#brass sink tap

[pseudowho]

"...alright. Just the usual ones? Night time too...and tampons. Don't ever apologise. Alright. We'll be home soon. I love you."

The mid-morning traffic, less frantic now than an hour before, shhhaaaahed around the car. From the passenger seat, Yuuji watched Kento with a fascination about to bubble over with suppressed laughter. Kento put the phone down. Yuuji, just a boy, grinned, almost teasingly at Kento.

"Tampons, huh, Nanamin?"

Kento looked to Yuuji, flicking the windscreen wipers on to rid the screen of drifting cherry blossom. His face remained neutral, sincerely questioning. Yuuji scoffed, bold as brass, before continuing.

"Jeez Nanamin...you're such a simp."

Kento's eyes narrowed, searching for meaning. He repeated, slowly, the word unfamiliar upon his tongue.

"...'simp'."

"You'd do anything for her, right?"

"Is that...a bad thing? You say the word, not that I know it, as if it's derogatory."

Kento tapped on his phone, and Yuuji backpedaled, his grin sliding away to a wide-mouthed grimace as he waved his hands in a fit of no, wait, I can explain. Kento appeared to be reading, his face growing dour. He huffed, one short puff of air from his nose. He tucked his phone away.

"Ah-- Nanamin-- I didn't mean--"

"A simp, hmm? Alright. Come along, Yuuji."

They drove. Yuuji bit his nails as he stared out into traffic. Kento was silent, calm.

And Kento took Yuuji on errands.

At the Conbini, Kento collected pads, tampons, snacks and pain relief.

"Do you have any of the night time ones?" Kento asked the assistant, holding up a pack of pads, unashamed, as Yuuji tried to sink into the floor, just a boy. As the assistant walked away, Kento asked Yuuji, calmly.

"Would a simp do this?"

"Ah...jeez, I...yeah, I guess so."

"Alright."

In the Florist's, Kento was meticulous with the sweating assistant, identifying only the finest blooms of your favourite wildflowers. He commandeered, insisting they were wrapped in brown paper, stamped with wax and tied with ribbons. Tapping his fingers on the counter, bored, Yuuji's reverie was once more broken by Kento's smooth timbre.

"Would a simp do this?"

Kento walked up beside Yuuji, with a spray of sweet botanicals in his arms. Yuuji squirmed beneath the schooling.

"Yeah, I...I reckon so. Probably."

"Splendid. Come along."

At the launderette, collecting your repaired jacket; "Would a simp do this?"

At your parents' house, dropping off a birthday card; "Would a simp do this?"

At Jujutsu High, filing some late paperwork for you; "Would a simp do this?"

In the car, calling Ijichi to cancel drinks the following night; "Would a simp do this?"

By the time Kento had completed his errands, Yuuji sulked, just a boy, begrudging how overboard Kento had gone, all because Yuuji had used slang that meant nothing apart from something Kento couldn't understand.

Yuuji stood back in the hallway, shucking his shoes off, as Kento walked ahead.

Yuuji's eyes darted up, to you, shocked to see that you were...a mess. You could hide the tears all you liked, but your puffy lips and salt-sore cheeks told of a whole day of crying. The dinner Yuuji usually enjoyed wasn't made. The fragrant candles that Yuuji usually enjoyed weren't lit. The curtains were closed.

Yuuji felt vicariously guilty for something he had not done, but he listened to yours and Kento's mumbled conversation.

"...sorry...so shit...haven't done anything...needed you...Yuuji must be hungry, I..."

"...shhh...done nothing wrong...Ijichi cancelled tomorrow anyway...order take-out...come here..."

Kento held you in a rustle of bags and brown-papered flowers. He did not begrudge the tear stains on his lapels. He looked at you as though your very blood ran divine, when you gave the flowers and bag of snacks a watery smile, pressing a salty kiss to Kento's cheeks before walking to the kitchen.

As Kento and Yuuji stood back, watching you swipe your tears away before beginning to fill a vase with Kento's wildflowers, Yuuji dawned upon the cusp of a bold new understanding. Kento felt it, this gentle yearning, and took Yuuji by the hand over the horizon.

Kento's voice was, slow, considered, and gut-wrenchingly sincere.

"Never deny yourself the beauty of loving someone without restraint, for the fear of vulnerability, Yuuji. Never let anyone taint the way love should guide and consume you. Because if loving wholeheartedly is weakness...you shouldn't want to be strong."

Yuuji watched the gentle golden thread of joy that Kento had woven through your sadness. He shuffled, his hands in his pockets, his peachy head tilted down as he kicked at his shoes.

"...yeah, I get you. I'll... I'll be a simp too, then. When I find the one. And...and I'll be proud of it."

Kento smiled, pressing a bag of snacks to Yuuji's chest.

"And I'll be proud of you."

[ating-bathroom]

Solid brass #bathtub #faucet in matt grey color, black or chrome or golden as you like, reach out for business now, we can have a good deal.

[silentium-symphony]

So This is... Lust (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) ya'll, i finally finished it ToT i'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finally here now! i had so much fun writing this!

i took a look at my schedule for next semester and i have *a lot* of free time, so hopefully that'll mean more time to write and, in extension, finally open up my inbox for requests!!! i've never done requests before at least on this account because i was always so busy. i'm not too sure how much time my new research position will take up (i was told it would be time-consuming, but i'm not sure how time-consuming), so i'll keep you guys updated!

as always, i hope you enjoy this ~steamy~ oneshot! and remember: if you are a minor, do not interact.

cw: afab!retainer!reader, reader wears a dress, link masturbating to the thought of you :), mentioned reader masturbation (like one line), cunnilingus, missionary, mentioned doggy, overstimulation, tried to make link a soft dom heheh, swearing, dirty talk, dumbification, fingering

wc: 6.5k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"(F/N)?" Zelda slinked her back against her chair, sinking into the worn, plush cushion that coddled her stiff vertebrae.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Please prepare the horses... We're going to take a little walk." She pinched the bridge of her scrunched nose. "If I am to look at these documents a moment longer, I believe my head will explode."

"But Your Highness, Link should be coming any minute now. We must discuss the security details for the upcoming ball." Your usually terse expression softened at the royal's groan. "But we can go out afterwards.”

"Yes, you're right... Apologies (F/N), I completely forgot about that meeting. Will anyone else be coming?"

"No, Your Highness. It will just be—“

Knock knock knock!

"Ah! Perfect timing." Zelda tapped a thick, disheveled pile of documents against her desk into a more manageable bundle. "Come in!"

The brass doorknob shifted slightly and clicked open, revealing Hyrule's most renowned knight. A pair of cobalt eyes went from you to the Princess and he bowed wordlessly.

"Link. Thank you for—“

A loud bang, then wood stuttering against stone, quickly followed by the airy splish of dozens of documents fluttering to the ground. You dove across the desk, grasping a few documents you were lucky enough to catch and watched the rest pool by the table’s legs.

"Oh Hylia—!”

"Your Highness! Are you okay?!" Your hand flew to the staggering princess, documents be damned; Link sprung to Zelda’s side and placed a restful hand on her shoulder.

"I-I'm fine, really...” She muttered, rubbing her sore knee. “Goodness, I'm so sorry for the mess. Let me clea—“

"Absolutely not, Your Highness. I’ll take care of it." You cut, already circling the desk and shuffling the disarrayed documents on the floor. Link joined you on his hands and knees, carefully scooping up piles of paper onto the desk and into your arms. A jolt of electricity shot through your heart as you felt worn leather chafe against your skin. You turned away, 'looking' for other scattered documents, and coughed out,

"Thank you Link, but please don't worry. I can take care of this."

A determined look gripped his features as he stared and shook his head. Without uttering another word, Link once again began gathering the parchment. A soft sigh left you, and an even softer smile graced your lips.

"Can you hand me that document, please? I think these go together... Oh, and... these have matching headings, so I'll take that and you can have those..."

Even in her mildly frazzled state, Zelda wasn't blind to the faint red that whispered the surface of your cheeks when Link got a little too close, or the shifty flash of Link's blues whenever your fingers 'accidentally' grazed his. As much as she wanted to jump in and rectify the mess she made, maybe... She should sit this one out. Enjoy the show. Or better yet... Hm... When was the last time you and Link had a day off?

In no time at all, all correspondence was off the floor and either in your arms or on the desk. Your fingers flew this way and that, reorienting texts right side up and shuffling this paper behind that, and this one goes over here, and wait… Shouldn’t these be bundled together?

"Once again, I apologize for the mess I had created. Thank you both for cleaning it up."

"No worries at all, Your Highness." You finally looked up and cast a warm smile at the knight. "Thank you for helping me, Link."

A bashful grin cracked the stoic man's lips and he awkwardly rocked his feet. All that extra motion certainly drew attention away from the fists tightening behind his back. Zelda cleared her throat and eyed some documents pertinent to the upcoming social.

"Right. Now that that's all settled, let's get down to business."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

"A-Ah... Mmph..."

The knight threw his head back, feeling his temples drum in time with his cock. Sweat dewed his ivory skin and his Adam's apple bobbed a name he dared not utter, lest someone discover the target of his hidden fantasies. A scene from earlier that day has been playing in his head on repeat, fueling the sensual fantasies that has drawn him awake past the midnight hours; his fist thumped faster against his thighs and his back careened toward the ceiling.

You—gorgeous, gorgeous you—bent over a desk grasping desperately for a document fluttering to the ground.

With slight modifications, of course. The hem of your dress pooled about your hips—hips he oh so desperately wished to sink his teeth and fingers in—your hands tied prettily against your lower back as he thrusts into you again and again, his fingers tenderly coaxing your feathery soft hair... But the best part? You looking back at him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, and his name spilling out of those plump lips he yearned to taste.

He could hardly remember what the Princess had told him. Something about the security details for the upcoming ball, but Hylia only knew if he retained anything past that. All he could think of was you, you, you—the Princess's loyal, respectful, diligent, beautiful retainer. How he craved your presence! If only you knew how much he liked you! Oh, the things he dreamt of doing to you.

"Ngh... (F-F/N)...!"

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The garbled talk of Hyrule's high society bounced off the castle walls and the guards' helms, which flickered bright flashes of torchlight. A pair of cobalt eyes flitted about every corner of the room, filing away mental notes of the ball's invitees and the stream of people that flowed in and out of the ballroom. Link scooted along the wall—weaving around young, giggly wallflowers and decrepit, lonely barons in search of another wife—always making sure you the Princess stood in his line of sight.

After sending you away to drop off another gift at the crowded gift table, Zelda turned around with the polite smile most nobility had during these sizeable socials. She caught eyes with her loyal guard and slowly made her way over, skillfully avoiding conversation with the withdrawn, mysterious grace of a royal. Eventually, she found herself at the side of one of her most trusted confidantes.

"Link, I believe the next song shall be a waltz. Do you still remember how to dance?"

Link nodded dutifully, sensing an incoming question. Is Her Highness hinting that she wants him to ask her to dance...?

"If so, why not dance with (F/N)?"

Link, who happened to be swallowing his spit as she said that, hacked it all back up and proceeded to draw the most distressing and deprecating attention an introvert could draw to themselves in a single night. He turned to her, lovestruck panic evident in his eyes, and shook his head like a wet, storm-logged puppy.

"Now now, don't be shy! I'm sure she'd be happy to share a dance with you."

"Your Highness! There you are." A bright voice from yonder drew closer to the duo, and Link could feel himself shrinking. "I've been looking all over for you. Why are you all the way over here? Have you grown tired?"

The torpid, repetitive chords that most patrons had droned out this part in the night livened into a steady waltz. Link could feel Zelda's smirk and knowing gaze burn into the side of his head.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, but I assure you I'm fine. I just wanted to have a little chat with Link. But (F/N), you should dance! Enjoy yourself! You've been working far too hard these days."

"Thank you for your concern, but I would feel better if I were attending you."

"(F/N), don't be like that." She squeezed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I'm saying this more as a friend than your queen. Please go have some fun. Maybe you'll meet your Prince Charming, just as you've always hoped you would.“

"Zel—Princess!" Your heart dropped to your stomach and a pair of hands immediately flew to cage Zelda's arms. "T-That was so long ago—I mean, I was only a little girl and—!"

A genuine, lighthearted laugh alighted your friend and she gazed at you with a sisterly fondness.

"Just teasing. It's always so fun to do so."

"Your Highness..." Your head hung as low as your spirits as you felt Zelda's frame shake from a stifled laughter.

"Your Highness?" All eyes turned to the clear, bold voice a few bodies past you. "Can I have this dance?"

The young suitor flashed a kind, dimpled beam as he held out a gloved hand to Zelda. The royal returned her own practiced, elegant smile and took his hand.

"I would be honored." She turned to you. "My apologies. I'm afraid I must go. But do have fun tonight, okay? You deserve it."

And with a swish of her gown, she was escorted through a parted sea of people to the middle of the dance floor. She locked eyes with you for a second, and cast a knowing tilt towards him.

You two were locked in a domain of stiff silence, both looking helplessly towards your mutual friend who had seemingly forgotten all about you. Link's timbers began shivering like no other as he replayed a thousand ways this night could go.

Freeing himself of his chains of self-doubt, he pushed himself off the wall and slowly made the short way over. Your heart had practically stopped pulsing while Link's was pounding away all breath from his lungs. He felt a sickly pallor drain his cheeks; he silently thanked the gods for the bright lights that filled his cheeks with artificial ruddiness.

"(F/N)...?" You turned, your thundering heart almost drowning out the Hero's squeak. "Can I have this dance?"

Pure, unadulterated sincerity crinkled Link's eyes, which held a certain life-like sheen typically absent for the soldier; for the briefest of moments, you felt that you were allowed a glimpse into his heart. Fighting the urge to scream 'til your lungs gave out was the understatement of the century as you dipped your fingers into his palm.

"I would be honored."

The small, anxious smile widened into one of pure delight as he led you further into the ballroom. He pulled you into the fringes of the waltzing couples and placed a steady palm close to your shoulder blades, inadvertently pressing you closer to him. Clothed fingers weaved through your own and pulled your hand away from your trembling frame. You could only hope he couldn't feel the aggressive thumping in your chest.

"Are you okay?" His voice rumbled in your ear.

"Y-Yes!" You blurted suddenly, your nerves not quite heeding your volume. You were practically melting from the stinging, judgemental stares thrown your way and you swallowed thickly.

"Yes, I'm okay. Thank you for your concern."

"We don't have to do this for very long if you don't want to." He muttered, his hand slipping to your waist as he dipped you. Your delusions led you to believe that his eyes lingered on your neck a moment too long... But surely your eyes were just playing tricks on you.

"It's just... Well, I'm rather nervous, so..."

You slowly turned your gaze upwards, peering through quivering lashes and fully expecting the knight's visage to be contorted in mockery; you were pleasantly surprised that his eyes held nothing but warmth for you.

"I understand." He effortlessly guided your next movements into a spin. "How can I help you feel more at ease?"

"Mm..." You unknowingly gave his shoulder a light squeeze, causing Link's heart to flutter. "Would it be all right if we talked some more?"

"Of course. What would you like to talk about?"

"Well... I've actually always wondered this, but have you always wanted to become a knight?"

"Hm... That's a good question." He chuckled, his hot breath tickling your cheekbones. "I wasn't particularly against it. As you may know, I come from a long line of knights, so it was only expected that I became a knight too."

"How did it feel when you found out you bore the legendary Triorce?"

"... Surreal." He concluded, a glimpse of wistfulness in his eyes. "My life hasn't been the same since."

"Oh... I'm sorry if this brought up difficult memories."

"Not at all!" His tired eyes snapped to life. "Yes, training became much harder after that and the pressures of the throne are very much there… But it wasn't all that bad. After all, I got to meet you—“

At the utterance of the last syllable, Link's face twisted into horror; not even the bright, warm lights could disguise his drained cheeks. You felt your entire face engulf in flames and screamed your heart out smiled shyly.

"That's... really sweet of you, Link. Thank you."

He cleared his throat and desperately wished for a Link-size hole to swallow him up this very second. Every gear in his brain cogged away as he chose his next words carefully.

"You and the Princess seem close."

"Yes..." A bittersweet comfort gripped your heart as deeply cherished memories flashed through your mind. "We were girls together."

"How long have you been her retainer?"

"Since we were very young. Like you, I come from a long line of individuals who serve the royal family and, well... Zel and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember."

"'Zel?'"

"O-Oh!" Panicked side glances jittered here and there; you let out a deep breath, thankful that no one heard your insubordinate casualness. "Please forgive me. That was a nickname I used to call Her Highness."

"No worries. I just... thought it was very cute."

The both of you were completely oblivious to the crimson that coated the other's cheeks—how could you be when your own face ran hotter than the lava at Death Mountain? You were startled out of your mushy haze with a bright, chime-like laugh.

"Her Highness was right. You are fun to tease."

Before you could retort some type of response, the ensemble played its final note. While all the other couples were separating and bowing to their dance partners, Link was quite slow to release you, and you were even slower to leave his arms.

"Thank you for the dance, Link. You are a wonderful dance partner."

"Likewise," he straightened his back, "I hope we can do this again."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Gods, you wanted to go to bed.

Your nice, warm sheets were all you could think of as you clicked the door to the Princess's bed chambers shut. You threw your arms above your head and groaned out the tension that had carved its way into your joints.

Your feet automatically led you down the long winding corridor, past the soldier's quarters and towards your—

"Mm... F-Fuck..."

Wait a damn minute.

Your feet ceased their dragging as a voice that sounded eerily similar to a certain Hero echoed nearby. You gripped your chest, as if that would quiet the thundering pounding in your ears.

… Silence...

Were you losing your mind?

Chalking whatever... that was to your perverted imagination, you once again began your trek towards—

"Ah...!"

—Link's room wait since when did you start moving in this direction oh gods oh Hylia

"Mmph! Fuck- yes- hah..."

The noises were undoubtedly coming from his room, your ear pressed against the door confirmed that. Your hand flew to your mouth as your knees locked in place, your ears feasting listening to the sinful whimpers and pants of Hyrule's sword and shield. You were thrown into the deep end, drowning in a cacophony of your own thoughts.

What the fuck holy shit what the fuck holy shit what the fu Was he alone? Wait, but the bed squeaked just now, so does that mean he’s with someone? And if so, who? But if he's alone... Who could he be thinking of?

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong of you to be violating his privacy like this. You would be mortified to learn that someone was listening to you pleasuring yourself—everyone's entitled to have these moments to themselves. So why couldn't you just... walk away?

"Mm... Oh, (F/N)..."

... Huh?

“I need you I need you I need you…” He slurred with sloppy breaths. Shame swelled within you as a wet heat pooled between your legs and wickedly delightful thoughts ruminated in your mind. Your chest constricted, sensing the crossroads that would undoubtedly decide your future relations with your long-time crush; you toyed with either option as carefully as your lust-hazed brain would allow. With your heart mere moments away from seizing, you carefully lifted your hand, suddenly aware of every muscle needed to execute the simple motion.

Four docile raps lisped the wood. You froze, the veil of sensuality finally lifted from your senses as the gravity of the situation bucketed you like cold water. Oh gods, what have you done? Your heart raged against your ribcage and beckoned you to flee! Run! There’s still time, go!

A quiet click.

A pair of blown-out pupils amidst a thin strip of blue peered out at you.

“L-… Link?”

“… Yes?”

You listlessly felt yourself move forward; sex-clung darkness draped over your bodies as you pushed yourself through the door, slamming your lips against his in heated desperation. Link returned your fervor with a fluidity that made you wonder if he’s fantasized about this as much as you have. You cocked your heel against the door, shutting out all unwanted light to carry out your feral desires in the dark.

He pressed you against the thin slab of wood, rough hands claiming residence in the plush of your hips while his lips conveyed a primal urge to claim. You didn’t hesitate in welcoming his tongue, feeling the hot muscle drag against your bottom lip and wrapping itself with your own in a sloppy but passionate dance. Thick golden locks tangled your fingers and you pulled him closer, closer, closer until his muscly frame was melded into yours.

He departed from your lips and quickly found refuge in the crook of your neck. His hot breaths dragged across your flushed skin, sending an anticipatory chill down your spine as he speckled your softness with nips and butterfly kisses. Large hands explored what they could, never settling in one place for long while his lips began imprinting deeply-colored marks by the junction of your neck and shoulder. His grabs and kneads were desperate, as if he fully believed that at any moment you would depart from him forever, leaving him with a ghost of what could have been.

Your chest heaved into his. Colors you’ve never seen before danced before your eyelids in a pandemoniac parade while hellish flames seared through your core. Link lapped and kissed and teethed your neck, relishing in the bit-back mewls that occasionally leaked out of you. The moonbeams that had passed through the clouds applauded the red desire he worked into your skin and Link felt a surge of boldness rush through him. After speckling your rising and dipping chest with his spit, he dropped lower and lower.

The cold absence of his hands didn’t go unnoticed by you, and before you could process what was going on, the unfamiliar cold that whipped your exposed legs pinched a yelp out of you. In one smooth motion, the Hero of Hyrule was under your dress and kissing the pillowy softness of your thighs—as he always dreamt of doing—silently worshipping Hylia’s masterpiece.

And oh, how he worshipped you. How each fiery, wet kiss was a prayer of gratitude to the goddess for creating someone like you. How every bite, every mark he left you with was all in the name of you, his true deity, and your moans that served as his gospel. By the end of the night, he was determined to have you chanting his name like some mantra that would bind you two past a one night stand.

Your heart roared in your ears, anticipation for where his lips would fondle next nearly causing the overworked muscle to implode; your legs nearly gave out when you felt his teeth graze the edge of your drenched panties. The lace dragged and coiled into a thin strip as Link buried his face into your sex, relishing the ambrosia he was to partake in. Before that though, his lips traced a languid line to your hips, which was promptly suckled and bitten with the gentleness of a doe. His fingers hooked themselves under your panties and, with painfully slow movements, dragged the nuisance down your hips, your thighs, and finally, the ground. With all obstacles out of the way, Link turned his attention back to your throbbing lips, licking his own with the hunger of a starved animal.

He wasted no time in burrowing himself into you, tonguing and lapping the juices that have dared to slip out and refusing to waste a single drop. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he completely lost himself in you, rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb while drinking up whatever you could give him with his mouth. You bunched the noisome fabric about your waist, desperate to sink your fingers into his hair. He chuckled at your slightly buckling knees, and a wonderful idea flashed through his head.

He threw one of your legs atop his shoulder, and his heart nearly gave out from the sheer joy of seeing you spread like this. The new position allowed him deeper access into you, and a lone finger soon replaced his tongue’s sinful ministrations as the latter wrapped and toyed with your puffed-up bud. A full moan lapsed out of you in earnest and you unknowingly tightened around his digit. Link’s cock tented painfully against his pants, but he was set on having you cumming all over his face before he even thought about touching himself.

One of your hands anchored itself in his hair, knotting his disheveled locks into messy bunches that only grew wilder the faster he went. Uneven, haggard breaths and pleas for more echoed off his walls and Link had never been more pleased to carry out a request. His fingers and tongue would take turns wrecking you, never giving your poor clit and drenched entrance a break as he tongue-fucked and fingered you closer and closer to blissful oblivion. Link knew the milky white end was in sight, and he eagerly pressed his tongue flat against your cunt.

“Cum for me… Fuck, give it to me. I need you to cum in my mouth…”

His filthy request buzzed mind-shattering tingles to the deepest parts of your core, finally tipping you over the edge. You fell from a high you’ve never experienced before and your orgasm was borderline violent. A silent scream left your gaped mouth and you collapsed, panting, quivering. Link’s heart and ego swelled at your blissed out face as he leisurely wiped the juices dribbling down his chin. He scooted closer to you and pressed a deep kiss against your lips, leaving traces of you in your mouth. He pulled away with a pop, a smile, and an effortless huff as he carried you to his bed.

You were still fighting to regain some semblance of normal breathing when he set you down on his sheets. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled away, taking a moment to relish in how you looked in your sensual vulnerability. His pulse quickened and his pants tightened further, eager for release, but Link was patient. He waited for your breathing to slow, caressing your cheeks and cooing praises into your ears. His tenderness was enough to almost lull you to sleep.

“(F/N)…” Adoration dripped from his tone. “Can we go further?”

You opened your eyes slightly and practically melted from the gentleness in his voice and the care in his eyes. With a soft, albeit tired smile, you nodded and traced small circles into his cheek. Puppy-like enthusiasm exuded off him and he kissed the tip of your nose, plucking a small giggle out of you.

“Just relax… I’ll take care of you.”

He worked the hem of your dress into a bulky bunch by your hips before throwing the whole thing over your head and gently discarding it on the floor. A soft, wonder-filled smile cracked his lips as he drank in all of you.

“You look beautiful… You are beautiful…” He murmured to the air, voicing his most private thoughts aloud. A slightly pruned finger traced down your sides. A shiver ran through your body and his name whimpered out of your mouth.

“Say it again.” He breathed shakily. “My name. Say it again.”

“Link…” You flushed under his piercing gaze. His expression flickered darkly for just a moment before his eyes crinkled warmly.

“You have the prettiest voice, you know that?” He nuzzled into your neck. “I can listen to you for hours.”

“Link…” You cradled his face in your palms. “You don’t… have to hold back. I’ll let you know if anything hurts.”

His eyes widened before a small chuckle left him.

“We’ll get there eventually, I promise. For now though…” His lips coupled with yours in tender obsession. “I want to make you feel good tonight.”

While his lips reunited with your own, his fingertip traced lazy patterns from your chest, down to your stomach with swirly circles, and finally in between your legs. He moved his hands with battle-hardened precision, skirting around your still-pulsing clit, being extra careful not to overstimulate you yet. The simple trail coaxed the neediest whine out of you and you jutted your hips up and down, side to side. You could feel him smile into the kiss.

“Eager, are we?” He purred, skimming the surface of his lips on your cheek before redirecting his efforts towards your nipples.

"Gods, look at you... You're so beautiful all spread out like this, just for me." His tongue swirled and sucked the perked bud while your other nipple rolled in between his thumb and index. He dragged the tip of his tongue from one nipple to the other, repeating the process again and again until he was satisfied with the glistening rawness. A long moan, honeyed with need and fringed with desire, escaped you as your back arched in toe-curling pleasure.

His fingers hastened their movements, circling the hardened pearl with calloused finger pads and teasing your slit, sometimes dipping the beginnings of a finger past its entrance. But it was never enough. Never, ever enough. Your pleas and cries and begging only sent Link further down this power trip, molding your sex-steeped senses however he wanted until you were a sobbing, hiccuping mess.

“Please Link…” You sputtered in between sobs, the knot in your gut constricting and loosening in sync with his tease. “I need you inside, please, please, please…”

“Shh…” He murmured, silencing your chants with a soft kiss. “Patience.”

“Link, please, I-I can’t—“

“Yes you can. Just a little more… Show me more of those lewd expressions.” A rough pinch on your clit scored a scream out of you and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Good girl… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Gods, yes! I’m all yours Link, so please—“

Your voice sputtered to a stop, caught in edged ecstasy as the friction you had been craving for for the past Hylia-knows-how-long was suddenly served at blinding speeds.

“This is what you wanted, right?” He cooed, his chill tone contrasting the growing flush in his cheeks. You squirmed and writhed uselessly under him as your mind blanked and reeled from the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

“T-Too fa— Link, you’re—! I’m—!”

You were practically catapulted into your next orgasm, but despite your shaking release, Link never let up—in fact, he picked up his pace until veins marbled the surface of his arms. Another orgasm was ripped out of you, then another, and another, all while Link whispered,

"Oh, sweet girl, I know you can do it. I know you can cum one more time... Just one more, c'mon..."

Nothing else mattered to you at that moment. Nothing in the world could pull you out of the ecstasy Link had so readily given you. The only sensations you were capable of feeling were the coiling and spasming release of your gut as the man before you worked you into a mindless little thing. Link’s heart swelled at the fucked-out, dazed look on your face and he finally released his cock from its clothed prison.

"Do I have permission to fuck you senseless?" He husked into your ear, tending to his weeping cock with the residual slick left on his fingers. You nodded your head vigorously, dumbed down to your most base desires.

He slotted himself in between your legs, rubbing and dipping his tip a little bit past your entrance before his patience snapped in time with his hips. A gaspy whine rasped out of both of you, thickening to sweet, candied moans for more.

You were so tight… So warm... So wet… He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing—a concentrated attempt to not just immediately cum on the spot. Link stretching you out choked a groan out of you and your arms clung tightly about his neck, clawing desperate lines into his back.

"Gods, you feel so good... So tight for me... You're just made for me, aren't you? Made to take my cock..."

His fingers doled soft dips into your hips, coaxing the tight muscles into releasing their tension. All you could do was nod fervently, your voice too hoarse and mind too fogged to formulate any words. Link pervaded every single one of your thoughts, and all you could really muster was a gaze into his darkened blues, glazed over with lust. It took every ounce of mental fortitude to keep Link from pounding you into his bed; he softly kissed away the tears that threatened to spill.

"I'm gonna start moving now... Are you ready?"

A nod; Link positioned himself until your noses were almost touching, braced his hands on either side of your head, and slowly rocked his hips. The simple, fluid motion ellicited a moan out of the man and a whine out of you, electric pleasure shocking you to your core. His watchful gaze gauged your reactions, your comfort always at the forefront of his mind.

He flooded you with kisses and deluged your senses in heartfelt tenderness. Your head rolled into his arm, nuzzling him, and he smiled softly.

"You're so cute... My heart just explodes whenever I see you..."

"Liiink..." You reached up to caress his cheek. He pressed further into your hand before turning his head and kissing your fingers.

"You're perfect. Everything about you is gorgeous." He breathed, his hips slipping into a racy tempo. Your breasts pooled and trembled with each thrust, which didn't go unnoticed by the starved knight. Sounds of wet suckling filled his room, accompanied by your airy mewls and calls for his name.

"Say my name..." He growled into your chest, eyes flitting to look at you through quivering lashes. "Say it again."

"Link..." You squeaked, hiding the lower half of your burning face behind trembling hands.

"Louder." A hand clutched your wrists and dragged them down, fully exposing your slutty expressions to his hawkish eyes.

"Link...!"

"Louder." He scurried to the crook of your neck and bit down. "I want everyone in this castle to know who's fucking you breathless."

"L-Link!"

His pace quickened, the steady rhythm degenerating into wild pistoning. Shaky, uneven breaths stretched into high-pitched whimpers while his hand fondled your abused clit, repeating the circling motion that had you seeing stars several minutes (hours?) ago. His lips traced the shell of your ear, your jaw, down your neck, and finally your lips. Again and again, his mouth met yours in messy passion, each kiss more crazed than the last. He pulled away just enough to see your sloppy expressions, a thin strand of spit connecting your moistened tongues.

"Can you cum for me one more time? Just one more, I promise."

"I can't, I can't—Link, I'll die—“

"No you won't, love." He crooned. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, just in time to see stars exploding into a symphony of colors. "Just one more. I know you can do it."

Your face scrunched in response to the nearing summit, the precipice that you had been thrown over more times than you could count. You could feel your core spasming and knotting and folding in on itself; Link was totally immersed, body and soul, in your essence as he neared his own powerful climax.

"You're all mine." He panted, his hips accentuating each word with increasing ferocity. "Mine, mine, mine."

A tremor unlike anything you've ever felt before rattled your bones. A voice unrecognizable to you called for Link as you released all over his twitching cock and sheets. Your violent clenching rocketed Link to cloud nine, who pulled out just in time to cover you with thick, white ribbons. His warmth splattered onto your thighs, your stomach, your chest—all of which still tingled from his earlier acts.

His quaking frame crumbled, landing squarely on top of you. Your breaths hitched and mixed with each other, and a satiated silence enveloped the room. Once Link had mostly recovered, he heaved himself off of you and draped a lazy arm over your spent form.

"Are you okay?" He rasped, smoothing the sweaty nest that your hair had become. "Let me clean you up."

You tried to lift an arm—a finger even—to assure Link that you were okay but gods if you had to exert any more effort you were certain you would disintegrate. Link swung his legs over the bed, tripped into his boxers, and hobbled over to a pitcher sitting on his desk. The clear sounds of liquid life flowing into a bowl were like music to your ringing, pulsing ears.

In just a few moments he was by your side, bowl, towels, and cups in hand. You tried to sit up, but the bed stuck to your back like a bond that could not be broken. The rough cloth gingerly wiped away Link's earlier messes, and he dipped the other towel in the bowl before patting your face with the same degree of care. The cool water against your flushed skin sent pleasant jolts through your body.

"How are you feeling?" He asked again, pressing his palm into your cheek and pulling you up to drink. "Are you hurt anywhere? Was I too rough?"

You took the most refreshing swig of water in your life, feeling your parched throat soften enough for use.

"I'm okay, Link." You croaked at last. How long had it been since you last spoke coherent sentences? "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Of course." His warm smile alighted butterflies in your stomach; however, his features faltered slightly and his eyes turned downcast. "I, um..."

Quiet hesitance warbled his voice into a gut-wrenching tune; you gently cupped his hands, running your thumbs over each scar as you steadily held his gaze.

"I don't want this to be a one-time thing, I want..." He sucked in a quivering breath. "To be with you."

A kiss, soft and sweet, silenced all the doubt pounding away in his chest. Your lips moved purposefully, taking time to convey all the pent-up feelings that had been swirling inside you for so long. You dangled your arms behind his neck as you pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to meet his blown-out pupils.

"I want to be with you too."

Relief unfurrowed his brows and relaxed his jaw.

"Really...?"

"Yes! Though to be honest, I've always pictured our first few moments together as a couple in a more... innocent setting." You gestured to... everything and Link's belly flexed in laughter.

"So did I. But gods..." His lips ghosted the curve of your shoulder, traveling up your neck, and ending at your ear. "You felt so good, (F/N)..."

"L-Link..." You whimpered, your body lowering back down while your now-lover towered above you. Without warning, an arm snaked under your knees and the other wrapped behind your back. With a yelp, you spilled into his arms and two towels fell into your lap.

"The baths are just around the corner." A soft warmth bloomed on the center of your forehead. "Let's get cleaned up, shall we?"

♤♢ ~ bonus scene ~ ♡♧

"Your Highness, are you sure about—?"

"Yes, yes! I've already got it all figured out. All you have to do is pack your things and go!" Zelda shoved two official-looking documents into your arms and scooted you and Link closer to the door. Your dug heels were no match for the princess's sudden prowess.

And what could those documents possibly be?

Why, records of a cabin rental in Faron Woods, of course!

"B-But what about Link? He's your personal knight, after all."

"I've already arranged security details with one of the squadrons. They will be watching over me until you both get back. In regards to who will be overseeing your duties, I have a few staff members who will help me keep track of everything."

"Your Highness—"

"It's decided!" Zelda exclaimed with more effort, her energy sapped from lugging two unwilling bodies. "You both have been working so hard, so I've been thinking about giving you a weekend off for awhile. Now that you're a couple, this is a perfect chance to have your own little romantic getaway!"

"Wait, Princess Zelda..." Link started slowly, the gears in his head churning away. "It says here there’s only one bed. If you didn't know we were a couple until now... Why did you prepare a cabin with a single bed for the two of us?"

"That...!" Though your back was toward the royal, you could clearly see the 'oh shit' expression on her face. The corner of Link's mouth twitched into an amused smile while your cheeks scarleted.

"Zel, I swear to Hylia, I'm—"

"—gonna have a wonderful time in the woods where you can be as loud as you want. Farewell, and safe travels!"

With one last push, Zelda managed to shove the two of you out of her office before a resounding slam sounded the finality of her decision. But Zelda's closing remarks hung in the air, thickening the atmosphere in blood-chilling realization.

"What's wrong?" Link's sing-song voice mismatched the gravity of of the situation.

"Oh gods... Oh gods oh gods oh gods... How many people do you think heard us last night?"

"Enough for the whole castle to know who fucked you breathless." His face lowered until you were eye-level with his mischievous simper.

"Link!"

"Her Highness was right—you are fun to tease."

"LINK!!!"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Open Door 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: silverfox!Thor, side of silverfox!Loki

Summary: you're neighbour needs a little extra help after an injury but starts to expect too much of you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Thank you again for all your help,” Thor says as he shifts on the couch. His weight draws a creak from the frame as he grips the back cushion and tries to reposition himself. “I must admit, I have a hard time accepting any.” 

Your neighbour is always friendly enough. He waves or says hello or good morning, but you never really stop to chat. Not until you witnessed his avalanche of groceries as he attempted to balance his bag between his crutches. It was too heart-rending a scene to ignore. 

Despite his size, you got him inside. He grunts and you rush over to help prop his leg up on a pillow. He grits as you gently lay the cast on the fluffy bundle. He groans and leans back against the armrest. 

“Ah, the shame,” he decries dramatically. 

“I don’t mind,” you insist. “Really. I couldn’t just watch you struggle.” 

“Too sweet,” he praises, his silver hair glinting in the low lamp light. “I didn’t know there were still neighbourly neighbours.” 

“Well, I’m not that nice,” you assure him. “I got all your groceries away and you have your tea. I gotta get back to my desk. Work.” 

“Ah yes, of course, of course,” he waves you off, “I could not infringe further on your day.” 

“It’s no trouble. You can text me,” you assure him. The soft smell of chickory wafts in the dim air. 

Your eyes wander as you make your retreat. The decor is a blend of brass and walnut. Warm in a visual way. It’s a space that has been long lived in. 

“Before I go, you’re good?” You ask as you stop in the doorway. 

“I’m wonderful,” he assures you. “You’ve already done too much. Once I’m back on my feet, I promise I will be certain to repay you.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” you assure. 

“Says you,” he counters. 

You chuckle and leave him. You can’t be too bothered by the interruption. Your work is tedious and most of it solitary. Working from home is flexible and freeing, but it can just as often be constraining. 

After smelling the spicy strain of tea you brewed for Thor, you’re in the mind for a cup of your own. Apple chamomile. Calming but not tiring. 

You sit and go back to work. It’s a fair bit of excitement in the usually dulcet neighbourhood. You sink back into the monotonous tasks. Check, check, check. Done, done, done. But why is that doing that? Ugh, it’s not supposed to look that way. 

Your alarm goes off, notifying you that your day is fifteen minutes from over. It’s a necessary reminder otherwise you’ll work three hours over and not realise. You wrap up your work and leave yourself notes for what needs to be done the next day. 

You yawn and grab your empty mug and phone and go back to the kitchen. Your phone vibes once. A missed message. You unlock it and check the waiting text. It’s your neighbour. Sent thirty minutes ago. 

You tap on the convo and frown. There’s only the picture of a ceiling and the edge of the wall. Oh, that can’t be good. 

You hurry to the front door and step into your shoes. You shuffle down the steps, slightly off-kilter, and cross the street. You get to Thor’s porch and knock, breathless as you wait for an answer. 

“Brother, is that you?” He calls from within. 

“No, uh, it’s me,” you say back through the door. 

“Yes, I figured you were hard at work.” 

“Can I come in?” 

“Please,” he hollers back. 

You turn the handle and find him in the entryway, lodged in the alcove beside the stairs awkwardly. You want to ask what happened but you’re sure he wouldn’t want to recount that story. You come forward and tuck your phone away. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I got restless. Tried to do a bit of dusting,” he looks at the feather duster on the other side of the hallway. “I didn’t realise it was such tight squeeze and...” he wiggles his shoulders between the wall and the cub shelf that houses various shoes, boots, and accessories. “I anchored the thing you see. It’s not giving.” 

“Oh,” your brows ripple. It’s a strange situation and you’re not sure you’re strong enough to help. “Right...” 

“You could get a screwdriver. I can reach to undo the anchors, at least enough to get free, I think,” he says. 

“Right, a screwdriver,” you nod. 

“In the utility cupboard. Right by the back door,” he instructs. 

You give him one last look. He can’t be comfortable. He’s a big man and his shoulders are cramped between the small space. His leg is also jutted out in the cast as his other is bent to take pressure off. 

You go to the backdoor and find the dark wooden cabinet mounted on the wall. You open it and take out the small toolbox. You bring it back to Thor as he groans again. 

“Star,” he says, “please.” 

“Sure,” you shuffle through and hand him the star driver. 

“Great,” he grunts and raises his arm up awkwardly. He twists as best he can and angles his hand toward the shelf. He fumbles and knocks against the screw. He growls in frustration. “Too tight.” 

Before you can response, a voice drifts through the open door. “First, I must come and fetch you off the basement floor, and I’ve come again to save you from yourself.” The dark-haired man with streaks of silver in his long locks proclaims, unimpressed. “Oh, and I see someone has beaten me to it. What a wonderful detour this has been.” 

“Brother, wait,” Thor says. “You can help. I’m... stuck. I’m afraid it might be a two-person job, as it were.” 

“Certainly, would be,” the man drones as he comes closer. “You hired a nurse?” 

“Neighbour,” Thor supplies and reaches up. “Please, I’m losing feeling in my tailbone.” 

“Perhaps in your brain too,” the man quips. 

“Right,” Thor wiggles his hands impatiently. 

You take his right and the man takes his other. Thor counts and you haul him up onto one foot. He’s so big, he nearly falls into you but the other man catches him by his shoulder. They are almost of a height but the man with the black in his hair is much thinner. 

“You should consider hired help,” his brother reprimands. 

“I am not helpless.” 

“Sure not.” 

“Um, thanks,” you say to the man. He looks down his nose at you. 

“Loki,” he offers his hand formerly, “the brother. I should apologise on his behalf. He can be overly needy.” 

“I’m just glad he’s fine,” you say. 

“Mm,” the man hums and his eyes slit skeptically, “well, then, brother, do I need to stay and chaperone or can I be on my way?” 

“Go,” Thor huffs in agitation, “thank you both for your help.” He faces you in particular, “I owe you.” 

“As ever,” Loki agrees and spins on his heel. 

You smile at Thor, “you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’ve spent enough of your time and effort,” he gently squeezes your shoulder, “I will be sure to use my crutch next time.” 

[foxaftershocks]

Oh my gosh I just read your most recent Lars Pinfield oneshot and I am in LOVE with your writing. Is it possible for you to do one where reader is with him & Lucky during the power outage scene, but like not *in* the main area they are at, more over by the Possessor's room. Hopefully you kinda get what I'm saying lol

I think I got what you were saying. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it even if I didn't.

Watching the possessor try and get Lars’ attention shouldn’t have made you feel a burst of warmth in your chest and yet there you were, pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

“Can’t play right now,” Lars called as the chair tapped against the window.

You were sitting on the floor in front of the enclosure, knees bent towards your chest as you enjoyed the calm of being in the lab at night. During the day it could be so frantic, all kinds of noises and motions going on as the other researchers worked. At night like this, it was quiet, easy to just exist in your own body as you did what you loved. Especially given it was only people you happened to love still there too.

Or rather, person.

“I know you see me working,” he called over as the possessor continued to try and get his attention.

You stifled a laugh, the chair drooping down in sadness. It was like having a puppy in the lab and Lars had clearly been designated its favourite person.

“If you’re good later on you’ll get a tennis ball,” he said.

The chair perked up, the screech of the metal loud in your ears. You tapped on the glass, bringing its attention back to you. You smiled in, playing with it to give Lars and Lucky the chance to finish up their work in peace. The sound of their work was a familiar backdrop as you let your attention slip away from them.

That was until the possessor slammed the chair against the glass over and over again and the power went out. You were slow to climb to your feet, uncertainty filling your body.

“Uh… Lars?” you called out.

“Yeah, I know,” he called back, “just give it a minute.”

“I’m not sure…”

With one hand splayed on the cool glass of the possessor’s cage, you hauled yourself upright, leaning on it to keep yourself steady. You didn’t like it, the ambient noise of the lab making chills crawl over your skin. You held your breath, on tenterhooks, waiting for something to happen. The tension in the air was ratcheting up the longer it took for the generators to power back on, each second stretching out for an infinite amount of time.

“Lars, why haven’t the ghosts escaped yet?” Lucky asked, slow to make her way towards you.

It was like they’d been waiting for the question to be asked. The possessor slammed its chair against the glass to the right of your hand, cracking it outwards. You snatched your hand back as Lucky screamed, breath catching.

Stumbling back, you felt a cold chill going down the back of your neck. You were slow to turn into the waiting gaze of Bonesy, the skeletal face staring right back at you. Another crack from the glass behind you was loud in the otherwise silent area.

The frantic clicking from Lars on the computer filtered through and you watched as the lights flickered back on. Bonesy was pulled back through the glass as the proton fields turned on, missing you by a hair’s breadth. You slumped forward, relief coursing through you, making you light headed. Sinking to the floor, you did your best to take some deep breaths, forehead pressing to the tops of your bent knees.

“Okay we need to shut that thing up,” you heard Lars faintly say from back in the main lab.

Only then you heard his scream. Scrabbling to your feet, you rushed over, panic taking over your brain. Any rational thoughts were gone, taken over by your need to make sure he was okay.

He was bent over in front of the ionic separator, the brass sphere on the ground in front of him. His groans of pain were going through you, striking you like lightning. Lucky was standing close by, weight shifting from foot to foot, as if unsure what to do.

You grasped his shoulder, feeling him there under your hands, real and still warm. His breathing was coming fast and he was cradling his hand to his chest.

“Lars,” you said, trying to get his attention.

His blue eyes dragged up to yours, the pain contorting his face. You clutched at him, wanting to bring him closer.

“Don’t,” he shouted as you took a step towards him.

“What?” you said, freezing.

“Don’t touch it,” he gasped out, eyes darting down to the sphere at your feet, only an inch from your bare skin. You were careful as you shifted your feet away from it, trusting him completely. He’d never steered you wrong before.

“Lars,” you breathed out.

He was doubling up again, another groan coming from parted lips. With your hands still on his shoulders, you manoeuvred him around the sphere, sitting so innocently on the floor. He followed you, trusting you just as much as you trusted him.

“Leave it there until Lars can tell us what happened,” you instructed Lucky as you took Lars towards the medical centre.

Of course the nurse was long since gone, the bay dark. You flicked the lights on, helping him onto one of the beds. He was still curled up.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what happened,” you said, keeping your voice gentle, trying to coax him out.

“Cold,” he managed to gasp out, “I touched the sphere after it failed to extract the ghost inside and it was cold. Freezing. Fuck, it hurts.”

“I know it does, sweetheart,” you said, “can I look at it?”

He was slow to uncurl, offering his hand towards you. The skin was an unnaturally pale colour, the cold burn spreading over his palm, along his finger, making you wince just from looking at it. Your hands hovered over it, not sure what to do, where to touch, if you even should.

“We should warm it up, right? Oh god, I’m not a doctor,” you muttered to yourself.

“Warm water,” he said, “I need to soak it in warm water.”

“On it.”

He watched you as you filled a basin with warm water, a thermometer sitting in it as you brought it to the right temperature. Offering it to him, he eased his hand into the water. The wince he gave and the shaky breath suggested it wasn’t more comfortable.

“Are you going to be okay?” you asked, holding the bowl steady for him.

“I think,” he hissed, “I’ll survive.”

He looked up at you, standing close enough for his knees to brush you. Looking down at him, you felt your breath catch. It wasn’t your fault. He was so handsome, even when he was in pain. Not that you should be thinking about how gorgeous he was as you were trying to nurse him back to health.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softening.

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t even get hurt. I’m more worried about you,” you said.

“But you were surrounded when we lost power,” he said.

His other hand hovered right over your hip, as if worried to touch you. Before he made contact, he took the bowl from your hands, putting it down on the bed beside him, keeping his hand submerged. You didn’t know what to do with your hands without hold it, fingers twisting together.

His touch rested on them, stilling your wringing hands. You looked back into his eyes, the touch of your skin against his making your heart flutter. The way he was looking at you was making your head spin.

“If anything had happened to you…”

You wanted to know what the end of that sentence was going to be.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

His fingers slotted between yours, holding your hand. Pulling you forward a step, he tugged you between his legs, thumb brushing along the length of your index finger. Your breath caught.

“We could die,” he said.

“We’re not going to die.” You weren’t even going to entertain the thought.

“But we could. And if we do I’m not dying without ever doing this.”

His hand disentangled from yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. Guiding you down, your eyes fluttered shut, waiting for him. His breath ghosted over your lips before they brushed together. You whimpered, pressing closer, fingers closing around his shoulder again.

The groan he let out made you draw back, worried he was in pain again. He didn’t give you the chance, pulling you back in, kissing you deeper. Clearly the pain wasn’t too bad if he could kiss you with such skill it had your knees turning to jelly.

“Hey guys, is Lars okay?”

You drew back from him, cheeks heating up as you whipped your head towards the door. He chuckled, falling forward, forehead pressing to your stomach. Your fingers found their way into his hair, winding around his curls.

“I’m fine,” he called back before Lucky stepped in.

“Are you?” you asked.

You gently lifted the hand from the bowl of cooling water. The skin still looked wrong, too white, like a layer of wax over his palm.

“We should probably go to the emergency room,” you said, “I don’t think we’re equiped to fix this.”

“Can you drive?” he asked.

“Of course.”

You left Lucky with strict instructions to not touch the sphere and to keep an eye on the ghosts. After the night you’d had, she needed to make sure nothing more happened while you took care of Lars.

And yet if this was a portent of things to come, it was only going to get worse.

[rogueshadow1124]

DARK TERRITORY

Tom riddle x reader

Summary: After a hard day, Y/N pays a visit to the girls restroom to freshen up, only to find an open passage way.

Word count: 2325

Warnings: mentions of blood/injury.

"Stupid potions always blowing up on me." A Y/H/C haired girl stumbled through one of the long corridors within the castle, dusting off her robes. Her face was contorted into one of annoyance, a low grumble setting in her throat before she let out a long exaggerated puff of air. This was the second time today a potion had blew up in her face, Professor slughorn had assured her that all she needed was practise but she was very uncertain, even when she read of the instructions- multiple times at that- nothingvseemed to go right and she for sure was nothing like the boy who was top of the class. Tom riddle.

Riddle. There was no one quite like him. He was considered the top of all his classes, he was practically a high class genius. Y/N had known Tom for a long time, she had observed him from a far and even had the guts to not only approach him but actually interact with him on several occasions and although at first he hadn't been too keen on her breaking his bubble of solitary and peace, she had somehow managed to catch his attention in other ways. What the girl hadn't seemed to notice was how Tom also observed her but he was sneaky, he stayed in the shadows, in the corners, watching her when she was in her own little world not even noticing the prying eyes that pierced her being from a day to day basis.

Y/N came to a stop outside the girls restroom, pushing through the heavy wooden double doors clumsily. She stompted towards the sink, and turned the brass tap roughly making it squeak at the harsh pressure that she applied. She leaned over slightly at a hunch, cupping hands under the stream of water and splashed her face to refresh herself and get off the excess dust that had cast over her cheeks and chin. A sudden clicking noise caught her attention, her head slowly turning at an angle in the direction of what sounded like the churning of locks and tics was coming from.

She squinted her eyes at what looked to be a now open passage way, the inside dark and eerie as it looked like an endless void of nothingness, there was no single slither of light but only the dimly lit yellow casting through that the restroom had. She stood straight, hands dropping to her sides and fisting at her robes, she couldnt help but step closer towards the crack between the two mirrors on the circular row of sinks. She reached out a hand, grasping at one of the frames on the side, the tip of her shoes just at the edge of the opening and just as she had gone to step inside she suddenly slipped, a scream erupting from her throat as she slid down into the darkness.

Her hands reached out in an attempt to grip onto anything in a panic, this didnt at all feel safe. She felt herself glide off of what felt like a step and landed on a stack of hard stick like figures; her eyes were screwed shut, breathes ragged and heavy as her body shook lightly among the masses beneath her. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in a motion to steady her breathing, her hands pushed down on the sharp hard lengths so she could push herself up and onto her feet.

Only then when she came to a stand did she open her eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim and brisked room that she ended up in. It looked like a widely open space but something like a sewer at the same time. Her eyes moved down to the ground cement floor, bright Y/E/C orbs widening when she spotted what she had landed on, a gasp past her lips as she stumbled back only to hit a wall that she was sure hadn't been behind her before- whilst wide eyes stayed cast on the pile of bones a loud hiss broke the silence, making Y/N lurch forward with a jump, she took one glance behind her shoulder, screeching when she saw an oversized serpent covering above her.

Flight or fight kicked in, adrenaline surfacing to her blood stream as she set off into a sprint, tears coming to her eyes as she pushed her burning legs to take her away from the giant creature. Around the corner was a large stone opening where she had to climb through and over a step to get inside, there she saw a walkway that had staues of snakes along the length, leading to a wall that was in the shape of a man with an open mouth, he looked familiar too her almost an exact replica to who she had seen only in books and pictures. Salzar Slytherin.

Another hiss echoed through the room, followed by a crackle. She stumbled forwards quickly and set into a run again, but she ended up tripping over a crack on the floor, falling face first on her hands and knees, crying out at the heated pain that now spread through her palms and knees from the fall. She pushed up, turning so she sat on her backside, looking up at the serpent that stood stiff only feet away from her, Y/N started to push backwards, open wounds pushing against the floor leaving droplets and stains of her red blooded essence behind.

Out the corner of her eyes she spotted a figure, standing tall and dressed in a familiar robe that was similar to her own. Blurry eyes set on none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle- she hushed out his name but he seemed to take no notice of her, his lips moving slowly in motion but she didnt hear words at all, she could only make out long demeanering hisses and a hint of sharp tone that shone through a different language. At that the overly sized snake hissed back lowly, but didnt move an inch.

Tom turned to the girl, dark eyes looking down at her shaking form. A small smile twitched at his lips when he noticed her teary eyes but not at all did it seem kind, more so mocking and smug. She met his gaze, with wide doe eyes, looking like a deer caught in headlights more so a little bambi, small, innocent, scared. His shoes clicked against the stone geou d as she moved in her direction, crouching at her feet with his head tilted towards her.

"What are you doing down here Y/L/N." His voice rung in her ears, a shiver shooting through her spine at the cold motionless tone. She let out what sounded to be a whimper when she leaned back on her hands pulling them up and into her lap quickly, looking down at the irritated skin that was covered in the warmth of her blood that pooled to the surface slightly.

"Tom..." she whispered his name with a shake in her breath.

His eyes squinted, the way his name flowed from her tongue sounded so good- he enjoyed the shake in her voice, the scarce in her body language. It's what he craved, he wanted people to be scared of him, to he at his will but with Y/N, oh she intrigued him, he wanted her to be scared and at his will but not like others, no. He wanted her by his side almost as a companion, she made efforts to speak to him, even at the times he had pushed her away, she came back the next day more determined for him to give any kind of response; she was innocent, sweet but also cold and quiet, calculating and captivating, he didnt understand how someone like her could be a slytherin, he was very much so invested. He wanted to know every little detail about her, he had never been interested in anyone even merely but Y/N Y/L/N, she was one of a kind, someone with so many hidden secrets. He wanted to taint her, ruin her, in a way that he would have full control and she would need to rely on him in every way. "You shouldn't have been snooping, darling."

"I-i wasn't snooping, I sw-swear." She went to reel back as his hand rest on her ankle, but he had gripped her fast and roughly allowing her no room to remove his grip. He tugged her towards his crouched form, her robe sliding up her legs at the movement when she was pulled to him, her lower thighs resting at his legs, his hand hovering up and over her body until it reached up to her neck, his fingers feathering a touch on her soft skin just before his hand grasped her jaw, tilting her head to look up at him.

"If you wasn't snooping as you claim, then you wouldnt be down here. You would have ignored the open passage and minded your buisness." She pushed her face away, standing tall again begrudgingly reaching out his hand which she stared at with furrowed brows and a frown. Her eyes switched quickly to his gaze, meeting dark stern eyes as he rose a brow and nodded at his hand expectantly, Y/N sighed with a shake reaching up to his hand, letting out a noise when he pulled her up suddenly.

"Ouch.." she groaned, tugging her hand away from him and to her chest. Tom looked at her unammused but something behind the cold, darkened gaze softened, he hummed and pulled his wand from his robe pocket reaching for her hand but this time he didnt wait and took it in his hold in an instant. He pointed the tip of his wand down at the open skin of her hand grumbling out the word 'Episky' and in seconds Y/N watched as the wounds started to close up, sending a tingling sensation through her hand. Her eyes darted up to Tom's but he was looking down, her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, gaping before she uttered a "Thank you."

"Mhmm.." his eyes flickered up to her face, taking in her features; sure he had done this plenty of times but never had he been so close. He noticed how her eyes, they had a certain shine to them but not at all did they seem fully happy, they were vibrant, carrying some form of lonesome appeal behind a built surface, metaphorically she was an iceberg there was only so much that was in the open, at the top, the surface- however there were so many things that nobody knew, or understood, buried deep behind closed walls. He studied her every chance he got and all he had been able to figure was that she kept to herself, most of the time anyway but for some reasosn she chose to interact with him, sit by him, even if it was in silence nothing between the two was uncomfortable. "Why are you so fixated on being around me?"

It was more so a question to himself really, something that he spoke without thinking. She narrowed her eyes for a second, raising her brows softly with a hum. "I find solace in your company. Sure you're mysterious but I like that you keep to yourself, your not like anyone I have ever interacted with." Her eyes were quick to shift to the serpent that still hovered away from them, noticing how it never even left but stayed only watching from the short distance-

"Don't. Don't look into its eyes.." Tom's hand reached up and moved her face to look up at him instead, her face contorted into a look of confusion. "Wouldn't want you to be petrified, hmm?" Y/N's eyes widened slightly, her breathing picked up within seconds of hearing his words, suddenly becoming scared again after calming herself prior this moment, he smirked down at her. "You'll be fine. Just don't look into it's eyes."

"W-what is it?" Her eyes stayed focused of Tom's dark ones, air stuttering in her lungs.

"She is a basilisk- Nagini." He hushed out, the last part sounding with an elongated hiss at the end which made the creature let out a guttural hiss at his words but it still only stayed in its spot, standing stiff in place. His smirk widened when he saw the girl gulp, eyes being trained on his as she didnt know where to look- he enjoyed the fact she hadn't looked away, the feeling was so intense yet it was so good at the same time. "Y/N..." She seemed to snap out of the state she was in at the call of her name, beckoning her back to reality. Her eyelashes flickered as she allowed herself to blink, moving her eyes so she was no longer gazing up at Tom but over one of his shoulders the one opposite to which the basilisk was on. "You're going to forget about this..."

"I-I dont understand?" She tilted her head, leaning into his hand as he placed it on her cheek lightly, shifting so he could rest his lips against her forehead, not in a kiss but just hovering over. He turned her head to the side, moving his face to rest beside her own so his lips were now in line with her ear. "T-Tom?"

"Shhhh..." his hand trailed down over her neck and to rest against her collarbone. His other hand that was free brought up his wand, pointing it directly at her- the only thing was, it was out of sight so she couldnt exactly know what he was doing- he placed a delicate kiss on the skin beneath her ear before whispering the words 'obliviate' making her world turn black.

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Chapter 014: The Tap Out

So you finally managed to tear down the walls of Eddie’s cynical heart and steal it… Of course it only makes sense that he returns the favor, by ravaging your walls as well. *wink wink*

author’s note ✍🏼 : this initially was supposed to be merged with chapter 15, but they’re two completely different vibes so it felt wrong putting them together. so enjoy this short chapter :)

this chapter can be read as a stand alone (but we’d love to have you aboard)

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 1.0k words

NSFW — unprotected p in v sex (wrap before you tap pls), around the house fucking, multiple positions, against the wall and floor stuff if you squint, eddie has a mirror on his ceiling HELLO, voyeurism, praise kink, size kink, eddie is a veiny man 🫠, squirting, shy girl taps out, eddie finishing on shy girl

“Gonna put your legs behind your head when I make you wet the bed.”

���

Touch-starved kisses.

Heavy panting and petting. Urgent, cat-like scratches etched around the door by a finicky brass key...

You'd think that the Harrington-Munson estate had been ransacked, judging by how carelessly you and Eddie flung yourselves — and your clothes — around the place. The 10 minute drive from Hellfire to here was far too long for you both to handle.

"Mmm.”

You let out a soft, pleading whimper as your man pins you against the wall, his large hands just inches away from your pulsing neck.

“Missed you,” Eddie breathes. “Miss being inside you so bad.”

“We literally just fucked at Hellfire half an hour ago.”

“Your point?”

You two are now approaching round three with no intention of stopping. Like an adrenaline rush, a shot of espresso, a sugar high from alcohol, you’re itching to run headfirst into the high that has been taunting you, despite having already been fucked to exhaustion. But eventually, it builds.

It builds when you’re getting split open in the kitchen, bent over with your tits pressed against the cool marble island. You’re selfishly perusing your edge so frantically, Eddie eventually resorts to standing in place, his hands rubbing your asscheeks in admiration while you use his stiff cock to get yourself off. “That’s right, Princess. Keep fucking yourself into me. Use me all you want, baby. Mmm, just like that.”

It builds when you’re getting it on the couch, chanting Eddie’s name aimlessly into the air as you ride him, his eyes burning with lust as he watches your perky tits bounce in his face. “Doing so good, sweetheart. There we go. Bet this is your favorite pole to ride on, isn’t it?”. It especially builds when you switch from a straddle to reverse cowgirl, chasing your aching bud’s pleasure against the singular protruding vein that rested along Eddie’s lengthy shaft.

"Mmm… oh my god," you whimper, when your core retrieves the sensation. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…”

“Shit, honey,” Eddie grunts. “Gonna make me cum when you cry out my name like that..”

And when you two sink to the floor, it builds there too.

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, the way they’ve resorted to rolling back as you attempt to handle Eddie balls deep, his girth and length making you claw at his thighs, the pathetic bargaining and squealing spilling out of your mouth becoming synchronous with every aggressive thrust.

You’re wrapped around his cock so tight it makes him tremble and twitch.

“Feel so tight around me, baby…”

“Taking me so good.”

“My sexy girl. God, you’re so wet. Gonna cum on me again, huh?”

“Oh, my beautiful girl liked that one didn’t she?”

My girl, my girl, my girl.

Eddie had been chanting those words all night…as if he himself didn’t believe it. As if he was trying to convince himself it was true and not just a dream.

And now you can hardly contain it anymore, ascending to another dimension when Eddie bends you like a pretzel in his bed, pummeling into you in missionary like he still hates you.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Eddie shouts as he continues to thrust deeper. “My darling girl, you feel so good… you’re killing me here.”

You bite into his pecks to keep your screaming at a minimum. And when your eyes travel up to the ceiling, the glistening reflection catches you by surprise.

“Oh wow,” you pant as you observe.

Eddie takes a break from his bliss to glance over at where you’re looking. Satisfied with himself, and his kinks that he enjoys putting on display, Eddie smirks down at you.

“Getting a good look at that mirror, Princess?” he quips, leaving gentle kisses around your chin.

“Mhm,” you grin as you bat your lashes.

“Wanna tell me what you see then, darling?”

Slam. He pummels into you again. This time, the pace is unforgiving. Eddie rests both forearms at each side of your face, harboring you in place, keeping you still so he can achieve his own release.

Because he knows. He knows that yours is near.

“I see me,” you whimper pathetically.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods in approval. “And what’s happening to you, darling?”

“ ‘m getting pounded by Eddie,” you pout.

“Yes you are,” Eddie moans. “That’s you taking all of my cock, sweetie, you see that? You like watching yourself get fucked huh?”

“Y-yes,” you squeal. “I’m taking you so good.”

“Yes you are,” Eddie repeats. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

"Oh my god.."

You’re really at the end now. You slap Eddie’s thighs frantically, pleading with your quivering lips for him to pull out before you flood his sheets. Initially, he doesn’t listen.

"Agh!" you shout.

"Shit!"

"FUCK!”

“Oh my god..”

“Please, Eddie, Please,” you cry out. “I can’t take it, I can’t take it, Eddie. Fuck… pull out!”

Eddie immediately retreats upon hearing those words, clearing his path as you soak his sheets and his thighs. He resorts to kissing your chin again as he finishes himself on your stomach, chuckling as your legs involuntarily shake underneath him.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

“Mhm,” you nod alas when you come to.

“Thank you for saying something,” he grins sweetly. “That was a lot huh?”

You nod again. “Mhm.”

He kisses you again, smacking his lips in rhythm with yours whenever you permit. And as you pull away, he grabs your hand, kissing the back of it ever so delicately as well.

“We should get some sleep anyways,” he smiles. “We’ve been up all fucking night.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I know. Busy day ahead too.”

And with that, Eddie pulls you close and tosses a few blankets over you two. You sink back into his chest as he spoons you, arms resting around your waist and rubbing your stomach tenderly as he finds himself drifting into his other dream world. You wish to lay here forever.

Your eyes scan Eddie’s room one last time before they close. A part of you almost giggles when you see a pair of handcuffs hung up on one of his four walls.

"Nice cuffs," you comment sleepily.

Eddie laughs against your shoulder. He rubs your ass again.

"Just wait until we start roleplaying."

🏷️ tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

[psychedelic-ink]

For the writing game: Maybe love potion / flower shop AU. I was thinking maybe the reader owns the shop and gets aphrodisiac petals or something as a gift and doesn’t think they’ll work but then they DO. With Joel please.

thank you for requesting anon! and sorry for the wait 💗

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: flower shop AU

word count: 1.6k

summary: after seeing a delivery of supposedly aphrodisiac petals, you give them a try, convinced that they wouldn't work. Joel finds you in a not-so-professional position.

warnings: aphrodisiac (only reader is affected), female masturbation, accidental voyeurism, piv

Through the creaking wooden door, a gust of chilly wind infiltrates the flower shop, causing the faded brass bell above to quiver faintly. The scent of flowers permeates the air, mingling with the rich aroma of old books and polished wood. You’re staring at the walls that are adorned with ancient botanical prints with a bored expression. Days like these are always boring. 

Raindrops tap rhythmically on the foggy windows. 

Your eyes are drawn to the new shipment, hastily unloaded from a weathered truck parked just outside. The cardboard boxes, marked with fading ink. You rush to collect them, your fingers tingling with anticipation. Finally, something to do. 

Thanking the delivery man, you head back inside. Normally, by this hour, you would have at least a couple of people within the shop. No one runs to by flowers when it’s raining cats and dogs. 

While you slowly cut open the boxes, taking out the tulips and daffodils, your mind wonders to a particular visitor that comes in almost everyday. You wonder if he’ll show up today too. Probably not. Besides he’s a busy man, Joel Miller. One day he popped into your store by mistake, thinking it was a bakery—how he thought that you had no idea—and ever since he’s been a constant present in your life. He always buys a bouquet before he leaves. You never asked who they were for.

Sometimes he even helps with the shop. Fixing the leaking ceiling and the sink in the back. He had a habit of calling you wildflower, which made your insides churn with searing heat. 

Placing all the flowers meticulously on the table, your hands deftly arranging each stem, your eyes search for the scissors. But something catches your attention—a smaller box discreetly tucked behind the larger ones. You open the cardboard box. Inside rests a smaller, more ornate box, adorned with intricate designs. Your eyes narrow when you notice something inscribed on top of it. 

Gently running your fingers over the polished surface, you decipher the inscription etched on top in elegant script: "Edible Petals, Beware Aphrodisiac."

You raise an eyebrow and lift lid off the box, a profusion of vibrant petals greets your gaze. 

“What the fuck?” you whisper to no one, bringing your nose close. You delicately inhale their subtle aroma, a heady sweetness fills the air, mingling with the dampness of rain-soaked blossoms.

This must be a joke, you think, a low chuckle parting your lips. As if eating a flower petal would ever get you horny. You dig the tips of your fingers into the small box, feeling the cool, velvety petals against your cold skin. It feels nice, you’ll give them that at least. 

Your curiousity gets the better of you and you place one purple petal on top of your outstretched tongue.

Joel feels like an idiot. 

He knew it was going to rain today. He had a plan. A very nice and smooth plan, something that neither Tommy nor Sarah believed that he came up with it on his own but he did. 

It was a very nice, simple plan. Yet, he even managed to screw that up. Of all the thinking he did, he hadn’t considered the traffic slowing him down. He should’ve been at the flower shop hours ago. He’d even bought two chocolate croissants, the ones that you can’t seem to get enough of. But the paper bag was now soaked and so was he. 

All week he thought about you and how he would spend the day with you, alone, in that cozy little flower shop. 

The bell chimed upon his entry like it always does. The sound automatically soothing his stuttering heart. He quickly scans his surroundings, empty. The shop is empty. Joel swallows down his disappointment when he doesn’t see you arranging flowers in your usual spot—maybe you were already done for the day? 

He shakes his head. That couldn’t be it, the shop is still open. 

“Wildflower?” he calls out, placing the wet bag on the counter. “You there?” 

Starting to get worried, Joel heads to the back, hoping that you might be in the walk-in floral cooler. “Wildflower?” he repeats. 

Just as he’s greeted with the familiar sight of fresh flowers— Joel hears you. 

A soft moan, a barely there sound. He steps closer, the sounds getting louder and louder. He hears a whimper, then another, louder, moan. When he steps around the corner Joel sees you, the sight shooting directly to his cock. 

Your jeans, along with your panties, were pooled around your ankles, your hand between your legs. His mouth floods at the sight of your fingers disappearing into your soaked heat. Your lips parted, your eyes roll back. Arousal stirs in his gut when you grind down, your other hand shakily lifts your shirt and you pinch a nipple. Hard. 

“Joel. . .” 

His eyes go wide. Did you see him? 

Another loud moan. 

“Joel. . . harder—fuck—please,” with a whimper you throw your head back, igivng him a delicious view of your neck and chest. “God—You feel so good. . .” 

Joel swallows, his cock now fully hard under his jeans. His eyes fixed on you, he adjust himself with the rough stroke of his palm. He needs to let you know that he’s here, even if he doesn’t want to— he’s much rather watch and enjoy the show. His chest heaves as he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, whatever happens next, at least he’ll have your debouched expression forever engraved into his mind. 

“Wildflower,” he says loudly, opening the door. “I—” 

“Joel!?” 

You nearly fall, stumbling back thanks to your jeans acting like a rope around your feet, he jumps forward. He manages to grab your waist and yanks you flush against him, you shudder. 

“Joel. . .” you say again, nuzzling his chest. Joel’s brows furrow, something feels. . . off. “Joel,” you parrot and inhale him. You start rolling your hips, nuzzling your face into his chest. Every muscle on his body grows taut. “Joel, I need you to fuck me,” you breathe out. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I–I—” you look at him with teary eyes. “I accidentally ate an aphrodisiac petal and now I can’t stop. Please.” 

“How the hell do you eat that accidentally?” there’s a slight teasing lilt to his voice, one he can’t help. Smiling, he pushes his hand between your thighs, feeling you with his fingers. He groans. You’re soaking wet. “Fuck—how long were you going at it sweetheart?” 

“I have no idea,” you answer, you inhale sharply when he traces a circle around your aching clit. “Please, I need you.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes yes,” you say quickly. “Please, I think I might die if I don’t feel you splitting me into two, Joel.” 

When your tears catches along the fabric of his shirt, he cradles your cheek and wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. He shushes you. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” he unclasps his belt with one hand. “You’ll be feelin’ good really soon.” 

You sigh in relief, “O-Okay.” 

You don’t have time to feel embarrassed. 

Joel buries himself deep with one smooth thrust. He has your legs shaking around the width of him in an instant, your ass planted firmly against the hard surface of the table. You flutter around him. His head drops, your foreheads pressed together while your noses touch. You moan in relief. 

“That good?” 

“So good,” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. “More, please.” 

He doesn’t make you say it twice. The slam of his hips deafens you, his cock sliding in and out with ease. Your body feels as if it’s burning from the inside out. Arousal constantly coarsing through your veins. With every thrust, he goes deeper, drilling himself into you. He nips your chin, then kisses the corner of your lips. Your brain vaguely signals you that he’s holding back and as soon as you get the memo, you fully press your lips against his in an all consuming kiss. Joel slips his tongue between your lips. He tastes like coffee and vanilla, you can’t get enough of it. 

As he licks himself deepr into your mouth, you feel his fingers deftly circling your clit. With a jolt of pleasure you break the kiss and moan loudly, your legs starting to shake. He sets a frenzied pace, the bulbous head of his cock hitting a spot so deep that you’re seeing stars. 

“You gonna come for me?” he groans, pressing into your harder. “I wanna feel you, wildflower. Let me feel how wet you get for me—” 

His teeth sink into your neck and you’re gone, thrown off the ledge by his hands. You pussy throbs almost violently, you feel wetness growing between your legs, dripping down his length as he continues to fuck himseld deeper into you. 

“Atta girl,” he hums. “You feel so good, honey—fuck,” Joel pulls out and after a few firm strokes, he spills over your stomach, his head falling to your shoulder. You shudder at the way his spend trickles down your skin, mixing with the mess between your legs. 

“Oh god, that felt incredible,” you say as your head starts to clear. But with the fog lifting, subtle hint of embarrassment also start to appear. “J-Joel, I’m so sorry—” 

“Don’t,” he cuts you off and lifts his head, starting directly into your eyes. “You have nothin’ to apologize for. That was delightful, better than I could ever imagine.” 

“Still. . .” you argue, drawing your brows together. “What I did wasn’t exactly professional.” 

“I didn’t come her for professional,” he smiles, cupping your cheeks. “I came here to spend time with you. Alone. If you catch my drift.” 

“Oh,” you answer, and when his words sink in, you grin. “Oh. . .I catch your drift alright.” 

He nods and helps you off the table, “Good. Now, I brought you some croissants but they’re probably all mushy by now.” 

“We can order in? I know this great burger place.” 

Your cheeks feel warm as he holds out his hand, “That sounds great, wildflower.” 

[writeaboutit]

Marijuana Cigarettes

Happy 4/20 y'all🍃! Here's a little Ellie x Reader ramble with smoking, movies, and smut. It's not beta read so forgive me for any mistakes. Also, I am in a writing slump so if y'all have any prompts or suggestions on what to write next pls let me know!!💟

Word count: 2k

Warnings: smut (mdni) 18+

You got a text this morning from your girlfriend saying plainly, “Come over tonight?”

Even though the text seemed a bit eerie you knew that was just Ellie. She was awkward as hell over text, it made you giggle every time you got a strange vague text from her.

She probably just wanted to watch a movie or show you another dinosaur book she found at the library.

At 7 you decided to head over to her and Joel's house. You parked your car outside of the main house on the street and followed the narrow path down the side of the house and through the back gate.

The path was slightly covered in a bit of lingering snow from the storm a few days ago but come the morning sun tomorrow it would most likely all melt away.

You made your way to the garage door, tapping your feet on the mat outside to rid your shoes of the sticky snow before turning the brass nob and entering the warm-ish detached garage.

Ellie was standing in front of her desk fiddling with something you couldn’t see when you walked in. You bent down to unlace your shoes as Ellie turned around alerted to your entrance by the squeak of the door, “Hey baby,”

“Hey,” You say standing up and padding across the room to Ellie. She envelopes you in a hug that chases the lingering chill from outside away. You sigh sinking further into her.

After a few moments, you lean back to look at her, “What are you up to? Did you find another dinosaur book?” you ask in question regarding her earlier text.

“No, I mean well yes but that’s not why I texted you earlier. Do you know what today is?” She’s grinning in excitement. You rack your brain trying to remember what today could be. It’s not your anniversary, you would have remembered that. Nobody’s birthday. You shook your head, looking up at her when you couldn’t come up with an answer.

She smiled even bigger, “It’s April 20th,”

The woman was practically shaking with excitement after she stated the date. It took you a few moments of confusion to understand what she was saying.

“Oh my god, it is. Do you have any weed?” You were getting excited now. It’d been a while since you smoked. Life had gotten hectic and by the time you and Ellie had time to hang out late at night, you both just wanted to watch a movie and fall asleep.

Before you started dating Ellie you didn’t like to smoke, it wasn’t your thing. Constant overthinking and chest-crushing anxiety were the standard experiences for you when high. But after the first time smoking with her, you realized it could be a lot of fun. At least she made it a LOT of fun.

She nodded stepping aside for you to finally see what she had been toying with when you walked in. On the workbench desk was a Bob Marley-covered grinder, rolling papers, and three joints. Little green bits of weed scattered across the wood of the table.

“Wanna get high off our asses and watch The Duff, baby?” Ellie smiled down at you waiting for your response.

“Hell yeah,” You began to unzip your coat, now feeling warm in the small room. Ellie grabbed a joint and your hand, pulling you to her bed in the corner of the room.

She snatched a gray lighter with a cowboy boot engraved on it off the nightstand and crawled onto the mattress wearing only her boyshorts and a tank top.

Before you joined her you whipped your long-sleeved shirt off and walked to Ellie’s closet replacing your shirt with one of her t-shirts. You kicked off your jeans and turned back to her. She was smiling, letting her eyes trail the length of your body.

“What?” You giggled feeling nervous under her stare.

“Nothing, I just like you in my clothes,”

Her voice sends a chill down your spine. You crawl in bed beside her, both of you leaning back against the headboard and she scrolls on the T.V. locating y’alls favorite movie to watch while high, The Duff.

The movie starts and you both settle back into the pillows, Ellie’s arm around your shoulders, your leg thrown over her hip.

Ellie flicks the lighter open, places the joint between her lips, and sucks as the tip lights. The embers on the tip of the joint glow orange in the darkening room, the only other light source being the small television in the corner of the room.

Grey smoke billows out of her mouth as she smiles at the feel of the first hit. The earthy scent of weed instantly fills the room. You take the joint as she offers it to you, taking a deep hit. Smoke fills your lungs, settling warm in your chest before you blow it out.

You guys continue the rotation until most of the joint has burned up and you are significantly high. You feel like you’re in zero gravity and yet at the same time feel like you have an elephant sitting on your chest. You are hyperaware of every place where your skin touches your girlfriends.

The skin of your thigh feels like it’s on fire as it rests upon hers and her finger leaves a trail of lightning as it passes over your shoulder in methodical motions.

You grab her hand bringing it in front of her face. You take in the vanes running over the top of her hand, the lines weaving along her palm, and her short nails. You have lost all interest in the movie, far more concentrated on your girlfriend’s lovely hands.

Next, you move on to inspecting her tattoo. You trace the leaves across her forearm with your finger, reveling in the fact that the hairs on her arms rise with goosebumps in the wake of your touch. You move on to tracing the moth, circling all of the patterns on its wings.

“Baby?” Ellie sighs, the high hitting her just as hard if her voice says anything.

“Mhm?” You don’t look up, continuing your path up her arm.

“I need you to stop that,” Ellie choked out.

“Why?” This gets you to look up at her.

Her pupils are blown wide, turning her eyes black in the low lighting, “Because your touch is leaving every one of my nerve endings on fire and we haven’t finished the movie yet.”

You smirked, glad she was feeling just as affected as you. You let her arm go and leaned up kissing her deeply, “That’s good because my whole body is on fire,” You whisper seductively when the kiss breaks.

Ellie groans, leaning her forehead on yours before muttering, “Fuck the movie,”

You giggle nodding, “Fuck the movie,”

Suddenly you’re flipped onto your back and Ellie’s lips are on your neck. She leaves a trail of kisses from the underside of your jaw to your collarbones. Lifting your shirt she reveals your breasts. You gasp as the cool air hits your nipples causing them to peak.

Ellie lets out a grumble at the sight. Before long she’s continuing her trek down to the place you want her most. She starts at the place between your breasts, continuing down the center of your stomach before landing just above the hem of your panties.

She smiles up at you before lightly grazing her nail over your clothed clit. You whimper at the sudden contact. Squirming you wait for more. All you want is more in this moment.

“What do you want baby?” Ellie asks in a teasing tone.

“More… please,” You whine. Ellie’s chest rumbles with a chuckle as she places a kiss against the inside of your thigh.

“Tell me exactly what you want,” Ellie’s teeth graze the hem of your panties as she waits for your response.

You gasp at the sight of her between your legs, the sight turning you on more than expected. She always did this, asking you to tell her exactly what you wanted. The woman was a slut for your words.

“I want your fingers in me now Ellie,” You whined, losing patience.

She laughed, “Yes ma’am,” Suddenly she was ripping your panties down your legs and throwing your legs over her shoulders. She looked up at you as she oh so slowly dropped the lightest kiss possible to the top of your clit.

You threw your head back at the contact, balling the sheets in a punishing fist.

“You gonna come all over my fingers baby,” Ellie asked as she pushed the first finger inside.

“God yes Ellie…please!” You lifted your hips, following the movement of her fingers.

Ellie groaned leaning down to trail the tip of her tongue over your clit. You could feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. You needed to come so bad but you never wanted this to end.

Ellie must have felt that you were getting close because she pulled back slightly, stopping all her movements. You gave a whiny cry when she stopped. This made her laugh and you wanted to scream. You needed to come so bad.

“Do you want to come, baby?” You wanted to wipe that smile off your girlfriend’s face but that would not get you the orgasm you were so desperately craving.

“Yes.” You groaned back.

“What do you say?”

Ugh, this woman was pushing your buttons in the way only she could, “Please Ellie! Please make me come.” You bucked your hips prompting her to continue.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Ellie dove back in, devouring you. She lapped at your clit, back and forth up and down. You felt drouzy with lust.

She added one finger, pulling it out and adding another when reentering. You moaned riding her fingers as best you could in this position.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. Are you gonna come?”

“Yes, yes keep going, Ellie!” You practically screamed, chasing the orgasm you could feel teetering on the edge, ready to burst.

“Come, come for me baby, please.” Ellie pleaded.

It was her please that sent you over the edge. The whole time she acted as if she was in control of the situation but she wanted to make you come just as badly as you wanted to come. Her pleading for it was too much.

You twitched and sighed, coming down from the high as Ellie crawled up the length of your body, leaving kisses in her wake. She placed a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into her side, cuddling you.

After a few minutes of recovering, you leaned up and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. At first, it was soft and sensual but after just a few moments the kiss turned more heated. You threw your leg over hers, framing her hips on your knees.

Before the make-out could turn into anything more a knock sounded at the door startling you both. You froze and Ellie groaned.

“Yeah?” she called out.

“I’ve got dinner inside if you girls are hungry,” It was Joel’s voice that called back, “Oh and Tommy and Maria are coming over.” He continued.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing at the grimace on Ellie’s face. She rubbed her face with her palm before shouting back, “Okay we’ll be in in a bit,”

The sound of Joel’s footsteps retreated down the path back to the house. You giggled as Ellie rolled her eyes. You climbed off her and the bed searching for your jeans. After slipping them on you walked back to the mattress where Ellie hadn’t moved from, just watching you.

“Come on hot shot, I’m hungry.” You offered your hand dragging her out of bed. She grumbled something about Joel being a cock-block and she got dressed.

You both slipped your shoes on and made your way to the door. She placed her hand on the nob going to open the door but you stopped her.

Leaning up to her ear you whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you come real hard when we get back, baby.” You pecked her cheek and bolted outside giggling before she could drag you back to bed.

How did we like it? This is my first time posting my smut writings so if it was bad sorry I tried (I'm much better at fluff). Anyway, thanks for reading! 🤍

[jpitha]

Between The Black and Grey 39

First / Previous / Next

Northern seemed to know where she was going, so Fen and Zhe just trailed behind, following.

"Northern?" Zhe said, her smaller legs moving quickly to keep up and trying not to pant. "How do you know where to go?"

"I have my ways" Northern's eyes twinkled, and then she chuckled. "That way being, 'I've been here before'."

"So you don't have some kind of secret AI network that you can tap into to learn things about everywhere you go?" Fen smiles as she ribs Northern gently.

"Oh we do. Here we are." Northern stops in front of a cafe. Small metal tables and chairs are set up peeking into the main walkway of the promenade and they spill back into the shop. It looks old and comfortable. The interior is done up in wood colors (Fen can't tell if it's real or artificial), warm yellow light, and it a few degrees warmer than the promenade. Northern steps up to the bar, and reaches into a pocket. She takes out a small coin and taps it onto the bar.

"One moment please!" The barista is a K'laxi, with reddish brown fur, a tangle of earrings on both ears, and - Fen cranes her neck slightly - a piercing on her tail. A ring that goes through the end and jangles slightly as she moves about. She finishes pulling the espresso shot, pours it into a tiny porcelain cup and slides it over to a human standing at the other end in a uniform. "Here you go Will."

"Thanks Olen, I wouldn't have been able to make it through my shift otherwise!" He downs the coffee in one shot and places it back on the bar with a Star note under it. Olen scoops up the money, places the cup in the sink and turns to face Northern. "Now then, what can-"

Before she can finish, Northern slides the coin over to the K'laxi. Fen finally gets a good look at the coin. It's silver, with a bit of bronze or brass in the middle. Written all over it is a script Fen has never seen, and...a map? It looks like a map of a continent, but Fen doesn't recognize the location. The barista places her hand over the coin and slides it out of sight quickly. Her eyes flick up to the other patrons. The shop isn't very busy now, just two or three people sitting, lost in their pads.

"You know, you don't have to use a token anymore. I haven't ever seen one. I only knew to accept it because Yaren told me." She takes out a key - a real, notched, metal key on the end of a long piece of wood with the word 'toilet' written in marker on it. She hands the wood and key to Northern. "People just use the passcode these days."

Northern takes the key and nods. "Yeah, well, maybe I like to do things the old fashioned way. Keeps the old ways alive." Without saying anything she looks at Fen and Zhe and jerks her head towards the back.

In the back of the shop are three doors. Two of them are toilets - multi species of course - and the third, between them just says "maintenance." Northern takes the key and sticks it into a lock on the middle door. It twists and the door unlocks with a satisfying clack. Northern opens the door and the three of them step through.

They enter what for all appearances looks like a maintenance room. It's filled with boxes of coffee supplies, cleaning supplies, mops, brooms and a bag of laundered towels. Northern closes and locks the door behind them, and then walks to the other end. She stares at the wall a moment and slides a pile of boxes out of the way, revealing another door. This one has the word 'basement' scrawled on it in indelible marker, above another word faded with time, and in another script that Fen can't read. Northern uses the key again and this door unlocks, like the first. Nodding to herself, she places the key on a shelf near the door and steps through.

Now, they're in a hallway. Dimly lit and without decoration, it's all plating and metal. When Northern closes the door behind them, the clack of the latch is loud and brash.

They head down the hall, their boots thumping on the deck. They walk quite a ways, with no other doors in sight, the lighting dim and dingy.

After entirely too long in Fen's opinion they come across another door. This one, circular, and much older than the first. Northern touches the pad next to it and is irises open silently.

Now, they're in a hall. Fen looks around. This looks awfully like the halls on Spyglass. "Northern? Why does this hall look like a Starjumper?"

Northern grins. "Because it is, Fen. Good eye. Picaresque was built of a K'laxi research station and a human Starjumper. They needed more living space right away and used the Starjumper to expand. I heard that the wormhole generators are still in here, somewhere, but I'd be surprised to learn that was true. Imagine a space station linking around!"

A little further down the hall, and there is another door. This one is decorated in hand drawn flowers and vines, and written on it is the word 'basement' Northern touches the pad, and as they door opens, Fen and Zhe are assaulted by noise.

Fen didn't know what to expect, but she didn't expect this. It was crowded, it was noisy, it was full of people. Where the promenade was quiet and sleepy, the basement was loud and full. Northern pushed ahead through the crowd, her height giving her an advantage. Zhe grabbed Fen's shoulder, and Fen took off after her, threading her way.

This basement was far larger than the one where she met Northern, yet it had a similar feel. There were stands set up with people offering all kinds of things for sale, food vendors selling all manner of treats - the smell was nearly overwhelming - and people of all different kinds. Fen saw more different people in the basement than anywhere else. There was a Gren selling drinks, a K'laxi who was making jewelry while another stood watch over the wares for sale, and an Innari selling... weapons? Fen stopped.

"Ah! My friend! See anything that catches your eye? I carry firearms for all body plans and can modify to suit." His iridescent feathers flashed in the spotlights he had set up overhead, shining down on the weapons chained to a large metal bar. Fen's eye was drawn to a pistol. It was of human make, so large and imposing and grey.

"What's this pistol?"

"You have quite a practiced eye. It's quite rare. It's a human sidearm from pre contact. When this weapon was new, humanity knew of no other species. And yet! It still operates with common ammunition and as you can see is in excellent condition." The Innari picked up the weapon with two hands, and handed it - butt first - to Fen. She toggled the eject, and the magazine slid out. It was empty of course, but Fen placed it down on the counter anyway. She cycled the action and peered inside. The barrell was immaculate, the rifling clear and clean. The switches and toggles were all smooth and the weapon smelled of oil. If it really was more than a thousand years old, it didn't show it.

Fen placed it back on the counter. "I like it. How much?"

"Seven thousand Stars." The Innari didn't even have the decency to hesitate when he spoke the price.

Fen scoffed. "It's worth two, maybe. If you can provide the provenance of its age. It could be a replica."

"You wound me, human!" The Innari's feathers all puffed out, and they clacked their beak in irritation. "To imply that I would sell a replica here. Do you know what would happen to my reputation if I did? I cannot believe you would even imply that this... this piece of art was a replica. Still, I must move merchandise. I would be willing to let this particular piece go for five thousand Stars."

"Thirty three hundred, and you'll include a box of ammunition." Fen's eyes locked with the Innari.

It felt like the noise of the basement faded away for just a moment as they stared. The Innari tried to match Fen's stare, but nobody stares like a human. Those close, binocular eyes are built for it. "Fine."

Fen took out her Pad and transferred the money. After a moment the Innari verified the transaction, unlocked the gun and handed it to her. Reaching under the table between them, he also placed a heavy box that rattled as he set it down. "If anyone asks where I got it from, I don't remember"

The gun seller nodded. "Now go, I need to make some sales to recover from this loss I have been subjected to."

Fen slid the pistol into the band of her pants and held onto the box of shells as she wandered around, looking for Northern and Fen. She finally found them in a back corner, near a K'laxi selling fried treats. Zhe was munching on one while Northern was arguing with a human.

"You are telling me that there isn't a single person on Picaresque that is willing to pilot?"

"I'm telling you there are no AIs on Picaresque." She crossed her arms and held fast.

Northern pleaded. "Come on, we're in the basement. We're outside of Imperial jurisdiction."

"And I don't care if we're on a Gren Warfinder. There are no AIs here."

Zhe finished her treat and tossed the stick into a cup that was on the fried food vendor's counter for the purpose. "Where were you Fen?"

Fen took out her prize. "Check it out, I bought a pistol. Supposedly it's pre-contact which makes it nearly a thousand years old." She handed it to Zhe.

Zhe took it, and her arms drooped as Fen let go. "This is heavy!" She turned it over and stared at it. "It smells... oily too."

Fen nodded. "That's the gun oil. It keeps it from corroding."

Northern's attention was caught by their conversation. She looked at the gun. "That's a replica."

Fen swore. "Of course it is. I'm glad I got a deal then. How do you know?"

Northern pointed at a lever by the trigger. "The safety lever is all wrong. I hope you didn't pay more than a couple thousand Stars for that."

Fen said nothing, but scowled. Zhe handed the pistol back. "It's a very nice replica at least."

The person behind the counter that was arguing with Northern noticed. "How did you know about that pistol?" She was around the same height as Northern, with closely cropped black hair. She was curvy and strongly built and looked like she could scoop up Fen and Zhe on each arm.

"I remember when they were standard issue. If you didn't keep them immaculately clean they would jam at the worst possible time. Ancestors, I must have printed tens of thousands of replacement parts."

The woman narrows her eyes. "Where were you stationed?"

Northern raises an eyebrow. "All over-" she gestures at the pistol "-but when that gun was new? I ran Parvati-Sol."

The woman's eyes widened. "Ears are everywhere. Keep your voice down." She looked at Northern, Zhe and Fen again. "Dammit. I can't say no to a vet." Her eyes flashed blue for just a moment. "Okay, I put-"

The conversation was interrupted by a rippling thump, and the deck undulated and rocked beneath their feet. There was a moment of surprised silents and then an alarm screamed overhead. Action Stations. The noise of the alarm broke the spell and it was pandemonium. People started streaming towards the exits, vendors abandoning their stalls. The woman grabbed Northern. "Come with me! We have to get out of here."

Zhe looked around at the mess. "What happening."

"It's an Action Stations alarm." Fen's voice was nearly a whisper. "We're under attack."

[theherdofturtles]

Fandom: Hetalia Prompt: therapy session Rating: G Word Count: 6,412 England goes to family therapy and regrets everything. Especially when Ireland shows up. This had more comedy in it than I expected. @badthingshappenbingo

It was in Haltwhistle, in a grim grey gloom of early morning mist from an earlier morning drizzle. The pale street was darkened by the moisture, and the sun added a silvery tinfoil glow to the cold concrete through the thinning clouds. England was waiting outside the building, about six minutes late to the appointment.

An all-morning headache throbbed behind his eyes from what he knew was to come and England stared dead at the doorknob.

His fingers touched the cold brass and opened the door painfully slow, resonating every ear scraping squeak of the hinge through the waiting room inside.

This was not appreciated by the blank-faced human, who stood behind the counter, and ever-so-slightly dropped their fake smile.

England closed the door behind him, approached, and tapped his fingers on the desk.

“Sir Kirkland,” the human nodded. They were straight laced, holding a practiced pearly smile that anyone could choke on. Every non-English human looked almost exactly the same to him… this one was no different. German. England only entertained this for Germany's sake.

The person clicked diligently on their computer, then gestured for him to follow, “right this way." They stepped in front of him to lead him to a hidden, deeper door down the hall. "I must remind you that you are not permitted to harm any living being in these premises or carry a weapon.”

England scowled. He wasn’t unreasonable, he asked beforehand to be certain was all. Having no weapon made him feel naked.

They came to a door, which had the homeliness of an office space. On the white, plexiglass, clouded window door were the printed and unimpressive block words, "The work you do today determines where you will be tomorrow." England stared at it with half-lid judgement for a moment.

England reluctantly steeled himself for the upcoming migraine. It took him a moment to mentally prepare, focusing on the words being spoken in two different, but familiar, accents behind the door. The memories came back, the sentiments, listening very carefully. Then he pulled himself forward. The human opened the door.

“Take a seat…” the human said.

He entered with a sigh, and sat down with a firm resolve.

"This was your idea," Scotland growled.

England scowled.

This was a mistake, was what. England wished he'd never brought it up, he wished he could go back in time and slap himself with a brick. Who thought any of them were capable of sitting still and talking about feelings for an hour? Why did he consider it could even help? Some things were so broken they didn't deserve fixing.

And now the three of them were flopped onto light grey therapy couches rather ungentlemanly, sinking into the cushions as if throwing off a long day. Unfortunately, this day wasn’t even close to finishing and he couldn't deign himself to treat this activity with respect.

"It was a good idea," Wales encouraged. His eyes were brighter than everyone elses and he swayed as if dancing in his chair.

Of course he thought it was a good idea. He'd given England the final push to mention it to the Prime Minister. He couldn't backtrack, now. This was Wales's fault, too.

"Blame Wales." England tossed his brother under the bus. "He said I should bring this off-hand idea to the PM."

Scotland tossed Wales a betrayed, questioning look, as if asking for a defense or for the real truth… maybe he was even willing Wales to give him a lie.

Wales gave him the sheepish, apologetic half-shrug he didn't want. "It was a good idea."

Scotland rolled just enough to face away from both of them, unseen, looking suddenly rather weary behind a blank shuttered mask.

Wales went to stare at his feet, and England went to stare out the window.

The day was middling in more ways than one and if the therapist didn't show up soon a war would start. The peace of the British Isles was unhappily in the hands of one human with a measly pHD. Sorrows. Story of the modern world. England should've stayed in bed today. A thousand things that were better left alone were spinning in his head, and above all those writhing half-baked thoughts hung the rather large and block-like fear of potentially having to share the thousand things that were better left alone.

This truly had been a miserable idea.

When the thought to try therapy had first struck him, it had been suggested by a human being at a pub and drunkenly accepted as sound. He'd written the whole idea out in barely legible letters on a stained napkin: a two way plan to be a normal family. He'd almost tossed the paper into a bin the following day, certainly would've if Wales hadn't found it first, managed to read it, and then went and mentioned it to one of his former EU peers. After which the news travelled down low through the ranks. 'Very mature,' they said. Everyone was shocked. Out of character. Then the boss found out and considered the gains. Everyone except England loved watching him squirm his way into an awkward family dinner, but then he felt a need to prove them all wrong.

The door opened. He casually looked up, expecting the therapist. Instead England almost choked.

A man strode in with the doctor, mid-speech. "The lads caught the fish foaming at the mouth, thinking it was cursed. Once beached they pelted it till it dried out in the sun and I haven't seen so many spiders in one place since," the last man England wanted to see explained with flapping hands to the therapist.

Ireland. In all his lacking glory.

He hadn't taken his tweed coat off inside, he kept one hand shoved into a pocket and had a pair of sunglasses sitting on the bridge over his nose. Mind you they were inside while the weather was currently clouded. His dark red hair scattered windswept over his face and was fully unbrushed as if he'd rolled from bed and then let a cow lick it for good measure.

How was he here?!

England gaped and stared and Scotland and Wales jumped to their feet like proper siblings.

"Ciarán!" Wales shouted. He nearly tripped over the table to clasp Ireland's outstretched hand, giving it a hearty shake before falling into a sideways hug. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"A rumor caught the butt of my lung and I couldn't miss a day as dour as this." Ireland turned to grin. He quickly found England, and looked down on him. He flipped his useless sunglasses up to meet England's cold, sharp eyes. "He's destroyed, surely," Ireland muttered.

Just because he signed for therapy didn't make him destroyed.

Scotland grinned and said something fully unintelligible to England, but which made Ireland laugh.

He didn't know what they said. Habit knew it had to be at his own expense, though. He straightened in his seat and squared his shoulders. “What is it?! Say it to my face,” England growled.

“Would you like to see a health specialist?” Ireland asked.

“What does that mean?!” England pushed himself up from his comfortable spot on the couch.

But nobody got another word into the budding fight. At least, nobody worthwhile. The human being who'd been given the grand task of fixing the mental discord of the United Kingdom plus Ireland, apparently, politely interceded.

"Thank you all for coming today. I am doctor Christal. If you are prepared to begin, I will start by asking if you know about different psychotherapy techniques, or if you are fully new to therapy," the human said. She carried herself tall and casual, with a rather impartial tone that was obviously trained. It must be their default response to derail conflict. England felt he was three steps ahead of this human, and therefore, he felt he'd be too intelligent for therapy to work on. He felt the discord between his siblings would be too much to fix, anyway, which added two more reasons to why this had been a terrible idea.

“Yes… I'm sure I know the basics…” England sat down once again. He never had to do a thing to his siblings, yet his actions were always received negatively. That was fine with him… he'd lived with it for years, he could live with it longer. Especially after the day inevitably fixed nothing.

His siblings also came to sit, two to teach side of the room, turning the therapy lounge into a four way staring competition.

Wales sat next to England, quietly in the corner and carefully keeping the attention undrawn to himself. Scotland faced across from England with every limb on his body crossed, and Ireland, facing Wales, sat with his head leaned back over the top of the couch letting the air dry his tongue.

"Everyone's progress in treatment is subjective," the therapist said. She sat at the head of the table, turning their staring square into a five-star circle of tension. "And the best results come if you do your best to cooperate. Today, I would be happy to support you in addressing improving meaningful family communication, but you should not be discouraged if progress is, at first, slow. Learning how to communicate in any relationship can be difficult."

Scotland had a great interest in the wall; Wales listened intently to the therapist; Ireland had an incomprehensible smirk on his face.

He just knew he was going to hate this day forever.

"Structured exercises that encourage communication can benefit relationships. The exercise I've prepared today can help start to strengthen abilities of expression. Each of you will be given an equal number of legos-"

"legos?" England raised a brow. "What do toys have to do with anything?"

"Honest to God, this'll be a great game," Ireland promised without looking at England. His head still lay tilted back, still staring at the ceiling with his stupid smirk. Under his sunglasses England had no clue if his eyes were closed for a nap or wide alert.

"Shut up, you weren't supposed to even be here," England retorted. Ireland clearly wasn't taking this seriously. He didn't know how or why Ireland had even shown up if it was a game to him, but England would get to the bottom of it. One of his brothers must have tipped Ireland off to this event… he suspected Wales. Wales tossed him under the bus and a tooth for a tooth would do the trick. England wouldn't let any of them get away with this.

"Your boss gave me an invite," Ireland simply said.

"Lies."

The therapist patiently waited, but the therapist also did not care for their spat. "I will explain their usage in a moment," she said, cutting between them, back on track. "The player who starts first will draw a card, read it aloud, and respond to it. If two or more other players decide the response is appropriate, the player gets to place a lego piece on their base. If less than two decide the response is appropriate, no lego piece is placed. Play moves to the next player. The next player draws, and we repeat. We play until one player has his base covered, and that will be the winner."

"What's the prize?" Scotland finally pitched in. He briefly put his attention into the room, dragging his brooding thoughts from whatever depth of detail on the wall they'd fallen into.

"One month of no government paperwork."

Audibly someone sucked in a breath.

One month of no paperwork? England hated paperwork. Paper cursed the modern world, he missed being able to do anything and go anywhere without filling out boxes or filing requests. Back then, the king or queen just waved everything off, the perfect system. Who would do his paperwork while he was free? Decidedly, England did not care. His heart already lurched greedily after what it wanted, and England had to have it. He did more than his siblings, it was only fair. He worked late nights breaking pencils and ruining his eyes on pixels. They did so much less for this country.

England cast a quick glance at Wales, and Wales cast one to him, then to Scotland. Each cast glance was precarious, hesitant, but determined. Everyone wanted a blessed free month. Nobody was sure they were willing to sacrifice what it took to get it. England steeled himself for a new type of fight: bonding. Ug.

Over in his corner, nobody could tell what Ireland was thinking hidden behind his sunglasses.

England was starting to think him a clever bastard.

"Is there a volunteer to go first?" The therapist asked.

"I can," Wales half lifted his hand. It withered back a bit, shrinking before even being protested against. "I'm just curious. I could also wait."

Wales was rarely first to anything, or one to speak out about opinions. It almost surprised England how quickly he'd responded. But then he remembered that Wales was the most willing to trip over himself in order to save another person any level of discomfort. It meant Wales was usually the first of his siblings to fall and least likely to leave.

She gave an encouraging nod and nobody else protested. They all eagerly watched to find out what would happen.

A stack of cards was proffered to Wales, which Wales took and placed onto the centre table. Wales slid the top card off and flipped it over to read:

"Tell about a time that you were emotionally hurt."

Wales nervously smiled, slightly. Wales, equally nervous, chuckled. "Not sure what I expected? Therapy couldn't be easy." He shrugged.

He placed the card down into his lap and tapped his thumbs together in thought, staring off, but leaving just enough of himself present to indicate he was participating.

England could tell the moment he latched onto a thought to begin.

"This happened several times…" he paused "I've never been invited to a meeting. Or asked for a diplomatic opinion, of course. Because I don't have official autonomy. But I've tried to give diplomatic advice at least once, and you've all said… that I wasn't a real country. You don't even hear me out. I think that stings."

Wales looked to each of them, and his fingers slowly creased the edges of the card in his lap.

They were all quiet for an awkward moment. No one dared say anything. As a matter of fact, if no one ever spoke again that would be grand. England didn't know why hearing Wales share his personal struggles sucked the air from him because England didn't even really care. He felt annoyed and—he wanted to dig out of the room. Why'd he ever think this was a good idea?

"Thank you for sharing," the therapist said.

Wales smiled, half shy and relieved for any response at all.

England was going to toss himself out of the window before the day ended. There was no way he'd survive this. Oh, but he wanted that month of vacation—but the thought of sharing anything with his siblings sounded worse than a paper cut to the eyeball. But he wanted that vacation.

"Now we're started," Ireland said, "very sorry about that, Wales. We'll have a drink sometime and I'll hear you." He waved at the therapist. "Give the man a lego."

Scotland gave a nod of agreement, and England gave the stack a sliding, terribly wary eye as Wales put down the brick on his plate. A terrible restlessness crawled under England's skin, compressing his itching chair into a stringed cage, taunting him with the stupidity and uselessness of this whole game.

Everyone looked at him.

He felt the stares and the restlessness grow worse, but England had the guts- or stubbornness- to not fall short under anybody else's expectations. He resisted the urge to tap his foot.

Reaching for the card and turning it over to read, England stared at the prompt and silently read. The quiet, hidden tension slowly left his shoulders.

That wasn't bad. That was so easy. England could easily do that. This was stupid as he thought, he could easily survive the day.

"Compare this family to a musical instrument," he read aloud.

He gave a little pleased smile to the therapist, as if he'd won a lottery and had some fortune to show for it, and was beating the house at their own game.

Wales hummed with sincere attention all on England. England's smile shifted into a more hesitant mirroring frown and he discarded the card in his lap.

Why was Wales looking at him like that? How could a question like this garner that kind of attention? It wasn't important, was it? Surely not.

He cleared his throat. "An untuned kazoo."

Wales looked less happy, like the answer wasn't what he wanted and England had no idea why.

"Does one need to tune a kazoo?" Ireland mused.

"I don't know," England snapped, "we've managed to untune it."

"Managed most the work yourself," Scotland said.

England seethed quietly and folded the card in half. "Well, that's my answer. Live with it."

"No lego for the man," Ireland declared. He announced with the same smile and volume he'd commended Wales with, and Scotland, once again, nodded agreement to the eldest's judgement.

"What?! I answered fairly!"

"But why? Why's it an untuned kazoo?" Wales asked. "You have to explain at least."

No. He shouldn't need to explain, it was straightforward enough—they all annoyed one another, and nobody wanted to listen. A kazoo was equally annoying and nobody listened to it in their free time, either. No respectable instrument would be caught in a composition with one, and if another instrument happened to be forced to work with them, their family wouldn't even be tuned enough to make the proper harmony.

He crossed his arms and turned his head away. "I don't have to explain anything."

"Mr. Kirkland, creating a meaningful experience today may require attempts at difficult or seemingly unnecessary communication."

Screw the therapist, too. His brothers were all going to gang up to keep him from winning.

"We can wait as long as it takes for you to form an answer," Wales helpfully informed. England felt like shooting someone.

"This is pointless," he muttered, "pointless. But if you have so little ability to solve it out, it's because untuned instruments fail even when performed to the exact instruction; they're unable to play in a composition. And kazoos are annoying."

Ireland nodded in mock serenity. "You're still a caterpillar. Break up your boy-band. Solo should do you kinder."

Wales snorted a laugh, and Ireland smiled at Wales, pleased with himself.

England had no clue what he meant, but once again, he knew this was at his expense. England felt his cheeks flush with hot blood, blooming red, and skin being whiter than white, everyone knew every time anyone got to him. He was going to shoot more than one someone, and he didn't know if he'd spare himself in the aftermath.

"Give me my brick," England demanded.

He got his brick. It was only fair, Wales had said. England added the child's toy to his plate and noted the off-colourness between brick and base, and found the film of the brick's unwashed surface highly agitating. Both heightened the noise of restlessness in his body, traveling up through his fingers.

Next was Scotland, who took a card as calm and bored as he'd take a cigarette.

"What do you like about the way you fight?" Scotland read carefully. He put the card back down onto the table and crossed his arms. "I don't talk words," he said. "Only do action."

His cold green stare steadily focused on England before boredly drowsing back to the wall.

England held his hands closer. Scotland fought more in actions, but at the end of the day, that was Scotland's weakness, too. He learnt that long ago. Scotland got to fighting before he'd even read a room, he struck quick and clean, which made him venerable but easy to out-maneuver with a document and speech at Whitehall.

Back when England was backwater and weak he used his words to his advantage. England had always been best and warfare in language, and that made Scotland's answer one England, too, appreciated.

Never change, England snidely thought.

He didn't like the bruises their scuffs got him, though. He should nag at him. "Make him explain more, he didn't give enough words," England said.

If England should suffer, so should the rest.

"… I think that one explained itself," said Wales.

Ireland gave Scotland a thumbs up. "I'd drink health to that. Simple, easy, and the type of spat that can be done with quickest in this family."

This response affirmed all of England's obviously correct calculations. His siblings were gained up on him. Irleand and Wales had backed Scotland but failed to back him.

England should not lose in the field of words.

Therapy was his antithesis… the plain, true speech of morons stripped the power of information withheld. Nobody kept their cards close. England thrived so long as he kept his cards close… all warfare was deception.

Scotland added his brick, and Ireland rubbed his hands together before taking his card.

"What is something that you would not give up?" Ireland read and shook his head pleasantly. "Several things, though one presently needing declaration. So I'll have you a riddle! There are two skulls in Ireland, one of a person when he was a boy of ten years, and the other of the same person when he grew to be a man." He raised two fingers in demonstration as he said it. "They sit kindly side by Cromwell's under a loose stone in my wall."

England blinked. His brows furrowed.

An indignity caught a spark and burned into a sudden blaze.

"I asked you to give me my skulls back! You said they were lost!" England stood to his feet.

"I'm your devil when your head's astray. You shouldn't've lost a head twice at my house."

England was shooting himself first. Then he was shooting everyone else.

"I can't believe you--"

"Why do you want to keep those?" Wales interrupted.

"Because he's psychotic," England said. He was psychotic and orderless.

Irleand tapped two fingers to his lip in thought.

"At his age ten, I was an island born from druids and fed by Catholics. Call it indulgence… I even kept mother's finger. We like our dead." Ireland, oddly pensive, frowned. "But at his adulthood, I wanted to curse him." Ireland suddenly fell from his odd spiel with a grin.

Curse?

"What did you put on me?" England narrowed his eyes.

"You would love to know, wouldn't you?"

Pressuring would prove him correct and England felt particularly petulant. An injustice had been committed against him. He brought a quick hand to his current skull to feel it, flat against his forehead.

"That first part was oddly touching," said Wales, "the second one wasn't, but it was understandable. We've all cursed one another at least once. Nothing debilitating."

Who put Wales in charge of mediating? What was the therapist doing?

England looked at her and she looked at him.

Her blank, unreadable face bore a hole in him.

England looked away.

The sight that greeted him was worse: Ireland got a brick and Wales got a new card.

"Do you say 'I'm sorry' before you are ready?" Wales put the card down. "I think so… or… I'm not sure. Sometimes I say it to end a fight, that may be readiness. I don't want to be responsible for perpetuating any hurt or conflict."

Once again, the reigning choir of crickets arose gloriously from three completely dead silent brothers. Nobody wanted to say anything to Wales. Each time Wales spoke, England irrationally wanted a shovel. For himself. To get out of the world.

"That must have been uncomfortable," the therapist said, saying what no sibling wanted to say.

She could be interacting with Wales the most. England tried to remember how she'd responded to each of them, and he suspected he was right, as usual.

"When we apologise before the time is right, we can still feel empty inside afterwards. But holding onto our anger can gave us a harmful, and false, sense of control in difficult situations. We should acknowledge that we apologise in order to help us forgive ourselves. If we cannot forgive ourselves yet, or feel no need to do so, an apology may be too early."

England wanted to snap any response of denial possible.

"I don't believe in apologies," England said. He couldn't stand this pat-on-back seasick sharing fest. "Apologies are selfish. People do it to feel good about themselves."

"Is feeling better about oneself bad?" She asked.

"It's selfish," England repeated.

Ireland stared at England, and England could already hear his voice. Bold words from a selfish man. England knew what his brother thought of him. He knew what all of them thought.

"Just give Wales his lego so I can fail to win a week off paperwork," he grumbled and swiped a card from the deck.

"Are you so determined to win that you don't listen or really look for a solution? No. I'm not. I listen, I find a solution, then I win."

"Load of shite," Scotland said, staring at his wall.

"Has yourself, or another, been put in danger to achieve one of your victories before?" She asked.

"Ha! I'm a soldier, what do you expect the answer to that is? That's all I ever do." He ought to leave. This day was indeed a waste, he was determined to remain unsubdued. Why? He never had to think about why. He didn't know, he couldn't stop throwing words away. He hated a comfortable smile, it wouldn't be reasonable to accept. It wouldn't change anything. He hated anyone who promised otherwise. Those moments he felt he was being lied to, and he only entertained a good lie when too smashed drunk to remember it.

"Do I get a brick or not?" He demanded.

The circle of silent, undisturbed faces said the answer was no.

He was right. They disliked him because he was right. An apology wasted breath… he couldn't count how many words and treaties everyone had broken. A spat ended with never again,, I'll change,, we'll make it better, but the very next day the war continued. They should skip the formalites.

"Forget it, go on, Scotland," England snapped.

The unbearable moment sponged into the resuming, tense air. They were acclimated to it, they didn't bother with it.

Scotland took the next prompt and read, "Do you fight someone else's fights?" He shook his head. "Not if I can't help it."

His finger tips rubbed together as if he wanted to roll tobacco into his mouth. Instead Irleand rolled a lego into his hand.

Ireland, ever untouched, moved freely despite the tension. He escaped the world without leaving the world, tearing England's speech from his tongue. The air was warm for him wherever he went, so privileged and natural like nature itself had given him an edge over everyone else. England didn't matter to him. No voice, decree, or weapon could damage the high head he carried and each room he entered he navigated easily as water changing shape.

England breathed through his nose and focused on his empty hands.

"Tell about one of your most frightening experiences," Ireland read. He dropped the card and leaned backwards, hands laced behind his head, falling to where his sunglasses caught a glint of the artificial lights. "Ah, there was a year at Colman's college I took, passing for a student, when I realised the boys hadn't got a word of gaelic. All my years before that day, there never came a minute I thought of Gaelic as being in danger. It struck me so sudden. How the old people were heading off, and there would be a generation with both languages, and then a generation that hadn't got gaelic at all. Then my island sounded like a foreign country. I almost preferred going to a foreign country, living there rather than see a land without a word of Gaelic in it. Ah well-- I did what any would do, finding sudden isolation on their brink. I dug me heels in. Never going to let the amount of my own language fall to nothing. Do chum glóire dé agus onóra na hÉireann. I'll keep the words close to heart until the people have them again."

Both Wales and Scotland would agree. They did agree. Every problem Ireland had they had also had, because both of them were stuck to England. And every problem they had had, they had either conquered or learned to deal with through an imitation of one another.

England was the only odd one out, because England had no common problems with them… nothing he had discovered or would share.

Everyone was then one piece ahead and England had no more reason to entertain this place with his time other than for show.

"What was one of the happiest moments of this last century. Oh. Hm. I don't know." Wales never said he knew. Wales continued onward with what he knew. "Sri Lanka sat on a bench with me in Rome, we argued over who had the better flag."

"Alright, and then?"

"That's it."

"But who won?"

Wales shrugged. "I don't remember if we did."

"Ah, I see." Ireland leaned over the table with his grin. He did most of the interacting today, the therapist did some pointers but had lost interest in her job compared to Ireland. Scotland engaged only if he had no other choice.

The bricks kept stacking.

And then it was England's miserable turn again. The only comfort he had was the lack of initiative he felt for this so called 'game.' England had no reason to answer with the truth, or answer at all.

His new card read: I wish I were less __ with a big, awful blank on the end. One short void for one short answer that he could never fit on a card. The space provided was too small and England didn't have enough graphite to fill it. It burned through his fingertips.

He blinked at it several times, resisting the urge to tear it.

"I wish I were less blank," he read. Agressive, incompetent, well-known, difficult, vocal… England scowled. "Short."

He should never have to answer this question.

He could use an extra few inches.

Shave himself away, replace it with a new stature. Maybe he'd find the respect he wanted to give himself and take from others, then. Maybe that would fix it. He crumpled the offending question in his hand.

The council reluctantly gave him his little lego brick and moved on without pressure or questioning.

Scotland's next card had to do with quotes, and he said something in a language England didn't know.

After, Irleand talked about a riot in Dublin, and a trial, against him the council written in the English law. He bragged of denying his guilt before the unclever court.

And the brothers talked, barring England. He skipped his next turn and Scotland got his question:

Tell about your greatest concern for this family.

He flatly informed them all that it was England which earned them amusement.

Another story came around about an idiot who flew through Iranian airspace, and required international attention.

England was having a strenuous day, and was becoming wary of any voice at all.

Each click of a tongue or shuffle of a foot scraped under his skin. England couldn't settle it, his head tilted slow, very slow, side to side as if trying to escape it.

"Do you pretend that the fight isn't important or laugh about it?" Ireland immediately agreed. "Of course. Most spats aren't worth losing a year to the pain."

England sunk deeper. He didn't know what he wanted. He wanted to leave.

Wales got another card about fighting, yet another, all about fighting. He knew the day was to adress family fighting and communication, he didn't want to talk about fighting again. Who do you fight with best/worst? Wales didn't understand how he could answer the question and took his first veto.

That left him second to last, and only Ireland and Scotland to fight for a first.

For the hell of it, England took up his next question and regretted it immediately.

I will feel accepted and part of this family group when _.

He felt the same, familiar, irritated muchness with the world filling his stomach. It felt empty, full of nothing. Everything was distorted, out of proportion to the cause. England didn't want to continue this. Not for two rounds.

He folded it in half and leaned back into the couch.

"Play on," he said.

Nobody questioned him. He hated that worse, he was so, deeply, terribly relieved. Instead there was a huff and a sense of patience wearing thin. The noise rubbed worse on his eardrums.

Scotland began his next reading:

"I feel most loved when, blank." He grumbled under his breath. "when I have scotch, a fireplace, and m' dogs."

His fingers rubbed the couch armrest. England didn't want to be here. Any moment spent longer in the room while he could think of nothing else became intolerable. He saw the cards, each scrape of paper scratched his ears. England didn't want to be here. His feet planted stiff on the office floor and England had to, he couldn't be here longer. They'd talk about it but he couldn't stay. England stood.

Several gazes hit him at once. Ireland's hidden gaze was worst of all because he couldn't tell. England hated being unable to tell. What he was thinking, if he was actually gazing.

He held his breath under their gazes, and only breathed easily when he slipped through the door to leave.

England felt a thin pin prick of annoyance in his chest. His frown deepened.

In the warm artificial light outside, in the hall, England stood straight in a firm immobile stance, in the usual strung-up orderly manner, keeping his appearance composed. Everything itched. The room behind him murmured. His siblings maybe talked about him. They maybe said nothing about him. Two outcomes England immediately noticed and decided he couldn't take. He didn't even know why he had to leave. Nearly two thousand years of life and these were the things that bothered him through it all. What a pathetic existence.

The door opened again.

Wales steadily closed it, carefully. England never realised his carefulness until the world burned and every sound was too much on his nerves.

"You lied," England said.

"I didn't."

"You said you apologise to end fights. Nobody does. Not in this family."

"Do you want an apology, Arthur?"

"Do it. I don't care. I'll keep accusing you of being a liar. I'll bring it up tomorrow. This family doesn't drop anything."

Wales came forward and- and- hugged him.

He flinched. It travelled like a jolt through his spine, quick and shocked and discontent. The jolt settled and spun and then it vanished, like seafoam fizzling away after a wave. England was left stiff.

Stop.

Don't ever leave.

England relaxed.

"I can't stand you," England said. And he meant it. He couldn't stand anybody, he always wanted them around when he was terribly alone and always he wanted them gone when they were with him. The isolation got worse the more people he had in his life, the isolation got worse and he looked for more people and ruined his hopes worse.

"Then we have a conundrum. Because I can stand you, and I like you, even," Wales said. He let go of England and took a step back. "But I think you like us too. I don't want to believe otherwise."

England thought, standing in the hall, under an artificial light, he didn't want to think about it. The world had been a better place and the ice thickened only just enough to keep war from cracking through between them, but he imagined the plunge was but a few reckless inches away. It was thirty years ago he shot Ireland… Ireland had peeled him off by pretending he didn't notice; Ireland got a certain perverse joy from continuing to remain indifferent to his existence. Like it didn't matter. Like England wasn't but a minor inconvenience, a slapable fly. The taste for righting wrongs was in Europe's reluctant air.

England turned down the hall to leave, walking out and into the same lobby past the same human who barely acknowledged them with a customer nod. Wales followed.

"He wants to annoy me to death, he didn't have to be here. I give him a bullet he gives a grin—came to screw with me, that's why he's here." "He wants to support your choice to sign for therapy." "He could've done that with a card." England crossed the threshold into the street.

A wet glisten sparkled in the road where his foot landed and England blinked. Water. Yes, water, always water, but glinting water. The road sparkled in the sun.

He looked up at the sky.

Blue sky.

A clear patch cleared through the early white grey wisps of clouds overhead, receding the early morning haze into the lime-green earth.

He heard Wales sigh behind him. "What a day." Wales smiled, breathing in the clay-wet air, basking in the golden sun. His palm cupped flat to the open sky, feeling for an already fled rain.

"Indeed… what a day," England murmured, watching him.

'I don't know why you're still around,' he thought.

[oldfarmhouse]

A fluted marble sink, aged brass taps and oak cupboards, all by deVOL.

𝗁𝗍𝗍𝗉s://instagram.com/devolkitchens

[tbcanary]

arrowfam week day five: embrace

—

Bang!

The wind slams the window open faster than her hands can catch it, and Emiko winces in sympathy for the wall. And also, because there’s no way anyone in the house didn’t hear that, and she was trying to keep this visit from becoming a whole thing.

She waits a second, just to make sure no one is about to come running in and turn her into a new-age pincushion, and then slowly stretches one leg out to rest on the edge of the sink beneath her. Then she pushes off the window sill and jumps, landing softly on the linoleum tile.

Her side twinges, sharp and warm. She winces again and presses a hand to her ribs.

There’s got to be a first aid kit around here somewhere. She knows the residents of this house; not a day goes by that someone doesn’t come stumbling in with a stab wound or a broken bone. The sink is a good bet, actually, and she can check underneath it in just a second. First…

Her toes tap-tap-tap gently as she dances over to the fridge. The light is very nearly blinding as she pulls the door open, even through her domino mask, and she finds herself squinting as she surveys the contents.

Loose vegetables from the local market. Chinese takeout from the restaurant in town. Beer, which means either Dinah or Hal is in town. Three open containers of jelly — strawberry for Lian, grape for Roy, and another strawberry from when Oliver probably forgot there was already one open and ready. Congealed macaroni and cheese.

Emiko wrinkles her nose. She grabs an egg roll and a container of what must be lo mein, grabbing chopsticks from on top of the fridge.

After she’s wolfed down the egg roll, she feels a little steadier on her feet. She turns back to the sink and crouches down, pulling open the doors.

Cleaning supplies. A quiver and a compact bow. Brass knuckles, for some reason. And there — tucked in the back corner, the telltale white cross of a first aid kit. Emiko sighs in relief as she pulls it out from its hiding place.

It’s simple enough, really. She tosses back a few painkillers and rinses her hands in the sink before pulling out the sterilized needle and antiseptic. She’s up on the counter with her shirt pulled up before long, angling herself to see the wound on her ribcage in the pale moon light.

It takes a lot of effort to keep quiet as she works. She thinks she’s done a pretty freaking good job with it, too, until the light flickers on overhead.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Ollie intones, rubbing at sleep-rimmed eyes with a heavy fist, “is that blood on my counter?”

Emiko grimaces. It’s only a little bit from the light overhead. “It’s fine. I’ll clean up in a minute.”

“Not the part I’m worried about, if you can believe that.”

“Sure.”

Oliver walks into the (way too small) kitchen. His sweatpants sit crooked on his hips and his hair is in disarray; he’s clearly sleeping off a rough night of his own, based on the bruise covering his cheekbone.

“Here,” he groans, reaching out, “would you just— just let me do it, kid, you’re gonna—”

Emiko flinches away as he reaches for the needle, but it’s not really worth fighting over. He’s got steadier hands than her at the moment. She’s blaming it on the exhaustion, the loss of the adrenaline that’s been driving her since she found herself in the middle of an impromptu robbery downtown, but it might be the blood. She could be convinced. Maybe.

Oliver hums his disapproval. “This’ll sting, Emi, get ready.” And, as much a distraction as an honest inquiry: “Who did you piss off?”

“Some goon,” she mutters. “I just wanted to get a snack. Court and I were sparring and got hungry. The gas station was pretty busy, that’s all.”

The long gash running perpendicular to her ribs hadn’t hurt that much at the time. She blames the winter chill, or maybe just the fact that Court had been with her. It’s harder to notice her own injuries when she’s busy keeping an eye on someone else.

“Court still around?”

“No, she left already.” Emiko shrugs, then hisses. “Ow.”

“Yeah, well, avoid the knife next time and we won’t have to do that.”

“It wasn’t a knife. I can dodge those,” Emiko snaps.

Ollie raises an eye at her, looking up just slightly from his work. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to.

Emiko sighs. “It was claws. On a glove, I think. They honestly looked pretty badass.”

If Oliver is judging her for language, he keeps it to himself. That’s for the best, probably; Emiko doesn’t want to get into the whole ‘you’re not my dad so stop trying to act like one’ spiel today.

“You oughtta call for backup next time,” Ollie says instead. “We have a whole host of people in this city now. Damn near full to bursting. No point putting yourself at risk when you can avoid it.”

“I’m fine,” Emiko repeats.

Ollie snips the thread he’s been using to stitch her up, then pats her on the leg. “Sure, you are. The bedroom’s available, by the way.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. We got a weighted blanket for it and everything.”

“Ooh, moving up in the world.”

“Old dogs can learn new tricks, after all.”

Emiko rolls her shirt back down and hops off the counter. Somewhat impulsively, she leans forward to wrap her arms around Oliver’s middle, squeezing him tight before letting go.

Oliver throws his hands up instinctively. “Whoa, hey! Wh-what’s this for…?”

“Thanks for the assist,” Emiko offers. “And for the lo mein.”

“The— wait, that’s my—”

Emiko snatches the leftovers off the counter and sprints down the hall, biting back her smile. One of these days, he’ll know better than to keep the food where she can reach.

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — shocked to the core #7

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: captivity, blindfolds, restraints, punishments, shock collar, electrocution, non-con touching (not sexual), intimate whumper, mention of past cutting (of another person), blood

“I’m timing you. Wash up, and do what you have to.”

Leo flinched violently when the door closed shut behind him, brushing against his back. He staggered forward, keeping the small whimper at bay. They hadn’t been walking for long, but Leo was too frightened with the blindfold on his head to try and memorise the pattern.

He swiftly tore it off, squinting his eyes shut at the harsh lights cascading down from above him.

He took a moment to take the bathroom in.

It was quite plain, from the looks of things. Sleek white walls, a bathtub, shower hidden in the corner, and an array of cabinets, including one above the sink. He sniffled softly, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looked a mess. He didn’t remember looking like this the day he awoke for work, despite being so exhausted and run down. His face was covered in not only smears of flaking blood, but hot bruises and cuts in the process of healing.

He turned the tap on with shaking hands, cupping the cool water in his palms, and furiously scrubbing the blood away. He silently gagged as he caught it sliding down the sink, and desperately tried to erase the taste of copper from his tongue.

Leo almost jumped two feet when there was a bang on the door.

“Counting,” Roy warned. “Hurry up.”

He shuddered, letting his eyes bounce around him.

There was no window, or anything he could see. His stomach pooled with dread as he gripped the wall, leaning onto it for support, and hobbled over to the toilet. He had barely even finished what he needed to and flushed it when the door opened wide, and Roy stepped inside.

Leo spun, but the door was closed before he could see anything.

“Happy?” The mercenary hummed. Too frightened to do anything else, the secretary nodded his head.

Roy had pushed a blot of tissues onto his injured hand, and that’s when Leo vaguely noticed he was holding a new plastic bag under his arm. He wearily stared it, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to go through any more pain.

His heart elevated when Roy met his eyes, causing him to jolt.

He smiled, amused.

“Remember when I said I wasn’t going to punish you?”

Leo licked his lips, his fingers rubbing uncomfortably against the cuts on his inner wrist, spelling out the man’s name. He tried to untwist his tongue, but it was impossible. The mercenary put him out of his misery quick enough.

“You’re an open book, lion,” he murmured, opening one of the cabinets, and grabbing something within. There was a horrible smirk on his face. “I know what you’re going to ask. If I tell you, it might near shock you to death, and I want to save your crying for later. Are you smart enough to put the pieces together?”

The moment Leo’s breathing dipped, he couldn’t quite catch it again.

“Please…” He croaked, but the man was already sliding the blindfold from his fingers, and moving behind him.

“You’re gonna want to save your voice, lion,” the man smiled quietly from behind him, and he felt helpless as the fabric was fixed over his eyes, and he was plunged into darkness once more.

Leo tried not to think about what it was. He didn’t want to think about a knife gliding through his skin again, or feeling the blunt, cracking pressure of brass knuckles driving into his face. He didn’t want another broken bone.

He clenched his jaw, breaths coming out in short spurts.

Roy held him and kept the pressure off his ankle as he staggered back the way they came, trying not to think, trying not to let himself cry. When Roy stopped, Leo swallowed, and he realised that his throat was like glass.

“Stairs,” the mercenary pointed out. “That’s it. Find the first step.”

Stairs.

That meant they were making their descent back down, into the horrible room, where Leo did nothing but get hurt and wait to succumb to a horrific fate. He hadn’t meant to, but he flinched backwards, feeling the grip on him pull taut.

Roy clicked his tongue. “Don’t make it worse for yourself. Be a good boy.”

Leo shuddered, dread pooling through his vertebrae and locking him into place. He was sure his knees would collapse if he took another step forward, crumbling under his quickly malnourishing weight. One little tug from the arm coiled around his waist, and Leo was being helped down the stairs.

His ankle seared, biting his lip to stop the hisses of pain from escaping his throat.

When they finally met flat ground, Leo could feel anticipation coursing through him like fire. Roy was frustratingly quiet when he walked, and it made him wince when fingers began untying the blindfold around his head. The light from above the chair seemed brighter than ever.

Or was that because he was panicking?

“Don’t make me tell you twice.”

Leo blinked. The mercenary was staring at him with a firm expression on his face, one that made him want to shrivel into the ground and never come back. He hadn’t even heard him speaking, overwhelmed by the pounding of his heart in his head.

“On the chair.”

He swallowed. He wasn’t keen on making this worse than it already would be.

Tears burned his eyes, and he took his seat. Memories resurface instantly, and it took all of his willpower to push them back. Roy had taken something out of the plastic bag, and Leo risked a glance as he grew nearer.

It was a collar.

He gripped his wrist, squeezing it painfully to try and preoccupy his reeling thoughts. The mercenary made him sink into the seat, trying to make himself so small, as he fixed the heavy contraption around his throat. It was tight enough to feel uncomfortable, but enough to breathe.

Each time he swallowed, he could feel it pressing into his skin.

When his hand lifted to instinctively curl his fingers around the intrusive object, Roy grasped his wrist, and tugged it away. He heard the familiar roll of duct tape, before his wrists were being locked together, and he felt just like he did when he first woke up here.

His chest stuttered, trying to swallow the thick lump in his throat.

“Okay, lion,” came the nonchalant voice, after securing his ankles to the legs of the chair and keeping him securely trapped. “I’m giving you a choice here. You’ve done this once before: I ask the questions, and you answer truthfully. I don’t have to hurt you unless you cooperate, alright?”

Begrudgingly, and quite fearfully, the secretary nodded his head.

“Words,” Roy snapped. He instantly paled.

“Yes,” he choked, clenching his jaw. “Yes.”

The mercenary smiled. “Good. I can’t use those tools because of what you did, so I decided this would be the best hands-free approach. Would you like to start off easy?”

He glanced at the tools hanging on the wall, and then back to Roy. He was twirling something in his free hand. Something small, and black, matching the colour of the collar.

Leo shifted uneasily, and answered quietly nonetheless.

Roy asked him a series of personal questions. Simple ones, from his name, age and even his date of birth, the answers that lay in the forefront of his mind. He stumbled to answer even those, the anticipation making him go crazy.

What was the point of this? What was he going to do?

It was mind numbing. Until he asked a question that made his heart drop.

“Why’d you do it, lion?”

He peered at him through fluttering eyelashes. Roy didn’t break his steely gaze.

“Why did you attack me?”

Leo’s mouth dried out. His lips wobbled, uselessly trying to find an excuse that seemed even slightly plausible. “I…I didn’t mean to…”

Roy smiled. It made him shudder.

“Try and keep your tongue on the roof of your mouth.”

“What?”

He barely even finished the confused tremble, when the mercenary pressed the button. All at once, it felt like fire had erupted through his veins. He felt each muscle contract, each vertebra go stiff, and his throat tightened at the source of it all.

It felt like those seconds of agony had been minutes. When it finally ceased, Leo slumped in his seat, gasping for breath, a sob catching in his throat. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to shake off the throbbing sensation that had exploded in his temples.

“Oh, god…” He gasped, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Oh, god, please…”

“Again,” the mercenary echoed, his voice making him wince. “Why’d you do it?”

Leo desperately tried to catch his breath. His muscles at his throat were aching, contracting painfully with each word he tried to force from his lips. Roy’s hard stare only made him scramble to answer.

“I-I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He whimpered. “I was scared, I was scared, please…”

The shocks exploded through his body once more, his being spasming with an intensity he could hardly fathom. When it was gone, Leo’s sobs had become harder, and he was starting to desperately jerk at the restraints keeping him trapped in the chair.

“Please,” he begged, his voice raw. “Please, stop…”

“Answer honestly, lion.”

His voice rose a pitch, weighed down by exhaustion and strain. “I am.”

He was rewarded with another push of the button. He couldn’t contain his scream this time, his son's wracking through his bones uncontrollably, muscles searing with each precedented movement. He gasped violently for air, squirming and jerking with as much adrenaline fueled strength as he could.

Leo’s muscles twitched in pain, even when the shocks had ceased.

Roy was closer now, his voice becoming harsh.

“Did you want to kill me, lion?” He sneered, lip curled as his words became louder. “Did you?”

“Yes,” he screamed, his sobs making the conviction waiver, but tear at his throat all the more. Leo didn’t want to shout, but he’d exploded without thinking. “I did, I did want to kill you. You deserved it, I wanted, n-needed to leave, I-I wanted to get out of here. I just want to go home.”

His struggles eventually began to weaken, and so did his voice. “Please, please, I’m sorry. I just wanted to go home…”

He let his head hang, shaking uncontrollably. The pain was still pooling through his body, drawing whimpers from his lips whenever it sparked. He felt horribly dizzy, and stars had popped in his vision. Swallowing felt too painful.

He heard a chuckle, faint in his ears. Wearily lifting his gaze with diminishing strength, he could see Roy smirking at him, seemingly pleased.

“Honesty is a good colour on you,” he sighed, drawing closer. He pressed a hand to his forehead, combing his messy hair back, an action that made Leo whine and shiver. Hope flickered in his chest. Was that it? Was he going to take the collar off now?

The mercenary hummed, thinking for a moment. “Remember when I asked you why you ran away from your father?”

Leo blinked sluggishly, staring at him. “What?”

“I asked you why you split. You seemed very reluctant to say why; I did say I’d make you tell me eventually.”

He watched in white hot horror, as Roy turned up the dial on the controller, and stepped back to enjoy the show.

“I think now is a better time than ever to get the answer out of you.”

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest

[pleasinglyforeboding]

Just got a random Facebook add for an article about a house in the South Downs that seemed like maybe a certain angel and demon had collaborated on.

Packed with books, black furniture, wallpaper filled with plants and Garden of Eden vibe.

Dark furniture with bold lines and leather, Well stocked bar, columns, fussy patterns and brass accents. Just the right fusion on cluttered and spacious. Needs more books and plants.

More dark surroundings and brass accents. Canopy and curtains provided coziness and safety while sleeping while still allowing access to the ceiling, if anyone prefers to sleep there. Floral patterns with twisting, snake like, vines.

Vavavoom!

Spacious archways with a little nod to wings/ the Bentley logo in the balustrade. Neutral pallette with enough contrast and detail that you never feel like you are in an overly spacious, soulless office.

A nice mix of darks and neutrals. Incorporates patterns and brass but doesn't feel fussy. Taps are in the middle of the tub, so it's better for sharing. I bet they regret not getting a double sink.

Obviously the whole thing still needs more books and plants but the vibe is right.

[tekdecksmtg]

Standard Showdown: “Wing it”

Time for another Standard Showdown event. These are good cheap events where you can get some practice with your decks and just have some fun without high stakes.

While I have updated my “I’m All Ears!” deck, I just put together a Bats deck with all the new bats in Bloomburrow. I initially planned to toss a few in my mid-range Orzhov deck but it wasn’t overly additive and I have so many bats that I thought that an aggressive standalone deck would be more fun. Now, as usual, when I first put a deck together I just use cards that I have. If there is promise and pieces I need then I will look to get singles later (e.g. this could use some surveil lands). I really think that going into events like this with an untuned deck will make you a better player and help you to understand what’s lacking and what is working.

Deck as follows:

Match 1: L 1-2

Opponent playing the Azorius Synthesizer deck. Game 1 he played early interaction to kill a couple of my creatures followed by a Sunfall wiping the three I had left. Then he was able to play Simulacrum Synthesizer and build out the board quickly for the kill. Game 2 on the play I got out to a blistering start with bats, taking his removal in hand with my Deep-Cavern Bat, then draining. On the potential turning point turn when he was starting to stabilize, I swung two fliers at him while he had one creature with Reach and was on 5 life. One got through for 2 damage, then I sacrificed it to Treacherous Greed to drain him of the final 3 life and take the win. Game 3 he got the Synthesizer out again with a couple of beefy tokens that I was able to exile with Legions to Ashes, but he just kept churning them out. Then he was able to tap down my creatures with Braided Net and swing through for the win.

Match 2: W 2-0

Opponent on rabbits, a slightly different build to the one I played the week prior, but same general concept of course. This match was not close at all. I had early removal in both games to keep his board at bay, inclusive of a Glistening Deluge in Game 2 to wipe his board - which wasn’t threatening but could get out of hand. My fliers with the consistent life drain put both games away fairly quickly.

Match 3: L 1-2

Opponent playing a Rakdos Midrange deck with some Discover pieces. In Game 1 he played an early Brass’s Tunnel Grinder that he flipped quickly with fetch lands and looting. Once the Discover train got rolling there wasn’t much I could do. Trumpeting Carnosaur with a Discover 6 and a Discover 5 (into a Geological Appraiser with another Discover 3) was all she wrote. Game 2 on the play I got out to a super fast start, dropping lifelink bats every turn while growing an Essence Channeler. My Deep-Cavern Bat kept threats out of his mulligan hand and I was able to overwhelm the board and beat him. Game 3 I had to mull on the draw and he had tons of removal. Almost every creature I played got shot down while he geared up for a midrange grind match. Once he played Sheoldred, the Apocalypse followed by an Aclazotz, Deepest Betrayal on the following turn I knew it was the end. GG.

Overall: 1-2-0 (4-4-0, 3rd Place out of 4)

The deck was pretty fun to play when it got going and there were a lot more lines than I anticipated - need to figure out which attacks or plays bring the most benefit a few turns down the line. I guess that could be said about any deck but I felt it more here since the aggression and draining needed to sync up well. It’s really important to utilize all the mana, sinking into Lunar Convocation where needed to get some card advantage and pinging yourself to potentially trigger it as well.

Reflection: I definitely see a few cards that I’m going to think about changing out, including Moonstone Harbinger and Elas il-kor, Sadistic Pilgrim. I might bring Cruelclaw’s Heist in from the sideboard and need to figure out what to do with the Starseer Mentor in there as I didn’t board it in anywhere. I was initially thinking it could be good for longer grindy match-ups (as could adding Aclazotz) but I actually want to try to just go faster rather than giving in to their playstyle. I also have to figure out what I can bring in to interact with artifacts as that turned out to be a problem in one match and another game.

Looking forward to playing this deck again; with some fine-tuning I think it has a chance to win a Store Championship event. I’ve done that before with Orzhov so why not again!