#but then they find out and they all just collectively go *looks innocently at sky* what a shame we couldn't get hold of a heavenly demon

[tcfactory]

imagining a semi comedic bit of qqq being all "the leader is an ex slave, the strategist is an ex slave, are there any other ex slaves we should know about??" sqh admits he was an urchin. mqf was too. wqw is from a dishonored military family. there isnt a name for lords of the alcohol peak or the monk peak but sorry girl, only you and lqg are from 'respectable' breeding.

You joke, but for another fic I toyed with the idea of Mu-shidi being pretty quiet about his family because they were a clan of really evil cultivators up until like a few generations back. Like, "grandpa Fang worked really hard to turn his life around and dedicate himself to medicine and healing, but we are still not mentioning him in righteous circles because they would put the whole family to the sword for the shit he did when young" levels of evil. And now I really like the idea of the dishonored military family for WQW, I might hold onto that if you don't mind.

The lord of the beast peak is a wild foundling. The lord of the monk peak started cultivating late because he became a monk to leave behind a life of crime. Sorry QQQ, but you really are in the extreme minority here.

I don't know if I'm going to finish that other fic (the working title is 'Cursed Panacea' and it has very 'a world w/ unchecked papapa curses and flowers would really suck for the people actually living in it' ft. 'MQF has succubus ancestry and he fucking hates it' vibes) but here are some of the Mu-family relevant parts of the WIP. Warning for a lot of implied rape:

The story goes like this: the founding ancestor of the Mu family was an evil demonic cultivator, one that made it all the way to Body Unity with the power of her wicked arts, draining the cultivation of others to bolster her own. At that stage, however, she could no longer progress just by draining cultivation from others, so she started to consume powerful demons - one of which was a succubus matriarch that left her with a new, carnal craving. It drove her to distraction and when she won a clash against one of her long standing rivals, she could bear it no longer: she forced herself on the man there and then, in the wreckage of their fight. She discovered that dual cultivation could not only sate her new craving, it could bolster her cultivation far beyond her previous method of consumption, especially since her victim could last her a while before they perished from her ceaseless plundering of their qi. That is the origin of the wretched practice called human cauldrons. That is the origin of the Mu clan.

(...)

The tale goes like this: one day, a feared and loathed Mu-clan cultivator falls in love with his rival, a master of gu poisons just as feared as him, poisonous even to the touch. He stole a kiss during one of their many fights and has obsessed over him ever since, even during the three decades it took him to recover from the poison. Three hundred cauldrons are his to do with as he wishes, but he can only think of that toxic, deadly kiss. He starts courting the master of poisons and to his surprise his court is reciprocated. His beloved feeds him bits of his poisonous qi to slowly acclimate him to his deadly touch and he takes it all eagerly, even when each dose leaves him hovering on the edge of death for years at a time. They are as happy as such wicked men could ever be. However, one day someone finds a poison strong enough to affect even his beloved, a nameless toxin without a cure that is killing him before the Mu cultivator’s very eyes. In a last ditch effort, he prays to the heavens and swears that he would walk the righteous path until the end of his life if his beloved can be saved. With that solemn oath a thought comes to him and he uses his cauldron technique to take just the poison, just the wretched, harmful qi from his beloved. In his body, without the thousands of toxins to feed on, the poison is subdued and no longer deadly. They live, both of them, and they both thank the heavens for that miraculous strike of inspiration. They disappear after that. No more master of poisons, no more wretched keeper of cauldrons. Three centuries later the Mu clan is founded anew, by an eccentric master of medicines who is said to be able to concoct a pill for any ill and his fragile husband, a doctor so wondrously skilled they say he can cure everything except death. Their names are Mu Fang and Ran Hao. They are Mu Qingfang’s great grandfathers.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 16.

Summary: In which we observe a few nights during the first week of the Summer at Saltburn while you set your plan into motion for putting on a show for Oliver. You don't tell Farleigh about the plan despite definitely using him in it, because you reason that he'd only object because he still loudly hates Oliver whenever he can. You... don't think too hard about all of the ethics of this. But there's also a lot you don't think about. Anyways, what Farleigh doesn't know won't hurt him.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; Farleigh/Reader(/Oliver kind of). Dom!Reader, praise kink, no AGAB specified for the reader, brief mention of oral (M receiving), implied voyeurism and also implied non-consensual voyeurism, degradation, choking, discussions about the reader's sex life and about whether or not their partners get them off.

A/N: 3193 words. not to be hit by the fic writer's curse but sorry this chapter is late i had a seizure for the first time in my life on a main road by the bus stop and was hospitalized for four days. this was going to be longer but i wrote and rewrote the "ending" and neither fit right so i said fuck it. very nsfw chapter and we get to love farleigh a bit more. LOVE YOU!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

So it was definitely working.

And after you'd explained it to Felix, he was more than on board.

Farleigh was of the opinion that Felix monopolized too much of your time whenever you were away from the Estate, so he would never complain about your sudden increased desire to be pressed against him as you lay about the property. Likewise, Venetia had absolutely no complaints about the contact. Venetia relishes the contact, and not that she'd ever say it, but she'd wrap herself around your shoulders like a mink coat for hours at a time if you'd let her.

You know Oliver's eyes are on you often in the early days, the first week at Saltburn. His gaze burns you in the days, and he finds you in the lilac study at night.

At first it's innocent enough; you'd left a copy of Saltburn: The Art of Saltburn House, The Catton Collection on his bedside, to help him familiarise himself with the history of the Estate and the antiquities therein. You sit at the desk, looking through your dossier, he curls up like a cat on one end of the off-white, leather sofa beneath the window. He looks beautiful in the moonlight.

"You're watching me," Oliver murmurs. He looks like a dream, shirtless, relaxed against the sofa, painted beautiful and blue by the clear night sky. You sigh softly, apologising faintly but insincerely as you reach past your dossier to the pack of cigarettes resting there. Its Oliver's turn to watch you once more, book closed in his lap where he waits for you to join him. You open the window, sitting on the back of the sofa, half on the windowsill.

Oliver leans forward, looking up at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his as he asks you about the dossier. You explain about the various events, big and small, that Saltburn plays host to over the Summer. You explain rather clinically about your interest in the guests, while keeping your mouth shut on any information about your own parents out of habit.

The next night, you forgo the desk entirely and simply sit on the sofa, window open, lamp on behind you. Oliver sits, and you stretch your legs out over him, invading his space without looking up, but blithely telling him that he's free to ask you to move. One of his hands holds your ankles, crossed in his lap, secure as he braces his book against your shins.

You've become acutely attuned to the way Oliver thinks he's skulking around Saltburn. As quiet as he tries to be, he'll never be able to out-fox you here. The Cattons and Farleigh? Most definitely, but you? Well, not since you spent a full year trying to convince Duncan to let you join the staff for events. Neither he nor Elspeth had agreed, but the skills you'd taught yourself made you a sometimes uncanny presence in the house even to this day.

But you appreciate that Oliver's aiming for subtlety, even if he doesn't meet his mark; it makes him easier to ignore on purpose.

There's the barest shift and creak outside of Farleigh's room the night he invites you back to drink wine and hang out. Considering the artistic inclinations of his own immediate family, Farleigh had often found a great deal of solace in you and the stories you could tell him if your grandmother, a great artist in her own right. Many nights were spent in Farleigh's room, drinking, listening to music, and painting across each other's skin before it devolved into a mess of another kind.

This third night, you hear the faint groan of the floorboards, the creak of the barest weight against the other side of the door. You tell Farleigh he's beautiful as you ride him, rocking back and forth in his lap, and you wonder if Oliver can tell the painting on your back is a dreamy field of wildflowers through the keyhole.

Gorgeous boy, so good - fuck Fars, you feel so good - you tell him as he grips you tight, paint smearing across your hips and thighs. You're the one covered in his art, but you call him breath-taking with absolute sincerity. Part of it is of course a show for Oliver, but you can't deny your genuine affection for Farleigh. His bitchy shell gave way to so few people that you considered the moments in which he'd relinquish control to you to be rather special.

Plucking control and responsibility from him while lavishing him with affection was something you delighted in. The shallow doting of fair-weather friends and short term partners was something Farleigh was used to, but you knew he was worth - and capable of - so much more than that.

While you were more than capable - and he was more than willing - for you to bark orders, push him around, make him kneel and obey your every whim, you knew all too well that you had all Summer to show off. Not that you wanted these games to drag on that long.

The bed rocks with your consistent rhythm, so you can hear the way weight shifts just outside the door, but doesn't move. A thought occurs to you, a new script, a new hook -

"Ollie thinks you treat me badly," you tease loud enough you know your voice will carry, but leaning in to press yourself to Farleigh, braced over him to keep him on his back despite the irritation in his eyes the minute they flick open. Still, you carry on before he can comment, despite how much you know he wants to, "he even asked how we got -" you moaned faintly for effect, settling yourself on him for the moment, hips pressed flush, his hands on your ass, "close," your smile widens, "considering, how awfully mean you can be to me." You pout, putting on the act thickly enough that it gets Farleigh to smile despite himself.

"You need to tell me this now?" Hands sliding up your body, Farleigh's hips begin to roll, taking over from you, fucking you softly as he takes your face in his hands. The touch is tender, more gentle than he'd ever allow if he knew he had an actual audience. Perhaps you should feel bad for using him like this, but you tell yourself that Farleigh will understand. If he ever finds out.

Still, the more you think about it, the more it... bothers you. Oliver's voice in your ear.

You need to be needed. Want to be wanted.

Farleigh stops. There's genuine concern in his face as he holds your face close. But it's his voice too, casually cruel to the entire roster of your past sexual exploits without giving you a moment to really think about it.

You rate sex by how good you can make your partner feel.

Maybe that's all you were to Farleigh, just like Venetia; a warm body you weren't related to. Be a partner in crime, someone he could bitch to about the finer irritations he suffered under the Cattons, someone he could fuck when he felt bored or unwanted. An affectionate little imp who'd accept his every apology, who'd still let him get away with feeling like he had the moral high ground. The dog forever at the foot of his metaphorical bed.

But was that not enough? How could you say he did not love you, not care about you, not look out for you? It's there in his eyes in this moment, these brief few seconds that to you have felt like a lifetime.

Pushing down the urge to ask the kinds of questions that would give real answers, but would complicate things tremendously, you let yourself lean into the messy, shameful lust that pits low in your belly, burning as you think of Oliver, though you've lost track of if he was still there, you have hope. It's his voice once more, from this morning this time, the praise he'd so casually offered. It that spurs you on.

"Tell me I'm good," shifting your focus back onto Farleigh, it comes out as almost an order. Your companion takes a moment to reassess the situation, smile lighting up his face when he's finally sure your behaviour isn't worrying.

"Of course you're good, you're you -" he laughs, but you sit back up, taller this time and out of his grip, hand braced on his chest as you level thin, cold smile at him, playing far more into the dominant role than you had been earlier.

"Exactly," and your hips begin to move again; you think you can actually feel Farleigh shiver with sudden anticipation, "tell me I'm good, Farleigh," you drag your nails down his chest, "make me believe it." The words escape him in a hiss as you clench down on him, tight and sensitive as your hips pick up the pace. Hearing the words begin to spill from him like a prayer unlocks something deep within you, a want you hadn't even realised you had. Recognition. Praise.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Farleigh," hand finding his throat, you press firmly to the sensitive pulse points in the way you know he likes, and he actually whimpers, tries to shake his head that he's not. Agonisingly slowly, you leaned in. You know he's close, he's begging and whining as much as he's affording you praise, so you dare not stop. It's a messy kiss that you plant on him, all teeth and shared, desperate breath, his lip between your teeth to the point he actually yelps and you let go.

"You ever call me a dog again," you whisper into his ear dangerous and seductive all at once as you have him where you want him, "you'd better make sure you call me a good one," and you bite gently at his ear as he swears, "now it's your turn to be good for me."

Reaching between you both, as you pull yourself off of Farleigh's desperate, all but twitching cock, your hand takes over for the half second it takes you to move down him, to let him finish in your mouth, all but singing your praises.

Farleigh's quiet and rather giggly in the afterglow, sharing a cigarette with you. The tension leaves you as his fond teasing returns. You don't hear any sign of Oliver beyond the door in these moments; you don't think you hear him leave, so he must be gone already. You wonder just how much he stuck around for; you wonder if he'll ever let on.

That night you stay with him, talking and joking about nothing and everything, and the fears you had about your place in his life matter less and less with each passing moment. Head on his shoulder, reading the last Harry Potter book with him in the early hours of the morning, you think any pet should feel lucky to be half as loved as you were by Farleigh and Venetia. Even if they had a strange way of showing it.

Ever true to form, there's absolutely no indication at breakfast that anything remotely note worthy happened the night before. These trysts had been occurring for so long at this point that as long as it was confined to the private quarters of one of the four - now five, you supposed - youth of Saltburn, everyone else pretended to feign ignorance. It was simply a truth of life at Saltburn; death, taxes, and you knowing Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh biblically since high school. So if there was to be a reaction, it would be from the exact person you were hoping would give one.

Oliver.

His gaze does linger on you over breakfast, but it's strangely unreadable. For a long while he watches your hands, but you don't call him out, or draw attention to the fact that you know; you let him stare. You let him watch as you have resolved to do.

Okay, there is one point where your hands drift into a lewd, sexual gesture while you're busy making plans with the others to head to the field for the day, and when you glance back at Oliver he's pink around the ears when he guiltily meets your gaze. The smile you flash him, so quickly that no-one else sees it, is wicked. Even if he seems to grow further embarrassed, you're pretty sure he's focusing straight down on his food to hide a smile.

"What kind of pervert do you take me for?" Felix mutters, despite the flush on his cheeks in the golden afternoon sunshine as Farleigh continues to tease him while you three and Venetia settled into the field, waiting for Oliver.

"Like you aren't even the slightest bit curious about the only other dick to get Y/N off besides you," Farleigh smirked, even as Venetia gasped with a kind of scandalised glee, and you practically screeched with fury, berating him with a flurry of smacks against his shoulder.

"Not true!" You clarified immediately, looking to Felix, who had slid his sunglasses down his nose to give you an incredulously amused look. You could feel yourself growing more flustered by the moment, but you're not exactly sure why. Surely - if it were true, which it decidedly is not - it would be just an awful reflection on your past partners, "and if it were, which it... mostly isn't," you stuck your nose in the air, giving Farleigh a final shove, "wouldn't you just be writing your own shit review with that lie?"

"How can it be mostly true?" Venetia's eyes are alight with intrigue as she fully rolls over to get closer to you and the boys, propping her chin on her hand as she dedicates her focus to you. Farleigh's actually kicking his feet and giggling, the bloody shit-stirrer.

"I told you that in fucking confidence," you snapped to Farleigh in what was more a stage whisper than anything else. Farleigh's giggling turns to cackling.

"So what I was told," Felix sits back with a smug little smile and a tone that you knew could only mean he was about to be a menace, "was that Ollie was so good that none of our friends," his grin grows wider in the face of your pouting, "Farleigh included, I'd assume, would believe you if you'd told them." Smug bastard; if he put half as much effort into studying as he did to remembering stupid shit you say about your hook ups, you wouldn't have had to go in and change nearly as many of his marks in the system.

"I get off!" You defended your past self, though it almost sounds embarrassed, but the ridiculousness of the situation sets the others off snickering, "people other than Fi, and, yeah, Ollie," you admitted awkwardly, "get me off- have gotten me off! Both of you cunts have gotten me off! You were there!" By now they're all practically cackling, and you let your embarrassment wane and let yourself get caught up in the laughter too.

As your coming down, it's a lot easier to admit without feeling self conscious.

"He got me off first is all," you lay back in the tall grass, lighting up a cigarette with an easy smile, "which, yeah, is admittedly a rare enough occurrence that it made whatever counts as mine and Farleigh's news cycle," you snorted.

"Seriously?" You hear Felix's incredulous voice and you sigh, admitting that while, yeah, that list consists of him and Oliver, it's also not that big of a deal, that you have your fun. But Felix isn't talking to you; "no, seriously," he's looking between Venetia and Farleigh like he's personally offended, "how long have you two been fucking my best mate and you haven't even had the decency to -"

"I keep track," Farleigh insists, which, yeah he actually did, "I repay back every one that I promise," his hand over his heart like this is anything close to serious. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you see Felix is still wearing a severely unimpressed look at them both, and despite the ludicrous situation, something about his indignation on your behalf melts something in your heart. It's almost like he can tell; without even looking at you he reaches out and rests a hand on your shin beside him.

"And a very worked up lesbian in Montreal told me I was a pillow princess," Venetia says in that same tone as Farleigh, as if her words were any kind of justification.

"I have follow up questions," Farleigh, however, immediately takes the bait, if only to steer the conversation away from Felix's frustration at them both, "how did you know she was a lesbian and why were you arguing?"

"The answer to both is that we weren't arguing," Venetia tells him smugly, voice laden thick with inuendo. Felix makes a face, but lets them go about their conversation without further interruption from him, despite his continued discomfort with the news he'd just learned about you.

Sitting up beside him, you mirror him, knees up to your chest, but you tuck your arm in his and bump your forehead against his cheek.

"Feels kinda gross to know about you," you hear Felix mumble, though almost immediately he clarifies, "you're not gross," he's speaking low enough that only you can hear, "everyone else is," he jerks his head towards Venetia and Farleigh before he leans back against you, "they're gross."

"Lucky I have you and Ollie then," you murmur with a chuckle, but are met with silence. Felix lets out a long sigh, and you know him well enough to know what's on his mind, "you so are curious about Ollie," you poked him in the ribs with a sly grin. Felix snorted, pressing a kiss to your forehead instead of answering. You know all too well that he's blushing by now, attempting to hide most of it from his perverse family members by keeping close to you.

Venetia and Farleigh for their part have shifted over, given you both more space as the gossiping had come to an end. As it always seemed to be, the last two to remain unreasonably close were you and Felix.

"What made him different from everyone else wasn't his dick, for the record," you murmured as you were going through the picnic basket, searching for something cold in the afternoon heat. Felix the only one close enough to have heard your quiet aside, looks at you with intrigue; how does he not get it? You give him a strange little smile, "it's... that he was Oliver." Felix frowns a little, as if trying to decipher what you're trying to tell him. Instead you shrug and unwrap and ice lolly, gaze focusing on where you can finally see Oliver on the horizon; you wave, but keep your voice low as you add to Felix.

"There's no dick that's going to cure world hunger by itself, you know?"

And no, at the time Felix doesn't exactly understand what you mean by that. Yet.

[oceansssblue]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well! Can I request a fic where Omega gets injured and separated from the Batch for a few days, and the reader (female) takes care of her until they can find her brothers? One night stormtroopers/imperials come in to try and take her, but reader is a BAMF (maybe an ex-battlefield medic? She has access to blasters, knives, smoke grenades, etc. to make another part of this more believable) and is able to fight them off pretty easily. The problem is actually when the Batch shows up, and reader thinks they’re the enemy and the Batch thinks she’s holding Omega hostage or something. And thus, reader vs. the bad batch begins! No one kills each other because Omega comes down and clears everything up upon her hearing her brothers. It just took her a while to come over because, you know, injury.

Also I think it’d be fun if the reader did manage to pin Hunter, even if it’s only for a second and then she would likely get pinned back because . . . It’s the bad batch.

Sure thing love, I'm down!

Xx,

Sky.

"NOT YOUR ENEMY"

HUNTER/F READER 📩💖(💔)

WARNINGS: blood&wound, stitches, light mention of atempted assault to omega (nothing happens further than words), reader being a badass and killing some storm-troopers, fire/explosions, reader being shot, some teasing/sexual tension with Hunter... A hint of competency kink? It's mostly action/fluff!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were just on your way back home after collecting your credits when your eyes capture the shine of a blade with the reflection of the moonlight. You've been trained to focus on such things; possible weapons, always being aware of your surroudings. If you're distracted, your dead. You weren't always; but it comes as natural as breathing to you, now.

You're not in the mood for a fight, though; so once you realise you're not the one in danger, you decide to pass this one out. If you go looking for a fight, it will find you. You're still tired of your last hunt; you're not feeling the thrill of a new chase just yet. That's until you hear a voice; way too innocent and young to be stuck in such a situation without proper defence.

Your steps backtrack silently and your eyes quickly scan the alley. It's a human girl; blonde, petite, and no older than fourteen. There are three males closing up on her; two humans, one twi'lek. You see the girl trying to get pass them, a nervous anxious smile on her face. You make your resolve right then and there.

You've got to be careful. You can't save everyone.

You move so quietly towards them they don't even realise you're right at their back until you voice up your request with your blaster pointing straight at them.

"Let's keep going on with our peacefull night walk, boys".

It's serious, firm, feigning boredom. Inside, you're as coiled as a snake, ready to strike.

Ready. Always ready. Don't trust anyone. An innocent looking enemy might be your death if you don't take him seriously, if you don't think he's a danger. If you grow complacent.

They glance at each other, evaluating their chances against you. Then down at the girl; their price if they won, or the reason of their downfall if they decide to engage you and lose. One of the humans shrugs lazily, making a head gesture towards the other two. They slowly follow him out of the alley.

"All yours" the last one snorts when he passes by you.

If someone backs down, let them go.

You swallow your furious retort and take hold of the girls wrist, tugging her in the other opening of the alley, opposite direction to them. You don't trust them not to follow you, try to catch you by surprise, so you don't stop until you're at the other side of town, walking towards the outskirts in the direction of your small house. You're still vigilant all the way.

"You alright, blondie?" You ask, glancing at her and scanning her body cautiously. "You got yourself a wound there, shirt's soaking up blood".

The girl looks down at herself and nods guiltily.

"Yeah, I, uh... Had some complications" she ends up saying, quietly, before her face quickly lits up. "Thanks for helping me, though! I appreciate it".

You nod and that's that.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

She nibbles with her lower lip anxiously.

"Uh, yeah, but... I lost my coms in a fight, so I have no way of contacting my brothers. Can I... Stay with you for a bit til I find them? I'm sure they'll catch up to me in no time".

You glance at her and sigh quietly. You don't really want to get involved, but you have too much of a conscience to leave her to fetch for herself. She's just a kid, and you're a military medic. Well, were.

"Alright. But if you annoy me I'm pushing you out".

The kid grins. She looks even younger with the excitement and relief in her face.

"You remind me of one of my brothers. Grumpy" she adds, good-heartedly.

You huff.

"Not grumpy. Direct. Concise" you correct her. "It's different".

She chuckles quietly.

"Grumpy" she tells you again.

You roll your eyes. You're used to taking care of men; you haven't have much contact with kids before.

"You're not doing a good job of not annoying me, blondie".

She smiles and makes the universal gesture of zipping her mouth shut.

"I'm Omega, by the way" she tells you after a few seconds in silence.

You nod and glance at her again. You should really check that wound when you're back at home. It's bleeding quite a bit, even if you don't think it's deep enough to worry. You're sure you have enough meds at home to take care of it. Omega doesn't seem to be in pain either.

She stares at you while you walk, leading the way to your safe place; still expecting an answer. You glare at her before focusing back on your way home. This is going to end up being either surprisingly good or exasperate you to no end.

You relent.

"Nickname's Blade".

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Turns out Omega is pretty good company; which is quite a relief considering she's more injured than what you had originally thought and his brothers are no where to be seen after three whole days of her invasion of your privacy and home. You make sure to disinfect her wound and stitch it back together; you don't have strong opioids on stock, but she holds on surprisingly well, clenching her teeth and shutting her eyes, breathing through the pain. It makes your perspective of her change; she's not just any kid if she can push herself through that without barely making a noise. She's brave.

You cover the wound in bacta and dress it carefully; and make sure to change them to new ones twice a day. At the third night you inspect the closed wound carefully, the aspect of the skin and wether the stitches are still in good place; it seems to be progressing well. You still force her to bed rest; your new sleeping place your backpack layed on the wooden floor beside her. She feels guilty about it, and it shows; you only aknowledge it with a quiet hum. You're not going to deny you'd like your bed back; but you've slept in much worse conditions before.

I know it's difficult to fall asleep. Just try to tune it out. Think on other things.

On that third night, when you turn the lights out, Omega cautiously asks you about the origin of your nickname. You tell her your story. How you got your degree in Medicine in Coruscant's University; how you mastered in Galactic Bioscience when the war hit it's peak. How you started your first working years as a doctor in a clinic while you constantly heard about the battalions of clones being shipped elsewhere; defending all of you while you stayed with your simple Coruscanti life. How that hadn't set well inside of you; how you struggled with guiltiness and empathy every single day until you took the decision to enlist in the volunteers for the GAR. You tell her that switching to military medic had been a struggle at first; but the gratification was unmessurable. You were really needed there; you really did a change saving all those brave troopers lifes. You grew to respect them and admire those men like you had never admired someone before.

Unfortunately, with being a woman in military service, and a volunteer at that, very few troopers thought it meant you weren't able to defend yourself. To fight. When one cocky, snarky trooper had insinuated that publicly in the middle of the comedor, you had done what you believed was your right and justice by shutting his mouth; snarling back a warning while using your knife to nail down the sleeve of his upper blacks to the dinning table, blade sliding just a few inches away from his skin.

Omega's eyes are wide open while she listens to the anecdote. Yeah, it had made an impact among the clone lines as well.

"Okay, you're giving me Hunter vibes with the knife things now" she giggles in the darkness of your bedroom.

You arch an eyebrow, humming under your breath uncomitedly.

"What, he a soldier too?"

Omega is quick –too quick– to correct you.

"No, no. Mercenaries".

You'd give her the sceptical side eye if you had her in front of you. You let your voice carry your suspicion instead.

"Running around with a kid like you?"

The girl stumbles to answer. It's obvious there's more to the story there, but you believe she is trying to protect her siblings, so you let it be.

"Hey, I can defend myself!" She argues with a small huff, voice turning sheepish right after the outburst, considering your actual situation. "Well, on most ocasions. Life works in unexpected ways sometimes".

You can't help the snort that comes with her words.

"You bet" you answer sarcastically. You sigh tiredly and close your eyes again. "Good night, Omega".

You hear her reacomodating softly against the sheets.

"Night, Blade".

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You've always been a light sleeper. As soon as the alarm rings, you're jumping out of your sleeping bag and rushing to get your armour on –now stripped of all Republic marks– and backpack on your shoulders; already prepared with the basics in case you came across an emergency like this. You take a quick glance at the datapad you have conected to the cams you've got set up on the surroundings of your cabin; cursing under your breath.

"Omega" you call her sharply, shaking her awake without an inch of sympathy. "Get up and ready to go. Don't make me repeat myself".

The girl blinks sleepily, but she reads the urgency in your voice. She understands this is no joke; so she quickly jumps into action too, abandoning the comfort and warmth of the bed and quickly throwing her clothes on too, electrical bow clutched in her hands. She stares at you wide eyed.

"What's going on?" She whispers, nervously.

You ruffle through your closet, jaw clenched and set on the task of preparing yourself for the worst. One blaster gets inmediately strapped at each outer thigh; your belt of knifes looping around your waist. One vibroblade goes into the safe-pocket of your right vambrace; your second one on your left leg. You stuff your bag with a few extra surprises and tie up your hair. It's time to move.

Time is precious. Time is life. Don't be slow. Do it fast, and do it good.

"Stormtroopers" you finally answer her, cinching your backpack firmly on your shoulders, expresion growing firm and serious. "Got this whole area studied in case someone found out about my past and went towards me, but I didn't think it would be this many enemies. I think there's something you haven't told me, but there's no time for that now. Listen carefully, 'cause I'm not gonna' say this twice".

Omega nods, just slightly afraid, and you push a smaller datapad into her hands.

"This is a second safe house I've got prepared not too far away from here, close to the lake" you explain to her, quickly. "Follow the map and go there. There's different routes saved up in case you find one blocked or any other difficulties. Be silent, be quick, and you shouldn't have much problem getting there. Once you're inside, open the closet in the corner of the cabin and in the first drawer you'll see another datapad. It controls some explosives I've got set around that house. If for some reason the stormtroopers get to the safehouse before I do, blow them up, and run away. I'll be able to track your location if you have that datapad on you, it's conected to mine, so I'll find you sooner or later. Got it?"

Omega nods, brow furrowed in concentration. She looks up at you anxiously.

"What will you do? You're not... Coming with me?"

You shake your head.

"I'll buy you time" you answer, firm. "Got a few surprises set out round here as well, and I'm trained. I'll clear this out and follow you to the safe house".

You open the door of the cabin and take a carefull glance out. You make a gesture towards her.

"You should go now. They're still a kilometer away".

Omega stays stuck to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her.

"Go" you snap towards her. Then, your eyes soften. "I will go after you, I promise".

Don't promise things that aren't in your hand to make it happen or not.

But promises give hope.

False hope.

Sometimes false hope is all you need to fight harder.

Omega runs into the forest, and you're quick to close the door and abandon the cabin as well, finding your hiding spot among the trees and keeping an eye at the aproaching stormtroopers through your datapad.

You knew this kid meant trouble. Well, if war is what they want... Your fingers caresses the hilts of your blades. That's what they'll get.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You logically know you're no match for these stormtroopers if you were to pull a direct open attack on them. You use your advantages, though; you're in your territory, one you know well, and they're advancing with blind trust that you'd be no real danger to them. It does wonders for your counter attack, and you silently move through the forest, killing one lonely soldier after the other with just a quick slash of your blade, throats splitting open and last words muffled against the palm of your globed hand in a wet gurgle of confusion and pannick. You gently let each body fall to the ground before you're moving towards the next one, checking their positions on your datapad through the cams you've got almost everywhere; lethal, quick, and quiet.

When they finally discover you –one soldier catching you silently opening the throat of a fellow one, and he shouts out your position in alarm–you've already killed half of them in the silence of the night.

It turns harder after that. They know you're around, they're aware, active; they know you're not an innocent normal civilian any longer. You're danger, real; they're coordinated, and they move fast as well. You hadn't used your blasters before in order to take advantage of the element of surprise; but you need them now, so you dodge and take your shot at them. Two more fall down before two of their own shots hit both your blaster –ripping it from your hand– and your right shoulder. You swallow your scream of pain and whimper quietly, clenching your jaw shut. You push through the pain and retreat back to the cabin in a hurry; it's your best chance.

It's a game of agility and speed. If you get there first, and they close around your home, you'll detonate the explosives hidden in the ground and kill them all. If they catch you before you're able to do that... It's you who'll end up dead.

Adrenaline rushes through your body and you feel like you're flying while you run. A shot scorches the armour plate on your back, and though it makes you stumble, you grin darkly. You've made it, and they're all dead.

You turn around to watch them and press the button on your datapad. All around you, the forest explodes and burns.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Once you make sure there are no survivors around you –you have to shoot a pair of them down who are still struggling to breathe through the scorching pain–, you take a bacta pad from your backpack and cover your wound with it, wrapping a bandage around it to properly secure it before you're walking away from you're no-longer home. You'll tend to it properly afterwards, later; right now you don't feel like it's safe to stay here, where you've caused such a wrath. You need to get to your safe house. You need to find Omega; and you bet these stormtroopers must have reinforcements somewhere.

Fuck, this is all a mess. This is going to put a bullseye on your back and you would probably never be safe in this planet again; you should probably make a jump more sooner than later.

You sigh tiredly and continue making your way through the forest, periodically checking your datapad. You feel relieved to know that at least Omega's signal is permanently stationed there on your second cabin.

You're still checking the cams, so there should not be a way for you to get surprised; but almost upon arriving your safe house, you catch a blur of grey, red, orange and blue moving towards you at high speed with the corner of your eyes. You barely have time to identify what it is before you're being brutally tackled to the ground with a painful grunt. You fight back viciously, cataloging the man's appearance while you swing your vibroblade and try to slash him with it; the soldier quickly grabbing your hand and forcing you to drop the weapon with brutal force, almost twisting your wrist and fingers in his effort. You hiss and roll around, keeping him under you this time. It's not like you're lacking knifes...

You manage to draw one from your belt and push it right to his neck when someone else clears his throat at your back; making you glance back.

Fuck, this one's huge.

"Need some help, sarge?" He almost mocks him, and you're momentarily surprised by the entertainment in his voice, the camaraderie between this two stormtroopers as clear as the water from Naboo lakes.

You quickly pull your second blaster out and try to shoot at him; but he's faster, and he shoots back, hitting the very center of your chest plate. The impact is so close it pushes you off from the first soldier's body; who quickly takes advantage of the momentum to efectivelly pin you under him, no way of escaping them now.

Your mind is divided between trying to cope with the pain on your chest and the pannicking fact that you're trapped, and this is probably your end. Angry, frightened tears fill your eyes.

"Where is she?" the soldier on top of you demands, voice deep and almost raspy.

You narrow your eyes at him.

"Go fuck yourself" you spit in between your panting breaths.

The big one chuckles.

The trooper on top of you rips his helmet off and stares at you; clenching his jaw. You get why he decided to do that; he looks intimidating, with half of his face tattoed in black, almost mimicking a skeleton. He lowers his face and you can't help but grow tense.

"You did a good job with those stormtroopers, but I don't have any patience left, mercenary. Where. Is she".

He presses you against the floor with his hands on your shoulder, and you whimper involuntarily when he pushes against your covered wound.

The fact that he has refered to the stormtroopers with "those" slowly registers your mind. He talks about them as if they weren't ones themselves. You quickly scan them with your eyes. They're definitely not clones, no –at least not the normal ones–, and they are soldiers. Perhaps they belong to some other organization? But what could they want Omega for?

"Not a mercenary, just a normal civ here" you push through the pain and actually grin at him, defiantly, almost whispering against his lips. "And like I said; go fuck yourself".

His right hand turns into a fist and retreats, prepared to hit you, when a pannicked voice echoes in the silence of the forest, running towards you.

"Hunter! W-wait!"

The soldier's head snap towards the girl and his eyes fill with confusion, relief, and worry.

"Step back, Omega. Stay away" he orders, with a familiarity that suddenly makes everything gain sense.

The facts falls into place. This is Hunter, the brother Omega mentioned before; the one with the vibroblade. Your eyes fly to the spot for it in his own vambrace. Oh, you're all so stupid. You've almost killed each other looking for the same thing; to protect the kid.

"She's not your enemy!" Omega insists, panting while she finally reaches you lot, the big guy holding her back with a carefully heavy hand on her shoulder, a confused expresion in his scared face. "This is Blade. She was a GAR medic. She's being helping me since I got separated from you, protected me from some bad guys and even stitched my wound up and everything. Please, Hunter. I'm okay".

The man's eyes scan her up and down; first focusing on her covered stomach, searching for the wound, before continuing with the rest of her. Once he confirms she's okay, he locks eyes with Omega; both of them staring at each other for a few seconds before Hunter sighs and turns his face back towards you. You breathe and try to calm your speeding heart.

"Where exactly did you serve?" He asks, voice firm but more gentle now.

He still holds you tightly under him. As much as he wants to believe those words, he needs to check the information out.

You answer him patiently.

"327th Star Corps, under Bly and General Secura".

Hunter repeats the information over his coms without taking his eyes from you. A flicker of surprise crosses his serious expression; perhaps noticing you didn't name the Comander by his rank, but his name.

Okay, Blades. You can consider us friends now.

Your heart clenches. You glance away.

"The information appears to be correct, Hunter" a self-assured voice picks up in between the static. "There's plenty of data of a doctor going by the nickname Blade on the old GAR registers. Including the incident that prompted such name, amongst dozens of post-mission reports and recomendations. She's being searched by the Empire as well".

The coms grow silent again, and Hunter inmediately relaxes his hold on you, trusting his –other brother, you guess?– entirely.

"Forgive me" he tells you, standing up and offering you his own hand, a guilty and almost sheepish expresion on his face now. "I thought..."

"I was a mercenary that killed all those stormtroopers just to collect a price, yeah, I know" you cut him off, slowly standing up as well and wincing at the pain.

Now that the adrenaline is dropping, you feel exhausted and nautious.

"Not that she isn't a cute kid and that, but what's so special about her?" You can't help but ask.

They all tense, and you sigh in understanding.

"Family keeps family safe, okay" you accept.

Hunter's eyes flicker down towards your scorched chest plate and your bandaged shoulder. Blood is staining the bandage now, after the pressure he put on your wound seconds ago. He frowns.

"You hurt?"

You nod quietly.

"Believe it or not, trying to get rid of a whole squad of stormtroopers on your own is not that easy" you find enough energy to joke.

A tiny smirk tugs on his lips.

"Oh, I know. I'm impressed, though".

The booming voice of his other brother almost startles you into a jump.

"Yeah, we all are!"

You smile and shrug.

Hunter glances around.

"We should get out of here. We got our ship docked close. Want us to take you somewhere?" He offers.

"Any other planet would be nice" you answer, and he nods.

"Sorry for all the trouble. And thank you" he finally says, and you sigh with a small tired smile.

"Alright".

With nothing more to say, Hunter leads the way back to their ship, Omega walking besides him and Wrecker closing the line. You can't help but analise the man's interactions with the girl. It's sweet, really, the fatherly way he looks at her. It's hot too.

Oh well. You can't help but think that either. He looks good fighting, and you always had a bit of a competency kink.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fiuuuuuuu!!!! This one took me really long to write bc I'm DYING with my exams and I have 0,0000001% energy (and time) spare to write. I'm actually finishing this off rn after reading my last unit for the day, i'm exhausted send help.

Anyhow, I think this little story developed okay, so I hope you like it! In case any of you hadn't guess it yet or still had doubts, the cursive stands for thoughts and memories of female reader back in battle with the GAR and her men. It's always so fun to write badass characters!

We've got JUST ONE MORE REQUEST to write (a super fluffy hunter one with dancer!femalereader) to oficially finish the second part of my requests list (will open a third one in the future don't fret). That would be 20 requests already look at that!

Also, I just need 7 more followers to make it to a hundred, and I've been thinking on doing something special for it. Suggestions?

Stay tunned for the next one and take care!

Xx,

Sky.

Back to general masterlist here:

[r0tting-rat]

DCA PROMPTOBER 2024

I should go to sleep. Not proofread so sorry but I'm so tired so pls don't mind the errors.

Day 24 - Error

Pairing: Glitch!Eclipse &/x GN reader Warning: None Words: 2000+ Summary: You found an interesting game and decided to fix it up a lil. What could go wrong?

-Oh, come on!- Your fingers pressed the buttons insistently, trying to reanimate the arcade machine you were working on without succeeding. -Everything was fine 5 minutes ago, what the fuck is wrong with you?!-

Of course, the machine didn’t give you an appropriate answer, it just zapped you as soon as you tried to put your hand in the open hatch in its back. You winced and waved your hand in the air as an attempt to make the pain fade away while staring down at the arcade game in front of you. You had found, a few days prior, that old—no, ancient—arcade in the back of an abandoned pizza place. It was a weird sight, that blue machine painted with red borders and white clouds, looking so innocent and peaceful between debris and trash. You had decided to take it home and see if you could make it work once more, despite its age, but as soon as you had managed to clean most of the shit off its surface you had realized that you had made a mistake. 

One day, in the middle of the night, the arcade machine had turned on randomly without being plugged in, scaring you shitless. You had placed it in your basement, refusing to keep such a nasty thing in your living room, but you found yourself thinking about it constantly. You couldn’t get the Balloon World out of your mind no matter where you were or what you did, so you decided that you were not only going to fix the game but also win it. 

Finally, after hours of replacing parts and wiping gunk, you managed to turn on the machine successfully. Rejoicing, you jumped up and immediately hit play, excited to see if the game was really worth the work you had put into it, ignoring the oily stains you were leaving on the buttons with your dirty fingers. In white letters over a dark screen, you read “insert coin” followed by the classification of all the different people that had played the game before, so you slipped in one of the many coins you had prepared and started the game. 

The starting screen of the Balloon World arcade machine showed the game’s name in red and yellow letters floating in a bright blue sky. Next to them was a little kid holding three balloons in his hand; one red, one blue, and one yellow. In the background, you saw some kind of circus, depicted with its stereotypical white and red tent and colorful balloons, while in the top right corner, through the mountains, was a smiling sun. It was kinda disturbing, in your opinion; its eyes were white and its smile was way too large, but you ignored it. The main focus of the game was the little boy, right? The one with the propeller hat. You pressed start and began playing, finding “yourself—the propeller hat kid, to be specific— on top of a red platform. As soon as you began playing, you immediately understood the goal of the game: don’t fall, collect the balloons, and evade the obstacles. Easy peasy, you had played much more difficult games, except something about this specific arcade game unnerved you. It was probably the ever so constant presence of the smiling sun—which was much bigger than before—staring at you through the screen like a maniac. Still, you refused to let it faze you and continued playing, successfully gathering 3 balloons and moving on to the second phase of the game. 

The second phase was so much worse than the previous. The sun had left, the sky had darkened and was now littered by stars, and on the top right side of the screen you found a smiling and horrifying moon. Its creepy red eyes were staring at you insistently, like it knew you found it disturbing, and its smile was much worse than the sun’s. The night level had multiple bats coming at you, which you had to dodge, hitting a few in the process, but after a while of cursing you managed to enter the day level once more, followed by a second night level. That game wasn’t that hard, to be honest. You were almost beginning to get bored, until with the corner of your eye you saw something—a glitchy purple texture in one of the tree logs at the bottom of the screen.

-What the fuck…?- you whispered, staring at it, and as soon as you spoke you felt something zapping your finger, -Ow, shit!- 

You release the button, falling with your character right on the glitched log and losing a life, but immediately you regained control of the game and went back up. Too bad, as soon as you did the game glitched, becoming a red, black, and purple mess. The sky was crimson, the stars were orange, and the sun had been replaced by a terrifying version of it: black with yellow rays, eyes, and sharp teeth. Unable to take your eyes off the screen, you stared at the flickering chaos in front of you, confused and scared, until the world map literally ended in front of you and your character remained stuck in the air, completely still, in front of the glitched sun. You released the button and stared into the sun’s eyes, not sure what to do. Did the game just… freeze?

-Oh, come on!- you gave the side of the arcade a light slap, but almost immediately it zapped you back, -What the fuck is going on with you?!-

Honestly, you didn’t want to play anymore, not at all. You were freaking out, so instead of manually turning off the game like you should have, you went to pull out the charging cable from the wall. When you turned back around, the game was still on, and the sun’s face was covering the entire screen. Your balloon boy character had vanished and the rays of the sun were spinning around its head, which meant the game was still working completely fine.

“Ṯ̶́ ̴͑R̴̸͓̃ Y̵̴͇̿̚  A̶̕ ̷̱̃G̵̛ ̶͈͠A̵ ̷̬͋I̴ ̴̢̌N̶̂” was written on the screen in bold purple letters. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, an order. The game was telling you to keep playing. 

-No thank you,- you said, beginning to walk up the stairs of your basement and towards the door, -I’d rather not, you creepy fucking thing!-

You didn’t believe in ghosts, but when your hand closed around the knob of the door which you knew had been open only 2 minutes before and twisted, you began to believe in them just a little. Another twist, but the door didn’t budge. 

-What the fuck…?- you whispered, looking down at the knob. Could a draft have closed it? No, it was a hot summer day and the slightest breath of wind was a luxury you had stopped believing in. The light above your head flickered before suddenly turning off with a click, and no matter how many times you pressed the light switch, it wouldn’t turn on.

-Shit, shit, shit!- Turning back towards your basement, you saw that the colorful screen of the arcade machine was the only source of light in the entire room. The machine hummed and buzzed, inviting, beckoning you closer to its buttons and joystick. The red and black sun had been replaced with the starting menu, which looked completely normal if that terrifying face hadn’t been staring at you in the top right corner, from beyond the mountains and clouds, and if the words “BALLOON WORLD” hadn’t been replaced with purple bold letters. 

“P̵ ̶̔͜L ̵̢̾A̷ ̶̤͘Y ̸̤͘ W ̴̫͆I̶ ̵̛̻T ̸̮̽H̵  ̷̿M ̶̬̇E”

You didn’t want to play, no, fuck, you didn’t want to play at all! What had you done to deserve such a treatment? You just wanted to restore an arcade game to its lost splendor, that thing should have thanked you for doing that! Could it be that you had awakened some kind of electric paranormal presence?

-Can I leave once I play?- you asked, not knowing how to act with a sentient machine. The words on the screen disappeared for a moment before coming back three seconds after. 

“O̷ ̴͇̽F ̶̣̈ ̵̗͂C̶ ̶͚̓O̴ ̴͝U ̵̮̉R̴ ̸̳̏S ̴͕̂E̶  :)”

Hesitantly you walked back to the game, still unsure if you actually wanted to touch it, but you were suddenly pushed—violently too— against it by an invisible force behind you, sending you against the machine. The moment your hands brushed against the glitchy screen the game started without you having to press anything, forcing you to scramble back up into a standing position to avoid making your character fall. You noticed that this round balloon boy didn’t look as happy as he was before; his face was turned to look at you, his blue eyes were full of distress and his smile had turned into a pained grimace. He looked terrified, but you weren’t sure if for you or for himself. 

You were sweating as you began to play, missing many balloons due to your shaking and causing you to hit many obstacles on the path. You lost as soon as the day turned into night for the first time. Sighing, you ducked your head, begging your heart to stop beating this fast, almost like you feared the thing inside the machine could feel your fear and decide to never let you go. 

-S-Shit, sorry, I don’t know what came over me,- you tried to excuse yourself, -Next time I’ll… I’ll pay more attention, now I really need to…-

You were interrupted by the purple words reappearing on the screen.

“T̶ ̷̰̄H̷ ̴̿A̵ ̶̨͌T ̸̰̕'̵ ̶��͒S ̸̧̛ ̷̲͂F̴ ̴̝̉I̸ ̶̤̕N̷ ̵͔̈́E ̶

̶̾E̸ ̵͓̔V̶ ̶͓̇E̵ ̶̘͠R ̵̞͒Y̸ ̵̈B̵ ̷̨́O̸ ̸̼̓D̶ ̸̗̏Y̸ ̴̬̊ ̶̍M̵̕ ̷̠̆A̸ ̸͕̕K̷ ̴̧̒E ̶̯̈́S ̸̯̏ ̴͌M̴ ̶I̶ ̶̏S̶̒ ̵̘̀T̷̈ ̵͝A ̴̯͛K̷ ̶͈̽E ̵̨̒S̶”

The machine brought you back to the start of the game, to the red platform where the first day begins.

“P ̸̠̅R̷ ̸̱̒A ̷̨̓C̸ ̶̩̑T̴ ̸͔͛I ̸̘̕C̶ ̵̛͙E̵ ̵̪̊ ̵̹͑M ̶̬̓A̵ ̶̡̈́K̵ ̶̫́E ̸̣̔S̵ ̴͉͑ ̵̰̈́P̴ E̷ ̵͚̚R̵ ̸̮̋F̷ ̷̮̈́E ̷̘̎R̵ ̸̛̗C̴ ̶͐͜T̶”

The message was clear. Play again. And again, and again, and again. You didn’t know when you started crying, maybe around the third or fourth death, all you could remember of that night were your fingers locked over the buttons, unable to pull away, stuck over them like they had been grabbed by an unspeakable force. When you died the fifth time, you started to sob uncontrollably. 

-P-Please!- you begged, -Let me go, please, I d-don’t want to play anymore!-

Finally, the game froze, making your heart stop beating as well in fear of what was going to happen to you. 

-Let’s change game, Firefly,- spoke a rumbling voice from behind you just as a pair of long and slender fingers wrapped around your throat and tilted your head backwards. Under the creature’s touch, your skin burned and reddened, creating long-lasting marks on your flesh. -What do you think about a round of Tag?-

Behind you, pressed against your back and towering over your very human frame, was something that you couldn’t describe with words. All you knew, all you could see and think, was that the thing holding you by the neck had the same face as the sun inside of the Balloon World game, except this one was tangible and real. Not a picture on a screen, not a grinning image you could ignore, this one was inching his face closer and closer to you while emitting a low rumbling sound from the depths of his chest. 

-Start running, Firefly, or I’ll catch you before you even leave this basement,- he laughed, and the sound moved something inside of you—a primal feeling of pure and abject terror. The ape inside of you woke up, screaming at you to run for your life, and that’s exactly what you did the moment the “ghost” released his hold on you. You ran, out the basement and then out of your house, finding no locked door to stop you in your tracks. You ran, but despite everything, you could still hear the sun’s rattling laughter echoing in your head. 

“Hop, hop, little bunny! Hop, hop jolly high!”

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

Harry Potter timeline Sirius Black x fem!reader

CHAPTER SIX (see full series list here)

1992

You feel your breath catch in your throat, stumbling backwards at Peeves' words. Remus rushes forward to place a steadying hand on your arm and you swallow hard, brushing yourself off. You don't want your students to see you like this.

You look back at the torn canvas, viciously slit and ripped.

Would Sirius really do that?

Why would he even want to get into the Gryffindor Tower?

You can feel the other teachers looking at you and you attempt to steady your racing heart, though not to much success.

"P — Professor Dumbledore, we need to get the children out of here," you say meekly, and he nods slowly.

"Yes, yes...please, lead these students to the Great Hall. Professor Snape, please go get the Slytherins, and Professor McGonagall and I will collect the rest," he says, and you nod shakily, smiling weakly at the Gryffindors.

"Alright, everyone, let's go...Percy, will you please help me?"

Percy nods affirmatively, striding to the head of the group and marching forward towards the Great Hall.

Remus looks at you with worry laced in his features and you just shrug at him. You have no idea what to do.

The students stand in the Great Hall, chattering worriedly between themselves, before you're eventually joined by the rest of the school and faculty.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore says as McGonagall and Flitwick close all doors into the Great Hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will all have to spend the night here. I want the Prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the Hall and I am leaving the Head Girl and Boy in charge. Any disturbance should be reported immediately. Send word with one of the ghosts."

Dumbledore pauses, about to leave the Hall, and says, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..."

He waves his wand casually and the long tables fly to the edges of the Hall and stand themselves up against the walls; another wave, and the floor is covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well," he says, exiting the Hall. You glance at Remus and quickly scurry after the Headmaster.

Outside, the entire faculty have gathered, grim looks on their faces. Many of them are just staring at you, and you just swallow nervously, looking down at your shoes.

"How could he have possibly gotten in, Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall asks in disbelief.

Snape tuts. "Perhaps he had inside help," he says, looking pointedly at you.

You glare back at him. "Yes, Severus, you got me. I helped Sirius get in the castle just so he could go slashing at paintings!"

"Well, considering how you foolishly maintain that that madman is innocent — "

"He is innocent!"

"Then why, pray tell, is he breaking into the castle and 'slashing at paintings''?" Snape snaps and you falter.

"I — I don't...I don't — "

"Enough. I do not believe a single person in this castle would let Black in, Severus," Dumbledore intervenes calmly, though Snape still glares accusingly at you. "Now, there is an escaped convict in our school, and we must find him. Severus, you take the West Wing. Minerva, Filius, the courtyard and outer grounds, please..."

He glances at you, a sympathetic look on his face. "I think it's best if you stay with the students."

You nod wordlessly, eyes stinging, before turning around and returning to the Great Hall. The lights are out and the students appear to be trying to get to sleep, though most are whispering quietly between themselves. It's only illuminated by the silvery ghosts bobbing in the air, talking seriously with the Prefects, and the starry night sky above you.

"Did you find him, Professor?" One student pipes up as you enter and nearly all heads turn to look at you.

You sigh, shaking your head. "No, Mr Thomas, not yet."

You make your way through the sleeping bags, arriving at the head of the Hall and place your forehead against the wall in disbelief.

Why would he do that?

Why was he trying to get into Gryffindor Tower?

Was he looking for you?

No, surely not. How could he know you work here?

No. He must have been looking for something else.

Someone else.

But who?

You spend the next while full of thoughts and questions before Dumbledore finally enters the Hall, and heads for Percy. You glance up at the enchanted ceiling, and you estimate that it's around three in the morning. Snape then enters soon after, speaking with Dumbledore, casting a judgemental look your way. Probably trying to convince Dumbledore to fire you or something. Lock you away, maybe.

You watch as Snape then leaves, and Dumbledore makes his way over to you. You mentally prepare yourself for the onslaught, wiping away the silent tears that have stained your cheeks.

"Any sign of him, sir?" You ask nervously, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

He shakes his head. "No, I am afraid not."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You're not sure whether you should be glad they haven't found him or to be worried that they haven't found him.

Maybe he really was looking for you. Found out about your job somehow. Maybe he's angry that you never visited, never wrote him letters. Not that you were allowed to — the Ministry always said that such a dangerous criminal doesn't deserve such kindness.

"Headmaster, I swear to you I had no involvement in this. I know I've always said he's innocent, but I would never compromise the safety of my students like that," you splutter desperately, looking up at Dumbledore in worry.

He just nods as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "I know. I trust you."

Something in the genuineness with which he says those words makes your eyes water again and your bottom lip tremble. You sigh shakily, putting your head in your hands.

"I just...I just had so much faith in him. I was so certain..." you whisper. "But now...I don't know. I'm just so confused. I don't understand why he would do that. Why would he ever do that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

You laugh humourlessly, kissing your teeth. "Perhaps all those years in Azkaban really did turn him mad. Maybe I really have been acting like a fool all along. I feel so stupid."

"Seeing the good in someone does not make you a fool," Dumbledore replies gently.

You smile weakly. "You may be the only one who thinks that."

Dumbledore says your name softly, comfortingly. "Often, it is the ones we love that cause us the most pain. When an outsider tells you to stop loving someone who has done something wrong, it is never as easy as they think."

"I just don't want it to feel like a waste. Like I wasted my wedding, my home, my life — loving a bloody murderer," you spit, looking away from him and inhaling deeply.

Dumbledore says nothing for a moment, before speaking quietly, "Do you feel as though you married a murderer?"

You pause, thinking hard for a moment. You remember all those times Sirius kissed you. All the times he told you he loved you. You remember how much fun the two of you used to have together, even more, when you were with your friends. With James and Lily. You remember how James and Sirius were connected at the hip, two sides of the same coin. They were brothers in every way but by blood. You remember the pure joy and pride on his face when he held his baby godson for the first time. You look down at the wedding ring around your finger, twisting it. It's been easy to twist ever since you got it, as you've fiddled with it every time you've been worried or anxious about something. You remember him slipping that wedding ring around your finger on the happiest day of your life.

"No, I don't."

He doesn't respond to that, simply giving you a small, understanding smile, and leaving you.

⁠

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The next few days, Sirius is the talk of the school. If you got a galleon for every time you heard his name during your classes you'd probably be able to buy the castle.

It's almost like your school days. Well, back then it was talk of how handsome he was. Now, it's conspiracies of how he got inside the castle and just how demented he actually is.

One class, you're correcting homework while your third-year students work with their telescopes, and Seamus Finnigan throws a question your way:

"Professor, do you know how Black got into the castle?"

"No, Mr Finnigan," you respond curtly, not looking up from your work.

"I reckon he tunnelled under the ground," he says simply.

You shake your head tiredly. "Perhaps."

Days later, you hurry down to the Quidditch pitch, cursing angrily at the torrential rain currently battering your face and body. You shuffle into an empty seat, squinting out onto the pitch. Everything looks grey and murky, the rain and wind overpowering everything.

You can barely even see the players, though you do notice Harry getting thrown around in the wind from time to time. You're shivering beneath the multiple layers you're wearing, and as much as you love Quidditch, you're just waiting for the match to be over at this point and you can return to your lovely warm quarters.

Lightning flashes, and as you skim your eyes around the pitch, you have to do a double take when you see something that makes your breath catch in your throat. There, directly across from you, in the topmost, empty row of seats in the far box is the silhouette of a shaggy black dog. You blink rapidly, leaning forward to see if what you're seeing is really real.

Harry whizzes past on his broomstick, momentarily blocking your line of sight. When he's gone, so is the dog, and you sigh, leaning back in your seat again.

Maybe I'm finally going mad, you think.

And then you really do think you're going mad, because an eerie silence suddenly falls over the stadium. It even feels like the wind is holding its breath.

A horrible cold washes over you, even colder than you already are. Movement catches your eye and you look to the pitch, noticing at least a hundred cloaked figures gliding creepily along, looking up at the Quidditch players.

You stand up in shock, and watch in horror as Harry starts to sway on his broomstick, before slipping and plummeting towards the ground. Without a moment's hesitation, you plunge your hand into your pocket and produce your wand, yelling, "Aresto Momentum!"

Harry's fall slows, and he lands semi-gently on the pitch floor. You run down to the pitch, just in time to find Dumbledore, outraged and bellowing furiously at the Dementors. He casts his patronus and the silvery phoenix drives the Dementors out of the stadium. Then he magicks up a stretcher for Harry, and walks with him out of the stadium. You follow them in worry, glancing behind you to see Cedric Diggory clasping the golden snitch in his hands, as he talks rapidly with Madam Hooch.

Harry is fine, of course. Madam Pomfrey fetched large bars of chocolate and left them on his bedside, muttering angrily about Dementors on school grounds and chatting furiously with Dumbledore, who was equally angry. You leave soon after Harry arrives at the hospital wing, thinking that his friends and teammates may find it odd that you're there.

You spend the rest of the evening mulling over your sight of Sirius. You have no doubt that that was his animagus, but you're not sure whether you imagined it or not. Would he really be that stupid to watch a Quidditch game when he's on the run?

Part of you wouldn't be surprised at that. Can't keep that man away from his favourite game.

You remember when he was a Gryffindor Beater, playing alongside James. You commentated during your time at school, and while you were supposed to be focused on the game itself, most of the time you were ogling Sirius whizzing around the pitch. And getting reprimanded by McGonagall for not being impartial — but that's beside the point.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter seven here!

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

[alien-magnolia]

Rut with Jake Sully🖤

Fic description: Can be read as a sequel to My Heat’s Here. 18+ minors DNI. Heat/rut omegaverse, breeding kink, predator/prey kink, dom!Jake sully, fem!sub!reader, corruption/innocence, bit of misogyny (degrading!kink)

subby!fem!navi reader loves domestic life with dom!Jake as her mate. Having just recently mated before Eywa, she experiences her mate’s rut, helping him through it as best as she can.

If you like this post, pls help a writer out and reblog 🖤

The Pandoran sky shone with hues of purple, neon green and light blue. It was sunset, and you had just gotten back from a day spent by the waterfalls in the Hallelujah Mountains.

It was a beautiful end to the day, and you collected some flowers out in the forest! You could not wait to show your mate. The clan had always said that you were complete opposites — yet that was always working out good for you. You knew that he would love to see your flowers, he always indulged in you when nobody did.

Your Jake was a fierce warrior, rugged exterior, intimidating and demanding…so many Na’vi feared him at times. He wasn’t like that with you. You were his mate, and he treated you so, so gently, sometimes to the level of patronizing you. You were just, well, not that smart at times.

That was okay! Because you had your mighty warrior, Toruk Makto, to love you and guide you <3

You couldn’t wait to show him what you found in the forest. You even brought home a lily pad.

You happily skipped along the log bridge over this one mountain, the sun was now fully gone from the sky, and the bright Pandoran moon illuminated your bioluminescent freckles, scattering across your body.

Soon enough, you were nearing the entrance of your shared hut. The tiny pink petals were clamped in your hands, you even put one in your hair - all to show your mate!!

You enter the hut. He is not there. You are confused, until the scent hits you. Musky, earthy. His pheromones. His rut.

1 mile outside hometree -

“Babygirl. Where are you!! Fuck…”” Jake growls, using his nose to the best of his ability to sniff you out. He’s been trailing your scent. His rut had arrived this morning — shortly after you left, he woke up with morning wood. His cock, big, angry, red. Anytime he would have a bit of release (which only took him a few seconds, he would grab some of your woven cloths and smell them) his cock would be hard again in a few minutes. Constantly hard, paired with some soft and sensitive swollen balls <3 he was just itching to get you alone.

He did not go on the hunt today, even though he told you that he would. He did not want to anger other Na’vi men. His pheromones were strong. Additionally, his scent would attract unwanted attention from the clan’s women — bother them.

Not everyone got tha chance to ride The Toruk Macto. Only his sweetie, his baby girl did. Yet he currently had no idea where she was. This was a problem.

Jake was protective of you, as per usual. You were never to go out into the forest at night, never to go to a clan meeting by yourself. Yet during his rut, this was amplified. He needed you — this instant.

He was starting to panic. It was now the middle of the night, he could not find you anywhere. A Thanator could have found you.

The sweetness of your smell suddenly hit him in the face. He was about a few minutes away from you, and he could smell you at his distance. He stalks you, your scent enticing him toward you like a piece of sharp twine, reeling him in. There you were, shivering beside a bush. You smelled divine. Your heat. His mind was racing. All he wanted to do was to creep up on you, pin you to the grass, you were his scared, little bunny. You needed his help.

Luckily he wasn’t so far gone, and he did think logically. He slowly approached you instead, with his hands up. You picked up on his scent immediately. Your terrified eyes look up at him, through the bond he knew that you were waiting for him, for a while.

“Ma Jake. My Munxtatan, help. Please, need you…,” you wail, some sobs breaking through your voice. “Shh. Shh, S’okay. Mawey, my love,” he crouched down beside you, his large hands grasping at your body, calming you for a bit. Still, there was an ache within you, you needed it to be tamed. Your scent became stronger. Jake was gone.

Jake’s voice becomes more intense. “You’re burning up, came out here all by yourself, without me?? What were you thinking, huh? Jesus. Irresponsible,” he almost yells, his ears slanted, tails erratic. You were absolutely terrified, and some tears began to fall from your eyes. “Ma Jake, please…,” you beg, not sure what you were even begging for.

“Yeah, yeah. I know what you want. Every man needs to tame his bitch, huh? Out here crouching in the woods, like a helpless lil’ bunny. God damn,” he grunts, as more tears fall from your eyes. He was in rut, he was so dominant, so stern with you, and yet you knew that in a few seconds you were going to get demolished by him.

His large hands knead at the dough of your hips. You whimper as he effortlessly flips you over onto your back, his fingers digging into your hip bones as he angles your ass up, and pushes your legs apart with his knee. “There you go, bunny. Stay just like that, kid.” You nod submissively, as you feel his large back press down on your small, arched one.

“Tsaheylu??,” you whisper, hoping that Jake would still fulfill your need to be calmed, emotionally. He growls for a second, fuck — he loved seeing you like this, all putty, caged in his strong arms.

He nods, he could not find the words to reassure you, his queue connects to yours, as the both of your eyes dilate. Only then he feels how scared you are of him. He knew his state of rut would scare you, sending you into heat, a few weeks early. Here he was.

“S’okay, bunny. Just gonna use you for a bit. Stay still,” his voice speaks up again, still deep, overbearing, yet a bit softer now. Nodding, you focus on his body close to yours, caging you in. You feel his thick fingers massage your puffy lips, your sweet slick coating his fingers, making him moan, softly.

You felt his intense hunger for you through the bond. He saw your empty walls clamping around nothing, he felt your desire to be full of him, for the rest of the night!!

His long, thick, fingers curl in and out of you, immediately reaching towards that sweet, spongy spot, deep inside.

Your walls clenched around him tightly, sucking his fingers in, more and more. He growled at you, a warning to loosen up. You obeyed, and his fingers kept pumping into you, a ruthless pace. You feel the full weight of his body push down on you, bringing your cheek to the ground. A hand on your neck, another hand tightly controlling your hips, holding you in place. You feel his fangs graze your shoulders, biting in.

“Ma Jake, ma Jake, ahh…,” you scream, you were experiencing intense pleasure right now. His fingers suddenly slid out of you, his lips trailing over your neck, your ear, as an attempt to calm down your whines and whimpers. “Gonna, gonna, fuck, give you my cock now, ma yuey. Mawey.”

You were still reeling from the loss of his fingers in you, that you almost did not notice that he was lining up his swollen cockhead onto your lips. You feel it, it is warm, wet, leaking!! You wish you could have seen it from the position you were in as of now.

You felt him slide into you, too fast for your liking. He bottomed out quickly, you felt him pulse inside you!! It was only a matter of minutes until he was drilling into you, his balls slapping your sensitive mound. Your soft tits were bouncing, nipples erected due to the cold air of the forest. You had double vision, your chest heaving as his hands came around up front to grab at your softness. Your hearing zeroes in on the sound of your hips against his, his growls and groans, those veins in his arms flexing as he holds you close to him.

The both of you finished, coming back to your senses. His knot grew inside you, anchoring his cock to your still aching, pulsing walls. The both of you looked at each other wearily, the night was still young, and in this state, there was no point in returning to the village.

“You okay, babygirl?,” he asks, tone now gentle, as if to not spook you. His fingers come up to wipe a few of the remaining tears from your eyes, as you lay your head on his chest. Not before giving him a sweet, long, kiss. “Feel a bit better now, ma Jake. Want you in me forever,” you softly murmur back.

“Want me to fill you up, huh, girl? Don’t worry, there will be time for that. We might end up with a kid, though. Y’sure about this?,” he worries. You think for a moment, taking advantage of the clarity of mind that both of you have at the moment.

“Yes, ma Jake. Let’s have one. We are mates, after all. It’s our biological purpose,” you chuckle. Jake hums in agreement, rubbing your back to soothe you as the both of you lay on the swaying, forest floor.

You would spend days with him in that forest during your heat, during his rut. It was very rare for both of your cycles to align. You felt that Eywa has finally blessed you, to be able to get bred by him, impregnated, to carry HIS child. His child, the whole village would know that you were HIS. You were giddy at the thought.

Jake heard your thoughts through tsaheylu, a deep chuckle emitting from him. “Want to be bred, huh kid? Your big, strong, mate will do plenty of that.”

You just couldn't wait!!

Avatar taglist: @23victoria @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @jake-sullys-whore @aerangi @brioffthegrid

[leviathism]

i have a request. reader showing belphegor their marble collection. [i have a pretty one that's somewhat translucent and looks like a night sky. belphie would like it imo ☆.]

belphegor x gn reader

These demons knew everything about you. Well, almost everything. So they were constantly trying to get ahead of each other to know something about you that the rest didn’t know.

It was a daily competition.

“I know that they have a mark on their left thigh.” Asmo grinned evilly at breakfast one day.

“So do I,” Beel mumbled through his food innocently. Asmo screamed.

“I know something you all don’t,” Mammon crossed his arms proudly, “their favorite color when they were four was—”

“Blue,” all of them chimed except for Mammon. Mammon groaned.

Even Lucifer was in on it.

“Their deepest, darkest secret is that they’re scared of being alone.”

Such a dad thing to do. To overshare a secret of someone so shamelessly. But to be honest, Belphegor already knew that. But he let the old bastard believe he had won, because he had a plan.

He was going to ask you upfront what your secret was and then rub it in his brothers’ faces, especially Lucifer, the next day.

So he asked you, straight up, “Is there anything you have never told any of us before?”

And luckily, you answered.

It was top secret, you told him, despite knowing he’d bring it up the next day at dinner.

You led him into your dark room and dug around in a storage bin. Belphegor held his breath.

Were you hiding tons of money in there? A bunch of severed body parts? Asmo’s special cologne that had gone missing for two months?

He watched as you pulled out a jar of small spheres.

“An eyeball collection,” he breathed out. He should’ve known.

“What?! Eyeball? No!” You clutched the jar protectively to your chest. “What is wrong with you?”

Belphegor tilted his head, wondering if you really wanted him to answer that question.

You let out a sigh, calming yourself down. “It’s my marble collection. Marble. Not eye.”

He kneeled down beside you, getting a closer look. “This is your big secret?”

“Well… it’s not a secret, but it’s something none of you guys know about. I mean, our topics of discussion are usually never on marbles. I never get a chance to show these babies off.” You pouted. Belphie rolled his eyes and took the jar from you.

He lifted it up so the light from your lamp hit the jar. “You only have one jar?”

“These are just from the Devildom. I have more at home but I couldn’t bring them.”

“Oh.” He shook the jar before you gave him a look. “Why do you collect them?”

“They look nice.” You shrugged. “You can have one if you want.”

Belphegor stared at you for a moment before he opened the jar and started to dig around. He listened to you ramble on about how marbles were so hard to find down here and then thought about how he absolutely could not tell his brothers about your marble collection.

If they knew, they’d ask for a marble. And Belphie could not let that happen. He wanted to be the only one to have a marble from you.

He picked up a midnight blue one and put the lid back on the jar.

“That’s a nice one.” You nodded in approval. “Maybe you should start a marble collection. Or do you collect other things?”

Belphie thought for a moment, his eyes flicking up from the marble to you. “I have a lot of pictures of you. Does that count?”

You gaped. How he was so upfront with stuff like that amazed you. “I mean… I guess.”

“I have this really good one, of you, me, and Beel. I’ll have to show you all of them tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled at him.

[raainberry]

Record and Rewind

« Photographic film is a chemically reactive material that records a fixed or still image when the film is exposed to light. »

fem!idol x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - while on one of your many solo adventures, your signature scent unexpectedly draws in the love of your life to you

word count - 1.5K words

A/N - I got inspired after seeing a picture of Sana and her friends in the snow on Pinterest so I wrote this with her in mind. I don’t use her name though, so feel free to imagine whoever you want. Also if anyone’s actually reading this, this is only part 1 of 2, I’m new here and I thought I would test the waters with it. All feedbacks are welcome, if you’d like the second part, let me know!

“Could you take a few pictures of me and my friends?”

The voice brought your attention from the cloudy sky down to the face it belonged to. Or at least half of it, seeing as they were wearing a mask like everyone else.

It was a woman about as tall as your shoulders, handing you what looked like a film camera. The device hung there for a few seconds as you processed the request. She had pulled you out of a pretty deep trance, but you grabbed it nonetheless, nodding.

Not a sound came out from behind your own mask, not finding any reason for it. You only focused on fulfilling the duty you suddenly got entrusted with.

The woman excitedly ran up to three other women, who you only assumed were her friends, and as she did so, you looked down at the camera in your hand.

You were surprised to see your own reflection in the objective pointing directly to your face. A small chuckle escaped your lips at the sight, and an idea was quick to appear in that creative brain of yours, as it was always the case when confronted to such opportunities.

While a lot of those have lead you to what could be considered as odd situations, this one was part of the softer, more normal and innocent ones.

So you quickly executed it.

“Is everything okay?”

A different voice startled you, catching your attention. Surely one of the woman’s friends, you just couldn’t tell which one though, as you tore your eyes away from the lense and found all of them looking at you with the same questioning look.

“Yes, sorry.” You spoke up, voice cracking softly enough for it to go unnoticed. A product of this solo trip on which you obviously rarely spoke.

You lifted the camera up to your eye, perfectly framing the group of girls who offered a collection of poses, all concording with one another. Some chemistry they had, one that could only be birthed through a long time friendship.

It was somewhat nice to witness such complicity. It reminded you of your own friends, and you suddenly felt a bit sentimental as a memory flashed in the back of your mind. It felt like a lifetime ago you had gotten all together and captured moments like you were doing for those girls.

Hopefully you would get to meet again soon.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” The black haired one of them laughed.

You nodded in agreement, although the words weren’t directed at you, and met them all halfway to give them back the camera.

The group of friends thoroughly thanked you and released you from duty soon after, to your delight.

Not that it was the worst time of your life—far from that, you loved to help. You simply happened to want to tend to other activities on this short break from this snowmobile trip.

So, glad you could help, you parted ways in good fashion, bowing respectfully before grabbing the notebook from your back pocket.

You found a seat on a bed of snow, undoubtedly covering a small patch of dirt in the middle of these woods, and looked up to find the clouds again.

Your gaze traveled back and forth from the sky to the paper in your lap, hand gliding across it as you drew the sights that caught your attention.

The photographer duty was long gone from your mind in just a few strokes of your pencil, just as was the world around you.

Completely immersed in this hobby of yours, you became oblivious to the most obvious happenings around you.

The small family having a snowball fight not too far away from you, that group of friends joking around a little farther, the guide restarting his snowmobile…

None of those so much as ticked off your mind.

Not even her.

The one your heart would be longing for to the point you’d feel your mind drifting.

The woman you’d just taken a picture of.

Granted, it was a group setting, but it was only a matter of time until you asked yourself how you couldn’t have noticed her.

But boy had she noticed you.

She couldn’t help but feel her eyes drawn to you ever since you parted from her small group.

Your scent had her hypnotized as soon as it had reached her brain.

That sweet, sweet perfume. It hung in the air, surrounding her when you stood near them earlier.

Saying she loved it would be coming short of whatever it was she felt. It had quite the effect on her, so much so it took a beat to realise where it emaned from.

When she did though, it was only natural for her to want to comment on it. To point out how she loved the sweetness of it. That the vanilla her nose picked up on was heavenly.

That one was undoubtedly a strong ingredient in the confection, yet it was so soft in the air. Surely tamed by the blurry floral notes she could make out.

It all blended and landed so well, it felt as though everything was so perfectly dosed and thought out.

She had never smelled anything like it.

There was so much she had to say, but there’s only so much you could tell a stranger. Even though she usually experienced no difficulty in engaging with those, this time was different.

Time was limited on this break, and truth be told… You did not seem open to such a conversation.

So she decided she’d simply let you know she liked it.

However you were gone before her brain even settled, unknowingly leaving her with questions on the tip of her tongue.

So now there she was, stealing glances at you as if it would bring her the answers that had been ripped away from her.

Irrational thinking, sure, but it was the least of her worries. Especially when her friends noticed her behavior and decided not to let this pass under any circumstance.

The afternoon dragged out, the sun only setting after the woman had experienced an unseen before number of playful elbows to the back and teasing jokes.

That trip had turned into quite the teasing fest. It would have been fun if she weren’t the sole target.

Yet as much as she despised it at the time, she could never be more thankful for her friends and what they pushed her to do that night.

While everyone enjoyed the barbecue provided by the trip, all engrossed in conversations neatly guarded by the thick structure of none other than igloos, you made your way out of the one you’d been assigned to.

You’d shared the meal with three other people, a small group of friends who’d come all the way from Canada. They were nice, you had spent a good time, but you weren’t there to make friends.

So when you finished your meal, you excused yourself before stepping out to do what you were there for : appreciate the weather.

Winter, the cold air and winds, the snow… It was a tough season to love, but growing up in a region like Hokkaido sure made it easy for you. Having spent the better half of your childhood in a place like the south of Spain only sealed the deal.

One thing you were never going to get used to though, was stepping out in that weather.

Might as well step into a freezer, it would be the exact same, you thought, the temperature difference between the hot barbecue smoke and cold breeze hitting the sensitive skin of your cheeks.

But boy did it feel good.

You took a deep breath in, feeling the cold air slowly relieve your stuffed lungs before letting out a sigh. The steam spread in the air near your lips before vanishing, and you pulled a piece of paper out from the warmth of your pocket.

You resumed the origami you’d started a few minutes ago, another hobby of yours that made the sound of utensils clacking inside the few igloos around you fade out after a while, only to be replaced by the sound of… steps?

Your eyes shifted up towards the familiar sound of powdery snow being crushed beneath the feet.

The decorative string lights surrounding the iced out restaurant offered a dim and ambient lighting.

Quite the setting for a first meet.

The woman stopped to stand beside you, all cozy looking with her face practically burried in her scarf, her body lazily wrapped in one of those trendy black puffer jackets.

You didn’t think the sight could get any cuter until you noticed the warm smile hiding behind the fabric, and you froze.

Your eyes met.

Knees became weak as hearts went on a marathon.

Not a good mix if either of you were counting on winning that one.

Finally close enough again, your scent engulfed her lungs as she breathed it in, all while her eyes took you in.

She had seen your face from afar about an hour prior, when her friends pulled her attention to you as everyone started up their dinner. She had never been so thankful for contact lenses in her life.

All she had seen so far were your eyes, and while these mask wearing times made way for a few disappointing reveals, yours turned out to only be a teaser of what was hiding behind that cloth.

Needless to say, she found you beautiful.

Amazing perfume, pretty face, seemed to be the artsy type… As much as she wanted to respect your obvious yet unspoken want to be alone, she was but just a girl.

Her friends agreed, she had no choice but to talk to you. At the very least she had to try.

“Hi.” She spoke up, breaking the unofficial staring contest.

That voice, you recalled…

“Is everything okay?”

So it was her.

“Hi...?” You answered, your tone letting her know you wondered about her sudden presence. “Are you looking for something?”

The woman let out a soft chuckle.

“Yes. Your perfume."

[peepslibrary]

Introducing~ Lay Bankz

This is probably one of the funniest things I've ever written. I guess this qualifies as a song fic? If you've been on tiktok a couple months ago, you'd probably recognize this song.

Synopsis: What would happen if the LU boys heard the song Ick?

Warnings: Explicit lyrics, mentions of sex

Y'all can thank @trippygalaxy for this.

... Why is there a portal right outside the camp?

Why is there

a

PORTAL-

You're fairly confident the whole town heard your sigh and the chain's groans as y'all packed everything up and linked hands to go through the stupid portal. The other side of the portal was - in fact - NOT another Hyrule. It was a stadium. A stadium filled to the brim with people, a gigantic stage, and multicolored lights moving all around. Ok wait- the portal might've been the least of your problems.

The group looks around with emotions varying from confused to overstimulated. Honestly, if you squint you could see their braincells work together. You turn around, doing a quick headcount. “Wait, where’s Wind?” You count again and… nope still 9 including you. Fuck

I don't mean to judge off a first impression. Or his part-time job at 7/11. But he's a broke-ass peasant ask-

You feel your eyebrows furrow. Where do you know this song??

(ick) and he's got bad credit (ick) and he got a foot fetish (ick) DNR, but he tryin' paramedic

Shit... that's where you recognize this from. Tiktok

You're quick to move and cover Sky’s ears, making a silent prayer to whatever poor soul is listening. You need to get everyone out. You guys need to find Wind and you're fairly confident that everyone present will get red in the face when they register the lyrics.

"Time." Thankfully he managed to hear you despite the current situation. You see him angle his head up for a milisecond. Just subtle enough for you to reply with a tilt of your head towards an emergency exit. He doesn't hesitate to nod, moving to Wars and Twilight to help move everyone along. It's not a stretch to think that he's overstimulated with the environment. Has any of them ever heard this much noise so close?? You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

Actually... Dink can kiss your ass. He's literally the one that pulled you into this craziness in your pjs. Like... dude coulda waited until you were decent t-

“Hey, what’s going on?” You curse and look up at the question-er. His eyes stuck looking at the ground, his ears lowered under your hands while his playing with the fabric of his sailcloth. “Sky I’m trying to get you guys out of-“

(Ew) Lady boner gone (Oh no), He dry humpin' me and huffin' like a dog (Hah, hah), And he whispered in my ear did I get off?

You didn’t think it was possible to cringe laugh *this* hard. But oh boy, the collective faces made shouldn’t have been that funny. Red in the face and trying to move everyone faster - incredibly hard considering they’re all standing like statues - are Time, Wars, Legend, and Twilight. Sky, Wild, Four, and Hyrule have moved to cover their own ears, with some crouched against the floor.

Somehow everyone is able to leave the stadium with only their innocence (or lack of thereof) injured, only to find Wind standing with a security guard eating a string cheese and a can of soda next to him.

“There you guys- what happened?” Wind makes his way to y’all and you use that chance to check for visible injuries, making sure no one injured him.

“Although it’s likely they would be the one injured.” Your brain supplied helpfully.

“Uhh…” you look at the group’s states, “let’s just say they weren’t expecting what was inside the stadium.” Wind nods in understanding, “Yeah, Sam wouldn’t let me in because it was ‘for adults.’” You spare a glance towards the guard, who gives a humored nod and sends you guys on your way.

[delopsia]

Storm Warning | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,100  Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB Reader. The reader does wear a skirt in this one, pegging, outdoor sex, cunnilingus, thunderstorms, fucking Rhett while he wears nothing but his chaps, and mentions of food. Brief Summary: There is nothing quite like bending Rhett Abbott over and fucking him in the south pasture, where nobody but you can hear him.

The thing about Wabang is that you can see a storm coming from miles away. This little, middle-of-nowhere town cozies right on up to the Tetons, a grand collection of mountains that occupy a good portion of the eastern skies. But the west is unoccupied, offers a full, unobstructed view of the sky, including all of the clouds that will soon pass overhead.

Which is exactly why you should have seen that dark collection of clouds in the distance. 

You could have seen it when you peered out your window before you left. Had ample opportunity to spot the looming danger when you drove over here; these roads are winding anything but interesting. Why could your eyes have wandered into the distance at least once?

Why is it that you only noticed them once you were halfway into the Abbott's south pasture? 

Your small backpack feels like it's been filled with cement, weighing heavily on your shoulders. The breeze of the storm has yet to blow in, but once it does, you're sure you'll be regretting this short skirt. The perfect design for flying upward the moment it catches on air. 

In the distance, Rhett's truck is coming into view. That old blue pickup was clean when it left your driveway this morning, but the undercarriage now carries a generous adornment of dirt. The poor thing can never be clean for more than a couple of hours. 

It takes some more walking to find Rhett. A long way from his vehicle, down on one knee, working on the same fence he was swearing about when he left. You've never worked on this ranch a day in your life, but even you know that if there's an issue with a fence, it's the south one. 

He doesn't hear you as you approach. Absent-mindedly whistling a tune as you come to a stop behind him, so focused that he no longer registers what's going on around him. His head turns, peering off toward the same storm you were looking at as you stumbled down here. 

"Some storm, huh?" 

Rhett jolts. Twisting so fast that he falls off balance, landing on his ass. 

"The hell?" The confusion laced in his tone is strong, but he's already beginning to get up, arms opened wide, welcoming you to step into them. "How long you been back there?" 

He's warm. Always is, but you didn't expect him to be a furnace. Soft and cozy, has you resisting the urge to wrap him up tight and take him home to snuggle on the couch for the rest of the afternoon. Royal and the ranch be damned. "Thirty seconds, give or take." 

Rhett's hands wander. 

Smoothing down your waist, the rough material of his gloves catching on your clothes as they drag their way down to the edge of your skirt. There's no way he can feel what you're wearing beneath, but his brows furrow like he's caught whiff of your plan.

"Somethin' tells me you ain't out here to bring me lunch," he asks, beneath his breath. Quiet, like someone may hear him all the way out here. 

"I thought we were past the buying dinner stage?" You can feel him worming his hands from his gloves, desperate to explore. Piece together just what you're doing out here. 

A sweaty palm ventures up your thigh, roaming up to your ass. His breath catches. "Are you..." Fingers digging beneath the thick elastic, hugging your hips, pulling and letting it snap back against your skin. His head swivels, looking behind himself, then beyond your head. Looking for someone. Anyone. "Here?"

Shrugging your shoulders. Feigning innocence. As if you've stumbled up here by mere accident. "Worried someone could hear you, cowboy?"

His Adam's apple bobs, teeth sinking into that thin bottom lip. 

Gingerly, you allow your touch to wander. Greedy hands running down his sweaty back, past the thick leather of his chaps, not stopping until you can comfortably squeeze his ass. Lulls a weary grunt from his throat. 

Without a word, he leans in. Nose bumping into yours. Eyes as dark as the storm brewing in the distance. That tear in the barbed wire fence long forgotten, all in favor of leaning in, open mouth meeting your own. 

There's still seasoning on his lips from the pork rinds he's had stashed in the glove box. Strong against your tongue as his hands travel your body. Up your sides, between your shoulder blades, back down to your ass, pawing at your exposed thighs. Can't figure out what he wants to hang onto.

And you can't complain because your hands have no shame. Already tugging at his shirt, pulling it out from where he's tucked it into his jeans, and reaching beneath. Feeling the soft ripple of muscle against your palm, heaving in tune with his chest. 

"Gonna have to be quick with me, darlin'," Rhett's speaking into your mouth, "that storms fixin' to be here."

"Can you feel it in your bones, old man?" You already know the answer to that; his left shoulder aches whenever bad weather is imminent. A gift from the time he tore it up, falling off a bull. 

His chest rumbles with a deep hum, "Sure can." And there might be a follow-up sentence to that because his mouth opens, tongue heavy with a jumble of words that never make it out. Silenced the moment your palm drops to press against a rapidly hardening bulge. His bottom lip quivers, "fuck."

Isn't his face just pretty? Jaw lax, eyes closed, lost in the way you map him out through his jeans. It's hard to feel through this thick material, but you think you can feel him twitch against you when you lean in to nibble at his unshaven jaw. Worrying the skin with your teeth until it's pink. 

"Rub me a 'lil harder, doll," he breathes, voice carried by the wind, "Can hardly feel—ah."

Grinding the heel of your palm into him, up and down, relishing in the way he grows beneath your touch. God, you don't know what you did to wind up with a cowboy who is always so eager for you, but you're forever thankful for it. He's reaching down, thumbing open his buckle, and pulling his belt for you. Makes it so easy to slip your hand past his waistband, wrapping careful fingers around his heavy cock. 

His lips part with a gasp. "How?" 

You know what he's asking, but playing coy is much more fun than immediately answering. "How what?"

"Like how..." head tilts back a fraction as you draw him out of his jeans. Flushed tip already beginning to leak for you, shining in the rapidly disappearing sunlight. "In the truck?" 

"I was thinking..." Leaning in, your lips ghosting his ear as you purr into it, "Right here." 

A visible shiver rattles down his spine. Shakes his whole body with it. And he's wordless as he starts to fumble with his clothes. Leaves his shirt alone as he toes out of his boots while you slip your backpack from your shoulders, fishing out the thin blanket you packed. As you spread it out against the ground, Rhett's hitching his thumbs beneath his waistband and yanking everything down. Boxers, jeans, and chaps, all in one go. 

Only pauses once he's gotten them off one ankle, his face scrunching with a thought.

"What?" You're freezing; is someone coming?

It takes him a moment. Brows furrowed, confused about something. "Can feel the breeze on my dick," he finally says, starting to move again, "'s a real weird feelin'."

If you roll your eyes any harder, you fear they'll get stuck in the back of your head. As you roll them, though, you catch glimpse of his chaps laying neglected on the ground. Dirty and tattered from years of use, always manage to frame his ass in just the right way.

Rhett's following your gaze, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Glances back to look at your face, then back to his pile of clothes again. "Did you want me to keep them on?"

"Won't they be uncomfortable without jeans?" An indirect yes, if one were to squint, but it's a question that's been brewing in your head regardless. 

"Probably," with a half-hearted shrug, he reaches for them. Shaking them free of his jeans and slipping them back on, the leather gliding past pale legs and thick thighs like they're paid to do it. 

All that's left is his shirt, still buttoned and concealing his wonderfully broad shoulders from view. Shoulders that are so easy to grab ahold of, guiding him to settle next to you. You only mean to lean closer to see what you're doing as you fumble with the buttons, but Rhett's leaning in, and what could a few more kisses hurt?

His breath is already ragged, makes it hard to keep your mouths together for more than a few seconds at a time. Needy lockings of lips, your hands coming to settle against his nape as his careful teeth nip at you. Insistent, soothing over every nip with his tongue. His arm is winding around your waist, drawing you closer. 

And here you are, out in the south pasture, both of you on your knees, heaving chests pressed together as your burning tongues meet. Sloppy and fleeting because that thunder is rolling in the distance, and you don't have time for deepened kisses that leave your head spinning.

One of the hands resting on his nape drops to push between his shoulder blades, gently urging him to move. And oh, does he follow. Lets you guide him into the position you want him in, doesn't fuss as you downright manhandle him. 

You should have brought a Polaroid camera. Used up an entire pack of film, taking picture after picture of this. 

Rhett's cheek rests against the blanket, stormy blue eyes peering back at you, pale ass high in the air, heavy cock hanging low between his thighs. On display, for your eyes only. 

His hips squirm back and forth, grumbling to himself all the while, "Y'plannin' to just sit 'n  stare?"

"You nervous, cowboy?" Chirping as you lean down, your body curving to fit against his whilst your lips press to the sensitive space along the back of his neck. 

He grumbles, arching back into your touch. Chasing the kisses that you press to his skin. "Just a lil bit."

He's so unbelievably warm. Burning against your lips as you work your mouth down his back, licking down the bumps of his spine, feeling him squirm. One of your hands drops down, wrapping around his forgotten cock, and he jolts. 

"Sensitive," musing aloud, loosely pumping him as you press kisses to the dimples in his spine. The left one is more visible than the other, and if it weren't for knowledge gathered from previous ventures, you'd think he only had one. 

His hips wriggle forward, trying to urge you faster, "Uhuh." Only for you to let go of him in favor of dipping into your bag in search of the lube.

And oh, does he fuss.

Whining high in his throat, a soft "no, no, no, no," dancing off his tongue. Wants, needs more attention. Attention that you're not giving him. 

"Hold on, hold on," pressing another kiss to his skin, drizzling the lube over your palm, "I'm not going anywhere, baby."

Just as quickly as it left, your hand is wrapping around him again. Stroking the lubricant over his throbbing length, listening to the pleased sigh that you work out of him. You can't see what you're doing, but you can hear it. Lube squelching with your movements, audible as your thumb traces the sensitive underside of his cock head. Working back and forth. 

Rhett's hips jerk forward, "fuck."  Squirming away as you chase him down, determined to keep your thumb there, "Stop, stop, that's—shit, that's sen...sensitive." 

"Just a minute ago, you didn't want me to let go," cooing, the faintest of smiles ghosting your lips as you watch him writhe. 

You think he might buck you off like those bulls he rides every weekend. Hips thrashing side to side, babbling to himself as you work that sensitive spot over and over, "'M gonna cum if y'keep—" his own whine cuts his words short, "if y'keep doing that!"

Just like that, you let go of him entirely. 

The tips of his ears flame with crimson, spreading down his neck. Your line of sight follows, trailing down the expanse of his back, not stopping until your eyes greedily rake over his ass and thighs. Presented high in the air for you, still trembling from your sudden burst of attention. Chaps loosely clinging to his thighs, framing his ass. 

It's impossible to resist running your palm up him, feeling the soft flesh beneath your touch. So squishy and grabbable. Rhett grumbles, a deep noise you near mistake for thunder, wriggling his hips back and forth. Impatient. 

"Alright, alright," leaving his ass alone, you reach for the lube again, recoating your fingers. 

The first nudge of your fingers at his entrance has him squirming again. Wriggling away from the ticklish sensation of your index finger massaging around the thick ring of muscle there. You don't need to ask him to stop wriggling away; he'll stop once he's gotten himself over the foreignness of it all. Always needs a minute to adjust. 

And he does. Gradually stilling to a halt, pliant for you once more, as one of your fingers press in. 

"Atta boy," leaning down to press a kiss to his ass. A vague distraction as you ease into him, enthralled by how he flutters around you. It's an easy glide; he's still somewhat loose from your ventures yesterday morning when he sidled up behind you and blatantly asked if he could ride you. 

"C'n add 'nother," he garbles, cheek squishing against the blanket, as he cranes his head to look back at you. 

If it weren't for the thunder in the distance, reminding you of its presence, you'd argue. But you're short on time, and he takes this second finger so easily that you can hardly worry about hurting him. Your angle shifts, fingers crooking, massaging past a rubbery button on their next thrust in. 

Rhett jumps, an invisible bolt of lightning rattling up his back. 

In and out, your talented fingers work him open. Know exactly what to do, indirectly massaging his prostate because directly toying with it is too much for the poor cowboy. A third finger slips in just as easily as the second, feeling him stretch around you, loosening with every motion. It's enough to have him squirming back into your touch, chasing the feeling of your fingers fucking into him, breath heavy. 

"Think 'm good," he sighs, and you can't see his face from this angle, but you're sure that his eyes have long since closed. Relaxed. 

You were about to ask him the same thing, but yet, you're double-checking anyway. "You're sure?"

His head nods. "Uhuh." But he whines as you pull your fingers out of him, upset by the loss of contact. Hips swaying back and forth like he's trying to entice you into hurrying up. 

To his credit, it's working. 

There are two toys in this bag of yours, clean and safely tucked away in their proper containers. One is bright purple, sitting on the longer side, with soft ridges that easily made it one of Rhett's favorites from the get-go. But the other is jet black, not quite as long as the purple, but it's thicker, another one of his favorites. 

"You have options—"

"Did y'bring the black one?" So eager that he's cutting you off. Knows exactly what he wants. 

And so, the black one it is. 

You don't need to respond because Rhett sees it as you take it out, his foot excitedly beginning to bounce. A cool breeze blows past as you slide the toy past the ring, securing it into place. A cruel reminder of the time crunch you're on and how you really need to hurry with lubing this up. 

But soon enough, you're curling a hand around Rhett's boney hip, holding it as you tap the head of the toy to his entrance. Listening to his breath catch in his throat, watching him impatiently squirm back into it. 

"Hurry up," those blue eyes peer over his shoulder, darker than they were the last time you saw them. 

Gingerly, you press in, watching in awe at how he opens up for it, slowly stretching for the thick tip. From here, you can see how his mouth falls open, silent as the head fully slips inside. You can only imagine that this must be what he sees when he's got you in this same position. His hand scrambles for the edge of the blanket, squeezing it in his fist as you push in.

"You doing alright, cowboy?" Smoothing your hand up his back as you speak. 

"Want somethin' to hang onto," he whines, letting go of the blanket in favor of clawing at the grass. But it doesn't last, thin blades of green breaking away from the ground in seconds. Leaning down, you brace one palm against the ground, both bearing your weight and letting him grab ahold of your wrist. 

That's all he was looking for. Squeezes it as you slide the rest of the way in until your hips are flush together. Nothing left for him to take. 

You've just checked on him, but you're pressing a kiss to his shoulder and murmuring another question, "How do you feel?"

"'M fuckin..."  he's panting, needs a moment to gather his breath, "full." Another breath, and then, "Move."

Delicately, you draw back the tiniest bit, hardly moving an inch as you practically roll your hips into him. Working purely on the memory of what he does when he's in you. Careful at first, allowing you the chance to work up to those heavy thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs. 

Pulling back just a little more now, watching it disappear back inside of him. A soft noise spills out of his mouth, tiny and barely there. And you must be doing something right because he's louder on this next thrust in, squeezing your wrist a little tighter. 

On its own, your other hand presses into the space between his shoulder blades, seeking balance, pushing his chest further to the ground. Only a slight shift in your angle, and yet—

"There!" Rhett all but howls, jerking beneath you. "Fuck, fuck, right there." 

He's trying to look back at you, but every pass of this silicone cock over his prostate has his eyes fluttering shut, stormy blues rolling into the back of his head. The fringes of his chaps sway with your movements, bouncing back to tickle your bare thigh. It's such a shame he doesn't have his hat on him; you'd love to make him wear it through this.

Rhett's letting go of your wrist all of a sudden, clawing at the blanket, threatening to rip the material. Little grunts punched out of him on every thrust, fighting to keep himself quiet. 

"Let me hear you, sweet boy," you coo as you lean back, properly holding his hips with both hands now. Finding your rhythm as the thunder rumbles once more, "It's just us out here."

And he all but cries out into the open air, a dam burst. Quivering as he pushes back, meeting your thrusts, skin lewdly slapping together. Such a dizzying noise that you can feel heat blossom between your legs, growing wet just from this. The sound of him. Fuck, the sight of him.

His back covered in a thin sheen of sweat, pale skin a stark contrast to the world around him. Ass still high in the air for you, the dark silicone of this toy disappearing into his greedy hole, lube squelching. So mesmerizing that it makes the view of the Teton's overhead look like a damn joke. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he babbles, and his leg is starting to kick again; the toy rubbing directly into his sensitive prostate. Doesn't know what to do with the feeling, "More. Please—more."

Your hand disappears past his belly, wrapping around his neglected cock, swinging heavily between his thighs. Throbs as you begin to stroke him, precum dripping into your hand like a leaky faucet. "Is this what you want?" 

"Want...want..." his head thrashes, fighting for words. "Back. On my back." 

A strong gust of wind rips past as you pull out, has Rhett's hair blowing into his face as he rolls over. He's trying to push it away, but it's clinging to his cheeks, wet with... tears? Sweat?

"Rhett?" You can feel your face fall as you reach out, stroking those dark brown strands back behind his ears. "Are you...?"

His eyes are swollen. A little watery, "Jus' feel good," he smiles, his legs parting for you to fit between, "promise."

When you don't immediately move, he reaches down, taking hold of the toy and guiding it to his stretched entrance. Determined to get you back inside of him. And when you still don't move, he whines with all the impatience and frustration he can possibly muster. "Please?"

So convincing. 

Pushing into him is much easier this time around. Sliding to the hilt without a hitch, his thighs squeezing your hips, arms winding around your shoulders. Determined to keep you close as you begin to move again.

"Better?" You grunt, moving to brace your forearms on either side of his head, bracketing him in. 

"So much better," his words are rushed, head tilting back. Those tears well in his eyes once more, brought on by the pressure massaging against his prostate, over and over. 

Dull nails bite into your shoulders as you regain your rhythm, stinging, threatening to leave marks. It should hurt, but the only thing it does is make you needier. Fucking into him with a purpose, eager to see him cum all over his belly. 

"Touch yourself for me, Rhett," it's hard to tell who is panting harder, thunder booming in the distance. 

Rhett's hand falls off your shoulder, reaching for his forgotten cock, the head flushed a dark, angry red. Moans at his own touch, looking down at the sight between his legs. Your hips working in and out of him, the edge of that toy emerging only to thrust back in, his cock dribbling a pool of precum onto his belly. 

He whimpers. 

"'M gonna," head dropping back, "'M sorry—gonna, gonna cum." 

But that's what you wanted. To see the shiver emerge from his muscles as he works his own cock. To feel how he can hardly keep his legs around your hips. To hear how his breath catches and how he moans open and loud. The little oh's that you punch out of him on every thrust. Unable to hold a single thing back as he gets closer and closer. 

Leaning back a little, you look down; his hand can hardly stay around his cock. "Cum for me, cowboy." 

One. Two. Three more pumps of your hips, and his back is arching up off the blanket. Nails digging into your shoulder as he cums with a cry. His hips spasming, cum painting his hand and belly with ropes of white. Eyes shut, face lax. 

You can only fuck him through it, burning the sight behind your eyelids all the while. 

As soon as it passes, you're slowing to a halt. Not quite pulling out of him yet, not until he asks you to. But until then, your hands are free to comb through his tangled hair, scratching his scalp. His head has yet to come back down from the clouds, legs still clinging to your hips, anchoring you to him.  

Those thin lips break into a smile, eyes not quite opening yet, "I still vote that we have lunch."

"Sure," your eyes roll, "what do you want? Grass?"

One eye peeks open as if to make sure you're still there. Only to snap shut the moment you make eye contact with him. "How 'bout tree leaves?"

Lightning flashes. Thunder following in hot pursuit, booming, shaking the ground.

That's got you both moving. Rhett lets go of you, mouth falling open as you delicately pull out of him. There's hardly any time for him to adjust to the sudden emptiness, the wind whipping around you with such force that you're surprised it doesn't lift you off the ground. 

You're fumbling to put away the toy and the blanket, Rhett's wrestling with his jeans, and you're both moving so frantically that nothing is happening fast at all. You can't get ahold of the bag for the toy; Rhett's long since fallen on his ass, fighting to get his boot on.

"This shits goin' terribly," he chuckles, tugging the boot past his heel. 

As soon as you get moving, rain begins to fall. Coming down in thick, white sheets that obstruct everything in sight. Rhett's got ahold of your hand, tugging you along through the downpour, yelling something that you can't make out. Bag bouncing on your shoulders as you all but tumble down the south pasture in search of his truck. 

 You don't realize you've found it until you're halfway inside, practically throwing yourselves into the safety of the old GMC. Drenched from head to toe, the cloth seats soaking up every drop of water that falls from you. 

On the dash, Rhett's phone flashes with a storm warning. Incessant. Demanding that it be read before it allows itself to be dismissed from his notifications. 

"Damn storm," all of a sudden, Rhett's taking hold of your legs and hauling them up onto the seat, "stealin' all my fun."

Your back hits the door with a thump. "What are you doing?" 

Rhett's reaching beneath your skirt, hitching his fingers beneath the elastic of the strap-on harness. Yanks it down without warning or notice, tossing it onto his cracked dashboard. "Told you," knocking your thighs apart, leaning down onto his forearms, "'m fuckin' hungry."

And that's the last thing he says before you feel hot breath fan out over your dripping sex. He doesn't bother with pushing your skirt back, letting it fall against his face as he licks a fat, wet stripe up your folds. 

"Jesus, Rhett," gasping, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

He hums, the noise vibrating into you as he wraps his lips around your swollen clit. Wastes no time, lavishing it with attention, smiles into you when your thighs squeeze his shoulders. "Always taste so good." 

Your hand trembles as you reach down to pull your skirt out of the way. Blue eyes flash up at you, grinning. That burning tongue travels down, lapping lazily at your entrance, pushing inside just to feel you flutter around him. Drooling as he works it deep inside, saliva dripping down onto your thighs, the tip of his nose bumping into your clit. 

"Good boy," the back of your head knocks into the window, uncaring of how the storm shakes the truck. Petting the side of his wet cheek as he squirms closer, his face absolutely buried in your pussy.

"Been wantin' this all damn day," he's speaking directly into you as he licks up, up, up, back to where you want him most. A big hand settles on your hip, forcing you into stillness, gives you no choice but to let him have what he wants. 

The thunder is nothing compared to your whimper that bounces around the inside of the cab, loud and needy, heat pooling between your legs as that tongue of his works you over. Calloused fingers nudge at your dripping entrance, two tracing the thin rim before slipping inside. Thick. Already wet from the saliva pouring out of his eager mouth. 

They push up, feeling along the inside of your pussy until they find a familiar spot that has you jumping, a bolt of lightning rippling up your spine. Spiraling into it in tune with his tongue, kitten-licking at you. His eyes have long since shut, practically smiling as you writhe.

You can hardly keep yourself quiet, panting, whining; it's so much, so fast, all at once. Hadn't had any time to prepare before he pounced on you, already sensitive and needy just from fucking him into the ground. Something is coiling, heating up, has your heart pounding away at your chest. 

"Rhett," only now do you realize you've been babbling his name under your breath, "Rhett, I'm gonna—"

"Cum on my face, doll," he's panting, words muffled by your cunt, "please, cum for me."

Without further warning, it hits you. 

Eyes screwing shut as your orgasm washes over you. Pulsing around those two fingers, thighs locking around this cowboy of yours, back arching off the door. Rhett's moaning into you, feels you convulse against him, and he's still not stopping. Licking you through it until your leg is twitching, kicking him away from your oversensitive, abused clit. 

On the dash, his phone buzzes again, insistent that you acknowledge the warning about a storm that's already here. But it's still not enough to distract from the way you both pant for breath, starved for oxygen. 

Weakly, Rhett laughs. A breathy little sound that hardly gets past his lips. "Was that too much?"

"Has it ever been too much?" Reaching out with a shaky hand, tucking his hair behind his soft ear. 

His chin is absolutely dripping. Wetter than the rest of him, if that's even possible. You can only imagine what he's seeing; your quivering legs still parted, on display for his eyes only. Even your skirt can't block his view. 

"Are you still..." God, your head feels like it's about to fall off your shoulders, "how does going to that new diner in town sound?" 

"I like the sound of that," as he speaks, you think you can hear his stomach growl, "but I can't promise I won't want a second desert." 

Now that you think about it, you're not sure which storm Rhett's phone is warning you about. Because while the angry wind rocks the truck back and forth, and hail begins to beat at the window, it doesn't quite compare to the cowboy across from you. Tired for now, too spent to go any further, but there's a spark blooming behind his eyes that suggests he's only getting started. 

Maybe it's a good thing that you didn't see that dark collection of clouds until it was too late.

[shiorihyuga]

Tides of Fate

Hey you guys! ❤️ Just wanted to let you all know that I’ve written a one-shot for Tides of Fate on my Patreon! 🎉

This one-shot has NOTHING to do with plot of the main story. I honestly just wrote this because I thought it was funny lol.

But here’s a little snippet:

The sirens are ready to let loose for a long-awaited girls' night, complete with stylish dresses, heels, and plenty of drinks. Their mates—the ever-protective scouts—are left in the dust as the sirens head to the club, but not before causing a stir with their stunning outfits and carefree attitudes. As the night unfolds, chaos ensues when the scouts—unable to handle the stress—decide to track them down, only to find the sirens in the most unexpected of places.

wc: 5345

A Night to Remember

As the sirens prepared for their night out, the energy in the quarters was electric. They had been planning this girls' night for a while, and they were finally going to let loose. Each of them was dressed to the nines in short, stylish dresses that showed off their curves and heels that made their legs look even longer. Their makeup was flawless, each siren highlighting her unique beauty with bold lipstick and shimmering eyeshadow.

The scouts had no idea what was about to happen.

In Jean and Solara’s quarters, the sirens gathered for their pregame. Jean, being somewhat of a liquor connoisseur, had the best selection, and Solara had no problem sharing her mate’s stash. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the room as the sirens poured drinks and giggled among themselves.

Bria was the first to down her drink, raising an eyebrow as she looked at the others. “Well, are we ready for this or what?” She smirked, her burgundy dress hugging her figure perfectly as she twirled in front of the mirror.

“I haven’t had a night out like this in forever,” Solara said with a grin, adjusting her golden hair and checking herself out in Jean’s mirror. She glanced at the liquor bottles, already planning which ones to take with them for later. “Jean’s liquor collection is way too good not to take advantage of.”

Caspia laughed as she slipped on her heels, her orange hair bouncing as she moved. “I think the boys have no idea what’s coming.”

Melody, usually shy, had a soft smile on her face as she sipped from her glass, her sky-blue dress complementing her eyes. She was excited but also nervous about what was to come. “I hope they don’t get too mad at us.”

“They’ll get over it,” Aria said confidently, fixing her lipstick in the mirror before turning to face the others. Her lavender dress was short and fitted, showing off her curves. “They can’t resist us anyway, so what’s a little girls' night?” She smirked, knowing full well Levi would be flabbergasted when he found out where she was going.

Rue, perched on the arm of one of the chairs, kicked her feet back and forth, her fiery red hair spilling down her back. “Let’s see how long it takes before they realize we’re gone.”

“Knowing Reiner? Two minutes,” she added with a chuckle, before taking a long sip from her glass.

Luna, sitting elegantly with her legs crossed, simply smiled, her white coily hair framing her face as she watched the others. “This is our night. Let’s make sure it’s one they won’t forget.” She winked at Aria, who grinned back.

Just then, the door swung open, and Jean, followed by Eren, Floch, Levi, and the rest of the scouts, stood there, flabbergasted. The sight before them was enough to stop them in their tracks. The sirens, dressed in short dresses, heels, and perfectly done makeup, looked absolutely stunning. The room smelled of perfume and alcohol, and the atmosphere was charged with excitement.

Eren’s eyes immediately went to Luna, who was wearing a fitted white dress that clung to her body perfectly. His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at the drinks. “What’s going on here?”

Luna tilted her head with an innocent smile, “Oh, nothing. Just a little pregame before we head out.”

“Head out?” Floch repeated, his eyes wide as he looked at Bria, who was already leaning against the bar, sipping from her glass. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To a nightclub,” Bria said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She smiled sweetly at Floch, who was completely thrown off. “We need a girls’ night.”

Floch’s jaw dropped. “A what?”

“A girls’ night,” Aria said with a smirk, stepping closer to Levi, her lavender heels clicking against the floor. “We’re just going to have some fun. You boys can manage without us for a few hours, right?”

Levi’s expression was hard to read, though it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about this sudden change of plans. He crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing at Aria. “A nightclub?”

Aria leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed Levi’s cheek. “Don’t be such a grump. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Jean, completely speechless, just stared at Solara, who twirled in her short golden dress. “You didn’t tell me you were going out,” he finally managed to say.

Solara winked at him, running a hand through her hair. “It’s a surprise.”

Connie and Reiner exchanged bewildered looks, neither of them sure what to make of the situation. “I didn’t even know there were nightclubs here,” Connie muttered, looking at Caspia, who was already grabbing her purse.

“Of course there are,” Caspia said with a grin, “You just have to know where to look.”

Reiner ran a hand through his hair, trying to process the idea of Rue going out to a nightclub without him. “Rue, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Rue smirked, walking up to Reiner and placing a hand on his chest. “Oh, don’t worry, big guy. I can handle myself.” She winked before walking past him, grabbing her coat on the way out.

Levi’s eyes flicked between all of the sirens, who were now gathering their things and getting ready to leave. His jaw tightened, but he knew there was no stopping Aria once she had made up her mind. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Just don’t cause any trouble.”

Aria laughed, patting Levi’s chest. “We never do, Captain.”

With that, the sirens gave their mates one last flirty smile, and as a group, they headed out of the quarters and into the night, leaving the scouts standing there.

~

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[boxblondiecoops]

You should totally write a small thing bout the Band AU stuff, justice for the rockstar ( especially) trey and matt fr 🙏🏼 I would love to see you give your own opinions about it

-Saphari ★

As someone who literally listens to DVDA (I listen to maybe two songs) I- I'm so gay for the band AU shit. Like knowing Matt and Trey literally can sing and play shit makes me shake.

Mostly because of this. It's- you can see the energy and I need that. The neck, the hands? All it. All him.

I can not control myself, is what I'm learning. This is kinda smutty like it- it's just me being slutty for them tbh. Ok anyway idea times.

Gender neutral, mentions of slutty behavior.

✴✶✴✶

Let's see. Imma break this up the I can organize my thoughts.

If you're a fan...

So if you're just a fan, they (Matt and Trey) would both, likely, call you out if you're a "regular" at they're concert's.

And probably give you like a big hug over the railing at the like meet and greet sign bullshit after word SOULY to see you turn red and stammer.

They love you tho, I mean come on. You're adorable. Like a puppy.

If you don't understand some of the lyrics to the songs and like.. what they mean? Trey is ALL over you. Because he has that dumb stupid fucking kink.

If you have the same music taste as Matt, like Primus and shit? He's so down for anything you have to say. You could say the sky is purple and he'd look up and go "damn you right babe"

They LOVE knowing the fact they could probably tour anywhere and someone as adorable and innocent as you would just follow them and it's the exact OPPOSITE of what they're ego needs.

They give you a nickname since they don't really.... Know your name, just your face. Probably referencing the outfit you wore or your hair color or something dumb, I donno.

If you happen to bump into them just before the-the band starts? And like get blushy and explain yourself they just kinda smirk at each other and ask if you wanna hang out

It's fueling they're egos so damn much. Collectively.

Like Matt probably puts his arm around your shoulders and is like "backstage tour, just for you" and guides you back there.

And Trey's just watching you and shakes his head, tongue against cheek, because he knows it would be just so fucking easy to get you to do whatever they wanted.

But they sooooo offer to sign your chest. Or your hip. Or your thigh. Whatever, wherever.

They love it because it's like they claimed you.

Oh my god. You asking someone to take a pic of you three and it ends up being that one pic of like that lucky girl being kissed by both of them on the cheek.

Hangin out in the van with them before songs becomes a usual thing.

They also don't know your name still- anything they sign for you is made out to your nickname.

Like maybe Trey asked for it when he was drunk after a concert but he does NOT remember but he remembers moaning it as he uh relieved some stress....

And Matt definitely heard it come from your friends but he doesn't care about your name, no, he wants to hear HIS name leave your lips.

They do learn your name after a few repeats of they're concerts, they aren't total assholes.

But both are ridiculously talented. Trey's got that breath control and Matt's got those big bass hands. And Trey has the tongue technique and Matt has the ambidextrous talent. And that's all I'm saying about anything ever.

At the end of the day tho, they do find it admirable that you genuinely like them and the shit they make.

Trey can be a lil.............. self destructive when it comes to specific stuff he's not proud of, but knowing you'll give him genuinely helpful critiques makes him feel a bit more relaxed about it.

And with Matt's temper? He tried his best to keep it under control but you're like the one person he genuinely can't get mad at. Like he's tried. It doesn't work. You just make him soft.

If you're their manager...

Oh, they LOVE making it hard for you.

Like they do the most questionable shit on stage and then you have to explain it to like so many people and it basically just goes

"Who actually controls them?" "Who fucking knows. It ain't me." ".... Huh."

Example: the red carpet + dress + acid shit.

Good luck explaining that to the press....

They did try to get you to match with them that day... Maybe not the acid but they both thought you would've looked lovely in a dress like theirs.

And then you gotta yell at Trey to button up his shirt because he's being slutty for the paparazzi again and tell Matt to chill because he's about to verbally destroy a poor journalist for pronouncing a word wrong.

Also they shout out to you ALL. THE TIME.

On stage, during interviews, anywhere, everywhere.

Literally with out you, this shit can not be done. God knows they won't do it.... Maybe they will, they do kinda have control things, don't they?

Speaking of, you three bud heads a lot. Mostly because Trey writes absurd and inappropriate lyrics and Matt does his damn hardest defending him.

They get away with it tho.

Every single time.

Because they out number you so Matt will distract you while Trey cues up some puppy dog eyes because he knows he has them and they work so well on you

Also they flirt with you constantly. As a joke or for real, who knows, but they love seeing you blush and threaten to quit.

Especially Trey. He loves pushing buttons. And you're his favorite play thing. Like he loves to write dirty, fucking awful songs just to see you blush. Like he shows you one and he just goes

"Good ain't it? I was thinking about you when I wrote it."

And it's obviously about like 69ing or some shit and he has no shame in this at ALL.

And Matt loves like trying to calm you down because he knows he just has that nice soothing voice and sometimes to fuck with you he pulls you into a hug and pets you like a dog and is like

"Sshh, it's ok, baby, it's a joke. I know, he's so mean, isn't he?"

And he's all like pouty and mocking you and shit but you can't get free because the dudes fucking huge.

..... I might wanna be between them. This is such a journey for me, wow.

If something bad genuinely does come from they're teasing, they apologize so out right, serious as fuck and try to fix it the best they can.

Like they don't want you to get hurt or think they just want your body or to tease you- they do genuinely like you and find you funny as hell.

So if they fuck up and shit goes south during a concert or something, they take responsibility.

Although, with the way they can talk they're way out of shit? Psh, it rarely happens.

They do try to keep your name clean tho. They make like to fuck around and do stupid shit but they know you take your job seriously and you deserve respect for that and refuse to let you get roped into they're media fuck ups.

Also they throw you the best thank you partiest at the end of each tour concert. Like whatever you wanna do? Done. It's for you.

You planned the whole thing (the tour), had a budget, set up venues, you deserve more than a shitty lil party but fuck man. It's what they know sometimes. But it's with your best interest in mind.

They fucking LOVE you. They're just so fucking greatful for you not only helping them, but genuinely supporting them.

Speaking of- you are the one person they DO NOT prank.

If they do, it's dumb harmless shit like spraying you with silly string while you piss.

If someone does prank you or takes something too far??

Gone. Matt and Trey no longer know that person. They over stepped and gotta deal with the shit storm that's abouta knock the person's career dead.

If you're a band member...

You're fucked, bro.

The teasing from the other two scenarios gets worse because you just- you're stuck with them. All the time.

In the hotel rooms, on the bus, going to eat, sleeping, showering for fucks sake.

Privacy? Gone.

Well, not entirely. They still get you piss with out them, but they love being by you so they're glued to your hip.

You are their favorite lil band member and it shows.

They give you the best spot on the bus (the seat that doesn't hurt your ass after four minutes), you get first dibs on food during rehearsal breaks, you just-

You get the special treatment, ok?

You guys can "fit in the hotel shower and save the whales with the water you don't waste by taking three sperate showers"

Says Matt as he giggles and strips his clothes off and Trey just nods and smirks and is probably just gonna treat it like it's a casual thing friends do all the time because y'all are all adults anyway.

"It's fun." "Relax a lil." "I'll give you a shoulder massage." "I got the shampoo covered."

I think I'm just going through a lot while typing this out.

If you play the guitar and one of the strings snaps and cuts your hand, you have no idea how fast Matt while drop his bass guitar to help you out.

Trey'll make sure it doesn't happen again. And if it was the result of another band member pranking you?............. That dicks out the band. Doesn't matter. You got hurt, this isn't a joke. No one's laughing.

If it scars, the boys make a habit of kissing it as an apology. They're sweethearts when they want to be.

Trey probably lays awake at night thinking about how often you get hurt now and wants to wrap you up in bubble wrap. He thought you needed stitches.

Matt just double- triple checks the strings of any instrument you play before your allowed to touch it. He hated seeing you like that, it scared him.

If you play the drums, Matt and Trey will show you videos all the time of cool stick tricks and has if you can do them.

Also one of them makes a joke about you doing that to his dick but IDK who. You decide.

It you sit down with Trey and help him write a song he just gives you like heart eyes the entire time and he genuinely can't stop looking at you.

God forbid you have a cute mannerism when you write tho, he'll giggle and think about it for days. Literally.

And he always goes to Matt and is like "did you know they fucking do *insert thing* when they focus?" And he just sighs like "yes dipshit. This is the seventh time you've told me."

But Matt also hits him with the "dude I said my finger hurt and they kissed it for me" and sticks his tongue out at him.

Trey was pouty for the rest of the day.

They turn into idiots. Like puppies fighting for attention.

The way they CONSTANTLY make sure credit is given where it's deserved.

If you write a set of song lyrics to go into Trey's song? Guess who's singing it~ You are. Because you deserve the spot light.

Oh you wrote a riff for Matt? Shit, baby, it's yours now. Play it at the next concert and tear that shit up.

They also constantly talk about you during interviews and how greatful they are to have you and how you help make the creative process so much easier.

Don't imagine laying between them on the hotel bed and just whispering and giggling and kicking your feet at 3 am while the others are asleep and eventually you guys fall asleep all snuggled up.

These boys get handsy tho watch oouuuttt.

If you wear something revealing they just- they can't help it.

Someone's gonna call you pretty while the other just nods and bites his lip.

Compliments THROWN at you from across the room, dude. Literally.

They work really well off of each other so they rarely like fight for you.

Oh!! Oh they always go to you for help with naming songs and albums and album pics and shit.

-

Lowkey ashamed of myself because I feel like I could write more- I'm just blanking. Anyway @saphiari here ya go!! My shitty lil thoughts~

[augment-techs]

prompts based on lines from fanfics that hit different after the tenth read

Slayer, Slayer, Monster Killer//Into the den//A blazing Inferno//Defender of the Innocent

Cauterize the wound.

Blood quickly began to fill the water.

Blue tint surrounding the lips.

He'd take jazz over a symphony, rock over jazz, and a crazy buscar in the tube station creating something insane with a violin, a beat box, and a pedal drum over rock.

I also wrote a gay version, if anyone wants it.

The thinness of the shoulder bothered him.

The curse was simple but badly done; convoluted and too mixed up with his own energies to be easily removed.

"Your parents are fucked up. I'm serious, that's Fucked Up."

With a coat like blood. Like cherries. Like candy.

"...Correction...I might be bleeding."

It was the best protection he could give.

"I can't believe you just called your own behavior petty harassment."

Cleaner than he'd been in eight months.

"Go curse somebody else. He doesn't belong to you--you can't have him."

Never had to initiate a virgin before.

The thought was idle.

Imagine if you will...

"The game is over. Do you understand?"

He was pissing blood.

"You asked for respect, I'm giving it to you."

Too tired and weak to fight properly.

"I haven't felt any strong emotions since I was a kid."

"What color is the sky right now?"

"So they will be the same age. So they can have adventures."

"I'm done keeping secrets for you."

"Sure. Why not take away the last thing I have left."

'Pretend.' It rattles in his brain.

No wonder people talked.

"Although this totally explains why you were in love with me like once a year for three years in a row."

"No, I do not have a scrunchie."

He'd never been brave enough.

"It's basically a game of sexual preferences."

It wasn't the personality serum, but it was some form of mind control.

It had been so goddamn long since they had heard any sort of tune at all.

"It's one of my grounding techniques."

"Please. Never say anything like that again."

He was also good at being randomly, devastatingly kind.

"I bet I could pick you up. Wanna see if I can?"

"I will not elaborate."

Carefully lit gym thirst traps.

He bit his fist, dried his eyes, and didn't make a sound.

"Because I am through with you. You aren't worth the effort."

Sees them glimpsed in mirrors and reflective surfaces; and the newest ones most often.

"Thanks for letting me feel alright for a bit."

It was homemade, and heavy, and hurt.

"You're not afraid?"

It was just as well.

"If I planted something on him there's a chance it could get lost."

"You're too good for me."

"Please. I don't want you to disappear again."

With an awkward, coltish sort of grace that makes her look decades younger than she is.

'Strange' is a family trait.

"Just want to rest with you. This is good."

"I shot my dad when I was fifteen."

Refreshing. Invigorating--where the fuck are these words coming from?

"Go find a nice ditch to crawl into and die there, not on our floor."

"I'm used to the cold, darling. Don't worry. There are worse things to endure."

"They gave us twenty dollars for nothing."

"Amazing, for once, your remarkable ability to repulse and horrify women saves the day."

"...Okay, okay, don't look at me like that; I'm a huge asshole. But not in that way."

"Like organizing your pornography collection."

"I just need some time. Right now, I don't know what I'm feeling."

They started it out like the leads in a bad B Movie.

"I said that about Jaws. That movie was terrible by the way."

"You're still my first choice."

Three years in the womb.

To be honest, they'd expected to die.

Looking back on it now he felt like the biggest idiot for not realizing what a huge Red Flag that had been.

"You want to come with us?"

"Back then I didn't even know about consent."

"If my dad ever comes back from his 'business trip' you kill him and we're even."

They have no idea what their Tragic Backstory is, so they make up a new one every time someone asks.

Don't want to train today? Too bad, you either fight the giant centipede or DIE.

"They ain't that bad compared to some of the shit I've eaten."

"I hate being brainwashed. And mind controlled. And sold, and handled without asking, and...being a thing for people to have."

"The research I took to find the gag I was thinking of was very uncomfortable. No, Google, I don't want BDSM gags, please stop giving me that option."

"I have a room and extra blankets. You'd probably fit into a few of my shirts, too."

"You're not trying to burn my apartment down?"

'Oh. Oh, it's going to kill me.'

"You refuse to take a shot at Adolf Hitler because you are not a murderer."

"Because she totally didn't punch that guy to defend your honor, and you totally didn't swoon."

It's a perfectly common ingredient in a lot of cultures! There's blood pudding, blood soup, blood tofu--that's a real thing and it's delicious.

"Did you just make them tell us about their sexual awakening?"

It's red berry jam. It's not really blood at all. They just call it that to make their kids think they're tough blood-eating warriors.

"Now stop having a crisis about being an eldritch abomination."

And that's exactly why broken bones are a testament to their mercy.

"I've been gone a long time, haven't I?"

Seems like a normal breakfast, right?

They are not friends. And yet.

"They're innocent. They never asked for any of this."

"I thought you loved me, but you're just like everyone else."

The candies are always gone within a day.

Backpacking across the end of the world.

"I should be worth, like, at least two goats. Or even one of those cute mini pigs, maybe."

"Apparently I'm from the past and you're from the future."

"Well, I drove an ice cream truck and didn't die."

The common areas became populated with candles, dishes of salt near the doorways, little piles of pennies in crevices.

The small bruise they expected to see is not small at all. It's huge and almost black and it's spread against the entirety of the left side of the stomach.

"You mean because you beat the shit outta me? Nah. I've got a pretty high tolerance for getting beat up. Seems like I just end up friends with them, even when I lose my S/O to them."

[buckyssoldat]

Chapter 55: Secrets and surprises

Warnings: mature themes, alcohol consumption, sexual content, mentions of grief and loss, strong language

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

Friday night beneath the stars

In a field behind your yard

You and I are painting pictures in the sky

Sometimes we don't say a thing

Just listen to the crickets sing

Everything I need is right here by my side

It’s no secret that Natasha and Alice share a bond that transcends the ordinary. One evening, when Steve was out at his support group meeting, Alice went to visit Nat at the compound. They settled themselves into comfortable chairs on the rooftop of the compound, lying underneath the stars. The night was clear, the air was cool, a perfect setting for a heart-to-heart conversation. They had been catching up on their lives, sharing stories, and reminiscing about old times.

As they settled into their conversation, Alice reached into a cooler beside her, pulling out two cold beers. She handed one to Natasha with a grin.

“You know,” Natasha began, her gaze fixed on the twinkling stars above, “It’s funny how we ended up here, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.”

Alice smiled, turning her head to look at Natasha. “Yeah, it’s like the universe wanted us to have this moment, just to remind us that we’re still here.”

Natasha sighed contentedly. “I’m glad you’re here, Alice. It almost feels like the old times.

Alice nodded, her expression turning serious. “Me too, Nat. It’s been a rough couple of years, but moments like this help us keep going.”

Natasha shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to face Alice. “Speaking of rough times, how are you holding up? Since everything happened…”

Alice’s smiled faltered for a moment, and she took a deep breath. “It was hard, Nat. It still is. But I’ve been trying to move on, you know? It’s always gonna be Bucky, just as it’s always gonna be Peggy for Steve, but we are trying to find some normalcy in the middle of all this.”

Natasha reached out, squeezing Alice’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “I understand. And I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Alice smiled gratefully, feeling a surge of warmth at Natasha’s words. “Thanks, Nat. It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

There was a brief silence as they both stared up at the sky, lost in their thoughts. Then, Natasha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “So, Alice, there’s something I’ve been dying to ask you.”

Alice raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? What’s that?”

Natasha grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. “How’s Steve in bed?”

Alice’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “Nat!”

“What?” Natasha said, pretending innocence. “Come on, you can’t blame a girl for being curious.”

Alice sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. Natasha was an accomplished spy – if she wanted information, she would get it. “Fine, if you must know…”

Natasha’s eyes widened with anticipation, and she scooted closer, eager to hear the details. “Yes, I need to know. I need all the juicy details. Spill it, Alice.”

Alice sighed, knowing Natasha wouldn’t let it go. She glanced around, ensuring their privacy, before finally giving in. “Alright, fine. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Scout’s honour,” she vowed, raising her hand in a mock salute.

Alice took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “Well, where do I even start? Steve is…intense. He’s so attentive and… considerate. He always makes sure I’m comfortable and enjoying myself.”

Natasha’s grin widened. “I knew it! Captain America, always the gentleman.”

“Yeah, but he can also be… surprisingly dominant,” Alice continued, her cheeks flushing at the memory of the previous nights. “He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to take control. It’s exhilarating, honestly.”

Natasha nodded, her interest piqued. “Go on.”

Alice hesitated for a moment before deciding to spill everything. “The other night, for example, he really let loose. He pinned me against the wall and told me I’d been a bad girl for teasing him. And then he… he spanked me.”

Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise and intrigue. “Really? That doesn’t seem like Steve at all.”

“I know,” Alice admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. “But it was… amazing. He knew exactly how to balance the pleasure and the pain, and it drove me wild. And after, he was so sweet, making sure I was okay. It’s like he can switch between these two sides of him so effortlessly.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “I had no idea Cap had it in him. That’s… impressive.”

Alice leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “And you know what else? I think he likes it when I call him ‘Cap’ in bed.”

Natasha burst into laughter, nearly spilling her beer. “No way! Captain America really is a kinky guy!”

Alice grinned. “Yeah, he is. But don’t you dare tell him I told you any of this.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Natasha promised, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “But seriously, Alice, thanks for sharing. It’s nice to know that Steve is not the goody two-shoes he appears to be.”

Alice smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “Anytime, Nat. It’s good to have to talk to about these things.”

Natahsa raised her beer in a toast. “To secrets and surprises.”

Alice clinked her bottle against Natasha’s. “To secrets and surprises.”

As they lay back, gazing up at the stars, the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little. For that night, at least, they had each other, their friendship, and the comforting presence of the stars above.

Alcie took a sip of her beer, feeling more at ease. Natasha’s mischievous expression returned, and Alice could see another question brewing behind her eyes. She braced herself, knowing that Natasha wasn’t done probing yet.

Natasha leaned in closer. “Okay, one more question.”

Alice groaned playfully. “You don’t give up, do you? Alright, shoot.”

Natasha grinned. “Did you take Steve’s virginity?”

Alice’s eyes widened in surprise, and she burst into laughter. “Natasha!”

“What? It’s a legitimate question!” Natasha defended herself, though she was clearly enjoying Alice’s reaction.

Alice shook her head, still chuckling. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Nope,” Natasha replied with a wink. “So, what’s the answer?”

Alice took a deep breath, considering her words carefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. Steve’s never talked about his past in that much detail. I’ve never asked him, and he hasn’t brought it up either.”

Natasha tilted her head, intrigued. “Really? I always thought he’d be the kind of guy to wait for the right person.”

Alice nodded. “That’s what I think too. But he’s also had a lot of time and a lot of life before… we got together. I mean, he was on ice for decades, and before that, he was dealing with the war. It’s hard to say what his life was like during those times.”

Natasha leaned back, contemplating. “I guess we all have our secrets, don’t we?”

Alice smiled softly. “Yeah, we do.”

The night was still young, and the stars above seemed to twinkle in agreement as Alice and Natasha clinked their beer together once more.

Natasha, ever the instigator, grinned mischievously at Alice. “You know what we should do?”

Alice raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What?”

“Play a little game,” Natasha suggester, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “How about ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

Alice laughed, feeling a bit youthful enthusiasm at the idea. “Alright, I’m game. But remember, you started this.”

Natasha chuckled. “Oh, I remember. Okay, I’ll go first…” She took a sip of her beer, settling back into her chair. “Never have I ever… got drunk during a mission.”

Alice smiled, raising her beer and taking a sip. “You got me there.”

Natasha smirked. “Your turn.”

Alice thought for a moment before grinning. “Never have I ever… dyed my hair a crazy colour.”

Natasha laughed, taking a sip of her beer. “Okay, you got me. Black Widow needs to blend in sometimes.” She paused, then added, “Alright, never have I ever… met someone famous.”

Alice shook her head, not taking a sip. “Nope, never met someone famous. But I always wanted to meet Metallica.”

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe in another life. Your turn.”

Alice looked up at the stars, thinking. “Never have I ever… piloted a plane.”

Natasha took a sip, winking at Alice. “Advantages of SHIELD training.” She leaned forward, ready for the next round. “Never have I ever… kissed a fellow Avenger.”

Alice couldn’t help but laugh as she took a sip. “Okay, you got me there. But you should drink too.”

Natasha grinned unapologetically before she drank. “Guilty as charged.”

Alice shook her head, still smiling. “Alright, let’s see… Never have I ever… gone on a secret mission.”

Natasha raised her beer and took a long sip. “Well, that’s just part of the job. You drink too, cheater!”

They both laughed, the game breaking down the barriers of their everyday lives and allowing them to share in a rare moment of pure, unadulterated fun.

Natasha, feeling a bit more daring, decided to up the ante. “Never have I ever… had sex in a public place.”

Alice blushed deeply, her laughter bubbling up uncontrollably as she took a sip. “You’re really trying to get me to spill all the beans tonight, aren’t you?”

Natasha chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I need some gossip in my life. You need to tell me now!”

Alice took a deep breath, realizing she was about to share something she hadn’t told anyone. “Alright, you win. I’ve got a story for you. It was late one night after one of my shifts at the café. He came to pick me up, and we were both frustrated and tired, and we just needed to blow off some steam.”

Natasha leaned in closer, eager for the details. “Go on.”

Alice glanced around, making sure no one else was around to overhear, even though the compound was empty. “So, we were driving back home, and Steve pulled over into this secluded spot. We were in one of Shield’s old SUV, so there was a bit of room. One thing led to another, and, well, things got heated pretty quickly.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “In the car? I never would have pegged Steve for the spontaneous type.”

Alice laughed softly. “Me neither, but he surprised me. It was actually pretty incredible. The adrenaline, the risk of getting caught… it made everything more intense. At one point, he had me up against the window, and it was just… wow.”

Natasha shook her head in disbelief, a grin spreading across her face. “Captain America, getting frisky in an SUV. That’s definitely one for the books.”

Alice nodded, still smiling at the memory. “Yeah, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. Steve would die of embarrassment if he knew I told you.”

Natasha raised her hand. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Alice shook her head, still smiling. “My turn. Never have I ever… slept with a target.”

Natasha smirked and took a sip. “You know me too well.”

The game continued, each round bringing them even closer as they shared more about their lives, their secrets, and their adventures.

Alice glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. Steve will be back soon.”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, we should probably call it a night.”

They stood up, gathering their things. Alice looked at Natasha, feeling a surge of gratitude for her friend. “Thanks for tonight, Nat. I really needed this.”

Natasha smiled warmly. “Anytime, Alice. I’m always here for you.”

As they descended the stairs from the rooftop, a comfortable silence settled between them. Finally, Alice broke the silence, her tone turning serious.

“Nat, can I ask you something?”

Natasha glanced over, sensing the shift in Alice’s mood. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Alice took a deep breath, her voice tinged with sadness. “Do you think we’ll ever get over them? Do you think everything’s gonna go back to normal eventually?"

Natasha’s steps slowed, and she looked down, her expression contemplative. “I don’t know, Alice. It’s been so hard without them. The world has changed so much, and we’re left trying to find our place in it.”

Alice nodded, her eyes reflecting the pain they both felt. “I miss him every day…. It’s like there’s this hole nothing and no one can fill.”

Natasha reached out, placing a comforting hand on Alice’s shoulder. “I feel the same way. It’s like a part of us was ripped away. But I also believe that we have to keep living, not just for ourselves, but for them too. They wouldn’t want us to give up.”

Alice smiled faintly, finding solace in Natasha’s words. “You’re right. We owe it to them.”

Natasha nodded, her resolves strengthening. “Exactly. And we have each other, Alice. We’re not alone in this.”

They continued walking, the weight of their conversation mingling with the quiet determination in their hearts. As they reached the door to the main part of the compound, Alice stopped and turned to Natasha. “Thank you, Nat. For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Natasha smiled, a warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes. “We’re in this together, Alice. Always.”

As they stepped inside the briefing room, a familiar rumble echoed through the hallway. Alice glanced towards the entrance, a smile tugging at her lips as she recognized the sound. Moments later, Steve pulled up on his bike, the engine purring as he parked it.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her face as he approached them. “Ah, there he is.”

“Hey, Natasha,” Steve greeted her.

Steve grinned, a twinkle in her eyes as she turned to Alice. “I think someone here prefers a more spacious mode of transportation.”

Alice rolled her eyes, swatting at Natasha’s arm. “You’re terrible, Nat.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head fondly at their banter. “Alright, enough teasing. How was your evening?”

Alice smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her at the sight of Steve. “It was wonderful. Nat and I had a heart-to-heart on the rooftop.”

Natasha smirked, shooting Steve a knowing look. “Oh, we did more than just talk. Alice spilled some very interesting secrets.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Is that so?”

Natasha nodded, her grin widening. “Let’s just say, Captain America has some surprising talents.”

Steve was amused and confused at the same time. “Oh, really? And what might those be?”

Natasha smiled, her gaze dancing between Alice and Steve. “I’ll let her tell you herself.”

Steve chuckled, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “I look forward to it.”

tags: ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​@capswife

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masterlist

[annaraebananawriter]

Now what if I just took this ask right here and wrote a small little drabble for you all? Well, you’re answer doesn’t matter, because it’s already written. I do like it. And I hope you all do as well. Especially you, @dreemurr-skelememer.

5. Stone will never break (I’m never going to forgive myself)

When he first sees the statue, Dream believes he must be seeing things.

Because there’s no way other people were trapped like he was. No, that’s impossible. Nightmare would’ve gloated about the collection he’d made, would’ve rubbed in how it was all thanks to him that it was even possible. How it was his fault all those people were turned, forever frozen in time, eroding away slowly. His brother would’ve made sure he knew about the statues if they existed, and the simple fact that he didn’t means this sight in front of him did not exist.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, gaze flicking over the person. The moss growing on their feet, the chipped rock on their chest and arms, the crack through their head. Chest feeling tight, he keeps looking, still trying to convince himself this isn’t real.

It’s all a bad dream. It is. 

Wake up now, please.

But nothing changed. The statue is still there and his chest is still tight. And Dream, choking down a sudden sob, stumbles forward, pressing his fingertips lightly against the surface of the person. His panic only increases when the pressure remains, telling him that yes, this was real.

Why would Nightmare never tell him this? Was he just waiting for him to find out first, to notice the shaken look to him and know without a doubt that he finally found his prized collection? No, his brother is cruel, but not that cruel. Surely he would give some kind of hint about this. Surely he would get impatient and find a way to make him find this place, lead him to the statue. And oh God, was it only the one? Or where there more? Was there a full garden full of these people, innocent souls caught up in something they shouldn't have?

Nightmare had to have given some kind of hint about this. He racks his memory to try and find it, abut the words keep getting jumbled. 

He can’t think right. 

Maybe Nightmare didn’t give him a hint. Maybe he just thought there was no hope of him finding them. Maybe he believed that Dream was a threat already taken care of, back when he was a statue himself, and he just tucked all the statues away to forget about them. 

And when he escaped, it still didn’t matter because he was so weak at first. He had a whole language to learn, weapons to learn how to fight with. He wasn’t a threat to be taken seriously, always spouting hope and begging his brother to come back home to him. That’s why the statues weren’t mentioned, they weren’t relevant anymore. Why bring up something that couldn’t be fixed? Why bring up something that could be used as blackmail?

Dream won’t have it. No. He can’t let this happen. 

These people need to be saved. He escaped once, surely he could help them do the same. He didn’t know how, but he would. He had to. It was already too late to save them for the first time. Hopefully it’s not too late to make it up to them. Hopefully they’ll give him a second chance to be better, be the guardian they need.

Blinking back the tears, he starts scratching at the statue, trying futilely to use his magic to break the stone. But he can’t latch on to any soul. There’s no emotion in this statue, no sign of life. Was it too late to do anything? Was his curse of being a step behind striking again?

Sobbing, he scratches more, harder. His fingertips start to burn, but the first bout of pain fades into a numb ache as nothing happens, blood staining the statue. But he doesn’t see that, no, his focus is elsewhere.

Flashes of a red sky and a fighting mob of villagers.

Flashes of a tree being cut down, apples tumbling and rotting in seconds.

Flashes of his brother screaming, white bones dusting to make room for tentacles and goop.

Flashes of a grin, a teal eyelight, and a golden glow as he finds himself thrust into a fight he did not want, hands shaking.

And then that dreadful moment that he can still feel phantom tingles from. The clash of positivity and negativity, and a creeping stone covering his legs as he stands there, horror growing, unable to step forward. Nightmare peers back at him, just as surprised, but that’s soon taken over by a gleeful laugh. He shakes, calling out to his brother, reaching a hand forward.

Nightmare only watches him, clutching his head as he continues to laugh.

Dream shakes even more, feeling like he can’t breath as the stone encases his chest, rising up to secure his throat and words, and then his sight, taking everything away. The last sound he hears is his brother’s laughter and the crying of the remaining villagers as they beg for mercy.

And then be blinks out the black spots, hands pulling his arms. Blinking again and Blue’s face fades into view, alarm and worry mixing together. His friend his holding his arms tightly, and when his fingers twitch, the grip tightens in response, close to bruising.

Dream realizes he’s speaking, cracking over sounds. “--se, please, please. Let me save them, it’s my fault, if only I was here sooner. Please, Blue, please, let me save them.”

And Blue is speaking too, speaking over him. “It’s okay, Dream, you’re safe. There’s not a person there. It’s just a statue, I promise. You did nothing wrong.”

Dream keens, finally breaking eye contact, trying to find the statue again. “No, no, no, you don’t understand. It’s my fault. I need to save them. I know what it’s like, their suffocating in there. I need to help them.” Inhaling, his vision gets blurry again. There’s a dull buzzing pain coming from his hands. “If I wasn’t turned in the first place, maybe I could save them. Maybe they wouldn’t be there. But I can still make it up to them, if I save them now. Please, Blue, please.”

But Blue follows him, blocking his view. “Dream, you’re hurting yourself. Please, stop. Listen to me. That’s not a living person, never has been. Someone made it, carved it. You’re fine. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

Breath hitching, Dream looks down, seeing the blood covering his hands. All his. And now it’s on Blue’s hands, too, because his friend is kind, too kind to be hid friend. He stares down at the blood, watching it drip onto the ground. There’s a faint ringing in his skull still.

Blue is still talking. “It’s okay. I promise. You did nothing wrong.”

Dream trembles.

The argument gets lodged in his throat, the pain he’s caused his friend creating the block. Blue means well, he does, and he hates to see him so worried like this, worried over him of all people, but he doesn’t understand.

It is his fault.

Even if this statue wasn’t a person, it could’ve been. And that means everything he was already thing is true. Because if he wasn’t stuck in stone, if he wasn’t foolish enough and let that happen, he could’ve saved so many people. He wouldn’t be here, wounds on his fingers from trying to save someone that never existed.

The statue could’ve been someone, you see. It could’ve.

And that thought might be worse.

[sarahsmi13s]

VINNY! CONGRATS ON 500! 🎉🎉

Could I request for both Iceman and Bradley snow/their first snow/ white Christmas?

- Much Love from the Fandom F.A.K! 🩵🎉

heeey mal!! thank you for celebrating with me!!🥰

|| dreams do come true ||

i'm dreaming of a white christmas

One thing Bradley missed from his childhood was the wonder of Christmas. The innocence of waking up to seeing the cookies gone and the milk drank. Even after the death of his father, Carole did her best to make sure Bradley had the Christmas he deserved. One thing she did was tell him that when snow fell in the winter, is was Goose letting them know he was with them and was sending it so Bradley could still build a snowman with his daddy. Of course, as Bradley got older he grew out of Santa and he knew that snow wasn't really sent from his dad. But he still liked to think it was. And when he finally mustered up the courage to go back to Virginia, he made sure to visit his parents grave. It had been too long and he wanted you to meet them - even if it was just talking to air. So, on Christmas Day, you and Bradley left the AirBnB and went to the cemetary. As you sat and talked, having a "Christmas picnic" with his parents, snow started to flurry down. You couldn't help but giggle, looking up at the sky with a big grin. But Bradley was taking you in, watching the snow collect on your hair as you smiled. He finally followed your lead and looked at the sky, muttering softly to himself. "Hey Dad, hey Mom..."

thank you again for celebrating with me mal! i hope you like it! love ya! (i know i said it would be tomorrow buuuut i thought i would give you a surprise today)

you can find all of the moodboard for this celebration here! -> unwrap us!!