each hand, and Kyle balancing a stack of eight cookies on his meaty thigh.

The sounds of munching and alternative music filled the car as I drove. I was stealing glances at Josh, now on his third PB&J and midway through the bag of chips, his bulging muscly body filling out the passenger seat, and his hefty bulge – could it have gotten bigger? – bouncing in between his thighs with each bump in the road. I glanced again at Kyle through my rearview, his belly looking even more tremendous and starting to grow rounder. He polished off the final cookie in his stack and reached into the carton for more, obviously forgetting that the eight he already had were more than his fair share. I noticed he had unbuttoned his shorts, and the exposed sag of belly below his belly button now escaped his shirt even when sitting down.

I caught sight of Sam, hand absentmindedly playing with the crotch of his athletic shorts, go for the final PB&J in the bag. On top of all of these wonderful visuals, the thought of his bubble butt growing in size and tearing through the seat of his underwear got me even hornier. My cock pulsed through my pants even more, the sexiness of each of my best friends becoming more apparent as we drove. I felt the beginnings of precum ooze into my boxer briefs. This was going to be a better trip than I bargained for.

…

8 notes · View notes