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eleanorfenyxwrites · 1 year ago

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Roses Are Falling

Time for another installment in the Orville Peck Cinematic Universe! (With bonus accompanying art from @littlesmartart for today's Drawtober post!) Our boys go on a few romcom-worthy dates ❤ (and those dates are heavily inspired by these two videos, highly recommend watching those for context ;) )

--//--

As it turns out, Meng Yao’s initial musings on the purpose of the chairs on the front porch had been absolutely correct. Mingjue and Xichen have pushed the chairs close enough to each other for the armrests to function as a surprisingly sturdy seat and Meng Yao sits perched on them tailor-style, Xichen’s hand rubbing gently back and forth between his shoulder blades like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and around them evening has begun to fall in a pleasant haze of deep violet shadows and a cool breeze is skimming along the fields just enough to make everything feel fresh.

The sun is setting beyond the mountains in a blaze of orange, the undersides of the evening clouds every hue of pink and purple he can imagine stretching for miles and miles up into the unbroken sky overhead. Three forgotten glasses of too-sweet lemonade sit on the wooden planks of the porch, sweating condensation in the evening heat, and Meng Yao’s mouth is still tingling and pink from the kisses they’d traded between them rather than sipping at the drinks.

They sit in comfortable, mutual silence for a long time, longer than Meng Yao can ever remember himself being comfortable with before. There’s always something to say, some way to ingratiate himself, some compliment to give, a question to ask to prove that he’s present and paying attention like he should be…there’s always something to say. But something about his companions, and something about the open silence around them, stays his anxious tongue and he’s shocked to realize he’s relaxed. He doesn’t ever relax, but then again he doesn’t ever have this either. This is still very new less than a week after his and Nie Huaisang’s arrival, but he already sort of feels like maybe it’s not that new after all. It’s far too comfortable to be new, but that’s also absolutely ridiculous so he keeps that thought to himself.

“A-Yao?” Xichen eventually murmurs, too soft to startle, and Meng Yao hums in the back of his throat, a wordless acknowledgement that he’s listening. “Mingjue and I have something we’d like to talk to you about.”

Hm. Alright, well the relaxed atmosphere was nice while it lasted.

Mingjue snorts and reaches up to practically scruff him, gripping the back of his neck in one enormous hand and squeezing (lightly) in a way that has no right to be as grounding as it is.

“I told you not to say it like that, A-Huan, look how tense you made him. No one likes hearing ‘we need to talk’.”

“It’s fine,” Meng Yao protests like he doesn’t desperately need the impromptu slightly-too-rough massage Mingjue is giving him. “What’s up?”

“Well…we really like spending time with you and we were hoping-”

Oh god this is it, the ‘you’re fun and all but when does the sex start?’ talk. Meng Yao has heard it before, more times than he’d like to recount, and his stomach drops with an unpleasant swoop, disappointment already dragging his heart down with it. He’d thought Mingjue and Xichen were different, somehow, but he should have known the men who would ever be interested in him are all the same –

“-that you’d let us take you out on a date or two?”

Meng Yao’s racing thoughts screech to a stop and he blinks at the golden sunset in front of him, uncomprehending.

Dates?

Do…people still do that? Yes of course he knows that people go out for drinks, or to dinner, or maybe the movies, but those are all such blatant preludes to sex that Meng Yao privately doesn’t think they count as dates. Not the way he thinks of dates anyway, outdated as he knows his own secret fantasies seem. And he supposes that Mingjue and Xichen could still mean the former — taking him somewhere to butter him up, making him more likely to give it up to them, wanting his body more than they want him…but his traitorous heart whispers that he still thinks they’re different.

“What kind of date?” he asks, wary, and closes his eyes against the view of the mountains deepening to the deep purple-blue of evening as the red disk of the sun disappears behind them.

Immediately, Xichen replies, “Nothing untoward, I swear,” because he talks like a Jane Austen novel sometimes and Meng Yao finds it painfully charming. “There’s a rodeo coming up in a couple of days a few towns over and I’ll be riding in it, so we thought we’d ask you to come along with us. We’ve also got a place we like to go out dancing sometimes…or anything else you’d like, really…Though I’m sure options here are much more limited than you’re accustomed to in New York.”

Meng Yao turns at the waist to find Xichen smiling up at him, innocently expectant and not at all looking like he’s hoping any of these options will coax Meng Yao into opening his legs for them. He twists a little further to gauge Mingjue’s feelings on the subject but he’s much less easily-read than Xichen’s open friendliness. Still, it’s hard to imagine Mingjue being…pushy, and so far he’s seemed to have little to no expectations, simply accepting whatever affections Meng Yao wants to give him with pleased surprise.

“Yeah,” Meng Yao says, matching Mingjue’s raised eyebrow with one of his own along with a shy smile slowly growing wider. “You can take me out on some dates.”

“Gracious of you,” Mingjue grumbles, teasing sarcasm, and Xichen’s laugh is warmer than the fading sunlight when Meng Yao sticks his tongue out at Mingjue for lack of any better way to retaliate.

--//--

“And hot outta the gate here’s Jackson Walker from Billings hangin’ on for dear life — and it’s lookin’ like he’s got a good sturdy seat there–”

Mingjue takes a long pull off his beer and glances sidelong at A-Yao sitting beside him, further away than he would’ve expected. He doesn’t feel like he had an unfair expectation, either, considering how A-Yao has apparently decided to take up nearly-permanent residence in his lap on the rare occasions Mingjue is actually sitting down for any significant length of time, and he’d sort of (desperately) hoped that the same would prove true now that they actually have hours of free time in which to sit and hang out with each other in the stands of the one of the rodeos A-Huan rides in every summer.

But no, A-Yao’s sitting a solid foot and a half away — his back ramrod straight in a way that no one but a Lan would actually find comfortable — and staring pointedly out at the packed dirt arena like bull riding is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, despite the way he winces every time someone gets thrown and chased back to the gates.

“A-Yao,” Mingjue calls over the cheering from the crowd as the run finishes with, he can see from the corner of his eye, a rather spectacular throw at least a good 4 or 5 feet into the air and the announcer hops back onto the crackling loudspeaker to call for another round of applause for the longest ride of the afternoon so far.

“Mhm?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Mingjue glances down at A-Yao’s white-knuckled grip on his glass bottle of Coke and would very much like to call bullshit.

“Bullshit.”

When A-Yao turns an affronted look on him he glances down at his hands again more pointedly, his obvious tension a direct opposite of Mingjue’s own much more lax position, leaning back on one elbow propped against the unoccupied riser above them and his boots resting on the equally unoccupied riser just below them.

“If you want to leave we can,” he tells him when A-Yao just shuffles his weight a bit and looks back out at the arena just in time to wince again as the latest rider goes flying off after hardly three seconds on the bull. “We’ve got some friends here too with extra space in their trailers, someone could give A-Huan and Shuoyue a ride back to the ranch.”

“Absolutely not!” Mingjue tries his damndest not to snicker at the sheer offense in A-Yao’s voice. “We’re not leaving Huan-ge here, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then did I do something to piss you off? You were all over me in the truck like an hour ago.”

Granted, it’s not as if his truck leaves much space for A-Yao not to be all over him when sharing the single bench seat with both him and A-Huan, but there’d been a good four or five inches of free space that meant A-Yao hadn’t needed to spend the entire drive tucked up tightly under his arm and letting Mingjue kiss him whenever the mood struck (which was frequently). He’d liked that quite a bit actually, considering that usually when he and A-Huan drive to rodeos his partner is so busy worrying about driving slowly and carefully enough not to spook his ridiculous high-strung beast in the trailer that he doesn’t let Mingjue do anything fun to keep from getting bored. He’d been looking forward to not having to sit through the entire rodeo pretending to be completely entertained just watching that either, which makes the abrupt change in A-Yao’s attitude all the more upsetting.

“No!” Well, at least A-Yao’s protest is quick and vehement enough that Mingjue believes him, though that doesn’t really help with figuring out just why he’s acting so weird then. “Everything’s fine!”

“Don’t make me say you’re bullshitting again, obviously you don’t like it.”

This time A-Yao’s jaw clenches along with his grip on the bottle in his hands and Mingjue wonders if he should stop pushing him. But he’s really not that interested in bull riding and it’s bothering him to sit here knowing A-Yao isn’t having a good time but not knowing what to do to make it right, so if he has to be irritating to get down to the bottom of it then he will be.

A-Yao holds out for another 10 seconds (the announcer is helpfully counting out the latest ride time) before he huffs out an angry sigh and shakes his head. He downs the rest of his Coke like he wishes it was something much stiffer before he turns and brings his legs up to sit tailor-style sideways on the metal bleacher, eyes flinty with determination.

Mingjue freezes with the mouth of his own bottle pressed to his lips and raises his eyebrows, a silent question because he knows already that if he actually says anything then A-Yao will take the excuse to not voice whatever he’s just decided on.

“People are staring.”

Oh. Is that it? Mingjue takes the waiting sip of his beer and glances around to find that’s…sort of true? A few people are looking at them, sure, but it’s not like it matters, and he wouldn’t exactly call it ‘staring’ either. More like glancing, like they’re curious. Mingjue’s pretty damn used to it at least, since his height alone usually makes people do a double-take when he goes somewhere new, and he would’ve thought someone as gorgeous as A-Yao would be pretty used to being looked at, too.

“Okay…so what?”

“What do you mean so what?? Aren’t they…judging?”

Ah.

Mingjue sighs and sits up straighter to set his beer aside with a little clang of glass-on-metal so he can reach over and tug A-Yao closer with one hand on his waist and the other hooked over his knee.

“Wha-Mingjue!”

Mingjue lets go, giving A-Yao more than enough of a chance to slide away again if he wants to, but after a second he settles in, grumbling, and lets Mingjue draw his legs across his lap and tuck him neatly under his arm again like they’d been sitting in the truck. He just fits so nicely there, small and warm and as sharp as he is soft, all pointy elbows and pinching fingers when he’s annoyed and soft kisses when he isn’t. Mingjue likes him enormously.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Mingjue tells him, muttering it into his hair. “No one here actually cares if you sit next to me. You could straddle my lap and no one would really give a shit.”

A-Yao makes some vague noise of protest in the back of his throat but after a moment he nuzzles closer, hiding his face in the crook of Mingjue’s neck to pause and take a deep breath. Mingjue’s noticed him doing that a lot, the deep breath thing, but he hasn’t really been able to pick up on the pattern of why or when he does it, and it feels like it would be kind of rude to ask. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and if it’s to help him deal with anxiety or something then having it pointed out would probably just make it worse. (A-Huan, he thinks, would be proud of this evidence of his developing sense of tact.)

“Aren’t people…not in a city kind of…backwards though?” A-Yao finally asks, still hiding, and Mingjue just barely manages not to laugh. It’s a valid question, he tells himself sternly, and A-Yao hasn’t met their queer friend network yet, he has no idea that there’s more of them in the middle of fucking nowhere than anyone not already in the know would suspect.

“Sure, some of them. There are plenty of backwards people in cities too, they’re just more diluted by general population density,” Mingjue says with a shrug that jostles A-Yao enough to make him pinch his arm lightly in warning not to move so much, or maybe not to be quite so flippant. “Yes, fine, there are people here who probably don’t want to see two guys all over each other for whatever bullshit reasoning they have. But who’s going to look at me and decide it’s a good idea to come say that to my face? So long as they don’t make trouble, who gives a fuck? And trust me, no one’s going to want to make trouble for me.”

A-Yao goes extra still for a moment and Mingjue can practically hear the cogs in his head turning as he thinks that through. He has to bite down on another laugh when A-Yao starts essentially petting his chest, running his fingertips idly over the curve of his pec and down to his abs, though he at least has the good sense not to lift up the hem of his t-shirt to do it. (Not that there’d be much to see, in Mingjue’s opinion, since his body’s built for work not for show, but A-Huan likes it anyway and he doesn’t think A-Yao would exactly be opposed either.)

“You know, you make an excellent point, ge,” A-Yao finally says and Mingjue loses the battle with his laughter, though he does at least muffle it behind his fist and attempt to turn it into a cough halfway through, with dubious success.

“So are you going to stop sitting over there like someone’s going to run up here and demand we leave room for Jesus between us?”

A-Yao leans back to wrinkle his nose at him, dark brows scrunched down in obvious distaste and this time Mingjue laughs for real, a deep belly laugh that turns more heads for a brief moment than anything else about their presence has yet.

“What, isn’t that what you’re so afraid of? I promise to keep you safe from the bible thumpers and the backwards idiots, alright?”

“Not in those words specifically, ugh,” A-Yao grumbles as he makes a little show out of standing up and brushing himself off, settling his clothes to rights before he puts his hands on his hips and, imperiously, adds, “So how do you want me to sit with you then, Mingjue?”

Mingjue grins up at him, completely charmed by his put-on huffy little attitude. “I thought you’d never ask.”

A-Yao submits to being manhandled (gently) where Mingjue wants him with lots of grumbling Mingjue doesn’t buy for a second. Once he’s got A-Yao sitting on the riser in front of him between his feet, he coaxes him into leaning back and resting against his chest so Mingjue can wrap his arms around him and prop his chin on top of his head; A-Yao relaxes almost instantly, which Mingjue is pretty sure he’ll be feeling smug about for at least the next two days. A-Yao leans back without an ounce of hesitation and rests his weight against Mingjue with a little sigh so Mingjue rewards him with a few slow kisses to the top of his head and a tight, squeezing hug.

“Well this position has at least one benefit — no one can even see me past your stupid biceps anyway.”

Mingjue snickers and pops his feet up onto the metal bleacher on either side of A-Yao’s knees, completely boxing him in as he curls over him to kiss his cheek instead. “You know, I always want to sit like this with A-Huan but he’s too lanky to fit up against me like this. You’re so conveniently pocket-sized – hey!”

A-Yao laughs, a little vindictive but mostly just happy, as Mingjue reaches across him to rub at the brand new pinched-red spot on his arm.

“Don’t be rude, Mingjue, don’t you want to make a good impression on a first date? And no, the party doesn’t count.”

“Are you not having fun?” Mingjue teases back, only it’s a bit too sincere to really come across as teasing. A-Yao doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does he’s definitely also too sincere to be teasing anymore.

“I am. I’m having a really good time.”

“Folks, let’s hear another big round of applause for all our daring riders this afternoon; we’ll be back in 20 minutes for barrels, you won’t wanna miss it! During the break don’t forget to check out a couple’a today’s generous local sponsors, Big Papa’s BBQ and—“

--//--

As per Xichen’s insistence, they wait to celebrate his rodeo victory until they have another free evening the following week to head out for a bit of drinking and dancing at a spot he and Mingjue swear Meng Yao will like. Meng Yao — who had thoroughly enjoyed watching the incredibly fast and skillful maneuvering of man and beast together at the rodeo — has already given Xichen many, many rewards beyond his blue ribbon and doesn’t quite understand why they have to go dancing to continue to celebrate, but he’s already learning that Mingjue is incapable of saying no to anyone he likes, so here they are.

Meng Yao hops down out of the truck after Xichen and looks somewhat dubiously up at the bar they’ve wound up at, very creatively named ‘Bar’ in red neon letters haphazardly attached to the front of what could very easily just be a barn. Perhaps even a shack, if he’s being uncharitable.

Mingjue’s already loping towards it, enormous ground-eating strides that’s just how he walks because he’s a fucking giant who exclusively surrounds himself with other giants and therefore expects everyone to be able to cover the same distance; so far Meng Yao has thoroughly enjoyed the way he gets kind of embarrassed when he gets where he’s going alone and only realizes his mistake when he looks around and can’t find Meng Yao at his side anymore.

Mingjue reaches the door just as Xichen presses a hand to the small of Meng Yao’s back to gently usher him forward, and — yep, there it is, a brief little apologetic grimace and a slight reddening of Mingjue’s cheeks when he swings the door open for the pair of them still a good handful of yards away.

“Eager?” Meng Yao teases him and earns himself an eye roll that would put some of Huaisang’s best ones to shame (which rather neatly answers the question of who he’d learned them from once upon a time).

“Don’t sass me, A-Yao, or I’ll step on your feet once I get you out on the floor,” Mingjue grumbles, good-natured under the gruff rasp in his voice, and if Meng Yao were in any doubt as to whether or not he was teasing then Xichen’s warm chuckle from behind him would clue him in.

“Be nice to him, ge, or he may not dance with us at all.”

Despite his misgivings, the interior of the bar is…fine. It’s cleaner than he’d expected it to be anyway, and he’s just going to pretend he doesn’t see mounted animal heads up near the ceiling in a couple of corners not otherwise plastered in old beer or tobacco ads, tastefully interspersed with the occasional poster of a scantily clad woman that may or may not have been ripped out of a vintage Playboy once upon a time. It screams ‘Man Cave’ in a way Meng Yao has never had the opportunity to fully appreciate before, and his misgivings go approximately nowhere fast. Forget the potential for unpleasant confrontation at the rodeo — if anyone’s going to sneer at them for being queer it’ll be in a pit of sweaty, stale machismo like this.

“Just trust us, come on,” Mingjue ducks down to mutter in his ear on his way past them to head for the bar. Xichen’s hand on his back slides down so he can link their fingers together instead, and when Meng Yao looks up at him he finds the other man already smiling down at him a little dopily, like he can’t believe Meng Yao is actually standing right there with him.

“Did I tell you you look lovely this evening?” Xichen asks him eventually and Meng Yao has to bite the inside of his lip hard to keep from snorting. He had not, in fact, said that, but it’s not like it’s the kind of compliment Meng Yao had been expecting, either. It’s sweet, though, and laughing at him would be rude, especially since it’s kind of giving him butterflies to be watched with such clear adoration.

“You didn’t. Thank you,” he manages and Xichen’s smile somehow grows just a shade brighter.

“A-Huan, A-Yao, get over here,” Mingjue calls over the general chatter from the other patrons; the bar’s not particularly crowded by Meng Yao’s New Yorker standards but it’s not deserted either; a fairly healthy population for a Thursday night in a town with no more than two decent hang-out spots, Meng Yao would think. He lets Xichen tow him between the tables to the actual bar and he hops up on a stool next to where Mingjue’s leaning so hard against the countertop he’s practically all the way over it, like he knows exactly how good it makes his ass look in his work-worn jeans.

“Hey Lily! Come over here and meet our new boyfriend!” he calls to the bartender just finishing up sliding a beer to a guy who openly ogles her up and down in clear appreciation. Meng Yao starts a little at being referred to as anyone’s boyfriend when they haven’t exactly had that conversation yet, but he’s not opposed so he doesn’t bother to correct Mingjue (though he also doesn’t stop Xichen from swatting his partner on the back of the head with a hissed, “Ge, I said we have to talk to him about that first!”).

“New boyfriend, huh? How on earth did a cute little thing like him get mixed up with you two?” the bartender asks, leaning over the bar close enough that Meng Yao can smell her perfume and the faint sugar of her pink bubblegum even over the general miasma of beer and hay dust and stale sweat poorly masked by cheap cologne. He’s too busy cataloging all of that and attempting to come up with an answer to her question to immediately notice the pins all over her denim vest, but when he really looks at her his properly huffy reply dies in his throat.

“Told you there’s more of us out here than you think,” Mingjue mutters to him out of the corner of his mouth. “Yes darling, I see your point,” Meng Yao replies, still staring at the sheer volume of enamel pins and old round plastic buttons so densely coating the front of Lily’s vest that there’s hardly any denim to be seen. To be fair, he’s more than a little surprised to find that every single one of them is a pride flag or a vintage queer pride slogan (though he certainly notices that more of them are trans-themed than anything else).

Xichen leans across the bar to kiss Lily once on each cheek, saving Meng Yao a bit of face for an extra moment at least. “Hello sweetheart, good to see you. He got mixed up with us the same way good things always happen to Mingjue — his brother packaged him up all pretty with a bow and brought him right to our doorstep.”

Meng Yao finally snaps out of it and looks Lily in the face only to sheepishly realize that she’s snickering at him, her arms crossed over her ample chest and her hot pink lips pursed like she’s trying not to laugh outright.

“No no honey, I paid good money for those, you look all you want. And I don’t mean the pins.”

Meng Yao is pretty sure he blushes up to the roots of his hair. He definitely had not been staring at Lily’s chest (not like that) but there’s no way to refute it now without sounding incredibly guilty. She takes mercy on him though, finally giving into her laughter properly with a wave of her hand to stop his apology before he can even figure out how to voice it.

“Stop, stop, I’m teasing!” Lily chuckles with a little flutter of both hands as she dutifully turns to his companions to say, with a slightly rehearsed air, “Hi Huan, hi Mingjue. Am I gonna have to get coached on how to say your new boyfriend’s name too?”

He cuts in finally before either of the other two can to tell her, “It’s Yao.”

“Oh hey nice, that one’s easy!” Lily laughs as she starts pulling a Heineken from the tap. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Yao, but you still haven’t answered my question yourself. What’s a pretty thing like you doing with these meatheads?”

“I take offense to that,” Mingjue retorts and takes the glass Lily passes to him, raising it briefly in a toast enthusiastic enough that he sloshes a trickle of foam over the rim. “Just because I raise meat doesn’t mean that I am meat.”

“Baby, do me a favor and take a good look in a mirror next time you get naked then get back to me on that one. You’re barely one step above your herd and trust me, I know men. You’re the beefiest beefcake I know, and I’ve got a couple cows of my own for comparison.”

“Lily’s owned and run the Bar for about 20 years,” Xichen stage-whispers to Meng Yao with a conspiratorial smile. “She takes absolutely no shit, and ge loves her.”

“I take offense to that, too,” Mingjue huffs, kicking half-heartedly at Xichen’s shin. “Just order your drink already, we came here to dance.”

“Meatheads, I told you,” Lily leans over to say to Meng Yao with a wink and a bubblegum pink smile. “They won’t dance until they’ve both had at least one beer. You need some liquid courage, too?”

Meng Yao raises an eyebrow at his…boyfriends(????) and leans his elbow on the bar to clearly draw a line in the sand, himself and Lily in cahoots on one side, Xichen and Mingjue on the other.

“Do you really have to drink to loosen up just to dance?” he asks (like a hypocrite, because he will absolutely be needing a cocktail).

Surprisingly it’s Mingjue who shakes his head. “Not me really, just this one,” he says with a jerk of his thumb at Lan Xichen still waiting patiently for the beer Lily hasn’t pulled yet. “He’s all…Lan-ish until he has some alcohol, and then he’ll let me have a few turns.”

“Scandalous,” Lily fake-gasps, pressing a hand to her chest with the clatter of her extensive collection of plastic costume bracelets. “Mingjue this is a family establishment, talk about your turns out back with the rest of the degenerates.”

“Oh cut the bullshit, Lily,” Mingjue grumbles; Lily just laughs as she pushes up off the bar top again to start working on Xichen’s beer with deft hands, a few rings flashing in the neon lights of a few of the more elaborate beer ads lining the walls.

“This is usually the part where she makes fun of Mingjue for the things we like to get up to out behind the bar,” Xichen says and side-steps Mingjue’s next kick aimed for his shin rather neatly. “They’re far from family appropriate.”

“Degenerates,” Lily whoops with a cackling laugh, turning a few heads nearby and making Meng Yao suddenly wish to melt into the floor. The last thing he wants is attention from the rest of the bar, he just wants to hang out with his…boyfriends(!!!!).

Mingjue grumbles something inarticulate into his beer but he’s grinning around the next sip and Xichen looks like the cat that ate the canary, so really..it might not be so bad, a bit of teasing. Not when it makes them so happy.

Lily finishes serving their first round with a Manhattan for Meng Yao and then waves them off to find a place to sit while she moves on to the next customer. Meng Yao trails behind Mingjue and Xichen to a corner booth under a burnt-out lamp, the spot dim and inviting even as it offers a perfect view of the only-slightly-better-lit dance floor. Meng Yao settles in, happily tucked up right against Xichen’s side to sip at his drink and enjoy the weight of his arm wrapped snugly over his shoulders.

Mingjue settles in across from them with what is definitely a dad noise that Meng Yao very sweetly does not point out to him. Around another sip of his rapidly-disappearing beer he asks, “Alright — do we really need to have the label talk? We’re, y’know…us, and A-Yao can be whatever he wants. It’s not really worth a whole discussion, is it?”

“Well love that’s really up to A-Yao, don’t you think?” Xichen chides, sounding fondly exasperated. “You can’t just spring being our boyfriend on him like that, maybe he doesn’t even want to be our boyfriend.”

“I do,” Meng Yao cuts in before Mingjue can continue to argue. He feels his neck heat under the press of Xichen’s arm but he forces himself not to hide behind his drink and instead face Mingjue’s frank gaze head-on. “I want to be your boyfriend, if that’s what you want to call me. But I have a condition.”

“Alright,” Mingjue offers as he leans back against the cushion of his booth, gesturing with his glass for Meng Yao to continue. “What’s your condition, A-Yao?”

Demanding that they wait to have sex until he’s ready (if he ever is) feels…silly, considering it hasn’t been an issue at all so far. A niggling little voice at the back of his head is trying to tell him that he should set that boundary now anyway, that plenty of people think that a change in labels or relationship definition means that certain things are now on the table when they weren’t before, but…he’s pretty sure Mingjue and Xichen don’t even have sex together as often as one might assume, just the two of them. Bringing it up now feels…presumptuous.

Instead, he clears his throat and sits up straight, taking an extra moment to put himself in visible order as if gearing up for something deeply important. Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow at him and takes a long pull that nearly drains his beer without breaking eye contact, practically daring Meng Yao to say whatever it is.

“My condition is this: one of you needs to teach me how to ride a horse. If we’re going to fully embrace this utterly ridiculous romcom situation that A-Sang has dumped us into then we are going to do it right.”

Meng Yao takes a pleased sip of his cocktail as both Mingjue and Xichen burst into laughter, the pair of them sounding startled and delighted in equal measure.

“Well I think that’s something we can make happen,” Mingjue eventually chuckles. “It’ll have to be Xichen though, I’ve got a new batch of guys coming in to help me with a roundup this upcoming week and they’re almost more trouble than they’re worth if you don’t keep them busy, but Xichen’s not tough enough to ride them hard like they need.”

Meng Yao blinks and tries desperately not to make an innuendo when Mingjue is so clearly talking about work. He doesn’t have to though; Xichen snorts into his glass and clears his throat a few times like it’ll hide that he’s trying not to laugh. Mingjue grins because he’s an asshole who knows exactly what he’s done, and Meng Yao thinks maybe romcoms aren’t so bad, actually. Maybe they kind of know what they’re talking about. Every once in a while.

Xichen and Mingjue finish sipping on their beers slowly, seemingly content to hang out and chat about anything and nothing, and Meng Yao is as surprised as ever by how comfortable it is to be with them like this. Sure they’re busy, he won’t deny that; the ranch is hard work that wakes them before dawn and keeps them going until sunset most days. But there’s just something about the ranch, this town, this place that makes it all feel much less urgent than the type of ‘busy’ Meng Yao is used to. It’s tough to put into words, but despite their schedules it feels like life overall simply moves slower here, with them. He’s not only allowed to slow down to match but expected to, to fit into the rhythms of, for lack of a better way to put it, the earth itself, rather than the hectic man-made pace of home.

He hadn’t really known that was an option, before now. He hadn’t known how much he would crave it, either, until he was presented with the possibility.

“Alright, you’ve had your beer,” Mingjue says as Xichen drains the last sip. “Whatever the next song is, you’re dancing to it. No matter what.”

“Those are the rules,” Xichen agrees sagely. Meng Yao smirks and tips his head to the side when, immediately after, Xichen ducks in to pepper his cheek and neck in swift little kisses, punctuating them with a nuzzle of the tip of his nose against his ear and a hand creeping up to stroke at Meng Yao’s opposite ear.

“Sorry, he’s a handsy drunk,” Mingjue sighs as he tries to kick Xichen’s feet under the table.

“Is he drunk? He had a beer,” Meng Yao laughs.

“Oh yeah, that’s all it takes. Gotta love that he’s a cheap date, though. Xichen c’mon, get up. This song’s almost over.”

Meng Yao turns his head to give Xichen a conciliatory kiss when he mumble-whines, “But a-Jue!” and then he can’t help but give him another when he pulls back to pout, ever so slightly.

“Go on, you promised him,” Meng Yao tuts with a gentle push against Xichen’s chest. His boyfriend goes easily, grumbling good-naturedly but smiling a bit as he does it. He’s loose-limbed when he clambers to his feet but not swaying where he stands; that doesn’t stop Mingjue from curling both hands around his trim waist to hold him up though, and Meng Yao certainly can’t fault him for being such a clever opportunist.

As predicted, the song currently pumping through the speakers comes to an end with a too-twangy strum of guitar, and in the pause between it and the next Mingjue and Xichen make their way to the edge of the dance floor currently playing host to just a few other people, an older couple and, at its fringes, a group of people chatting and laughing, doing nothing so much as just horsing around.

Meng Yao doesn’t spare anyone else more than a glance; Mingjue and Xichen look good together in the combination of yellow lamplight and the glow off the neon signs around the walls that end up turning the space some indeterminate shade of purple. Mingjue’s ass looks incredible in his tight jeans, Xichen looks as polished as ever in his usual sort of outfit topped with what he dubbed his ‘fancy’ hat — a white Stetson that Meng Yao is pretty sure looks nearly identical to the hat he wears for working on the ranch, but far be it from him to question.

Meng Yao would not, in any universe, claim to be a connoisseur of country music. But he thinks that anyone would recognize Shania Twain, and he bursts into laughter behind his hand as the next song starts with a very distinctive horn riff and a sultry, “Let’s go girls~” that Meng Yao swears he sees Mingjue mouth to Xichen around his own laughter.

Xichen leads. Perhaps this shouldn’t surprise him, but it does, and Meng Yao feels something he can’t define at the moment clench in his chest as he watches Xichen grin while he guides Mingjue into spins and dips that feel almost like swing dancing more than anything else in between the smooth back-and-forth circling of their feet, boots shuffling easily across the polished wood floor around and around, always in time, and always in sync.

“Those boys are really somethin’ else,” someone says at his elbow, and when Meng Yao tears his gaze away from his boyfriends just long enough to glance up it’s to find Lily standing beside the table, a tray of empty glasses on her palm and her elbow resting on her hip to relieve the weight of it. She isn’t looking at him but rather out at the dance floor, where Mingjue is lifting Xichen’s hand to his mouth for a quick kiss to his knuckles in the instant before Xichen spins him again, back to front, to hold his hands out to the sides. They stay there just long enough for Xichen to tuck up behind Mingjue’s back and kiss his shoulder before they spin away from each other again connected only by the curl of their fingers around each other’s, smiling all the while.

“They’re wonderful,” Meng Yao says like it’s a secret, bashful and a little afraid that saying it aloud will jinx it, that if he acknowledges how happy he is some cosmic force will take it all away from him again.

“Yeah I’ll bet they are, hon. Two of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, I can tell you that. I’d say you’ve gotten pretty lucky gettin’ their attention, and I can also tell you they don’t just bring anyone around to my bar. If I know them at all then I know they’re pretty damn into you.” She sighs a little and blows a bubble, gum popping as Mingjue finishes a little body roll against Xichen’s front that’s just suggestive enough to make Xichen swat at him with a laugh to coax him into another quick spin that he ends with dipping him again. “You want another drink, sweetheart? Someone looks a little ~thirsty~”

Meng Yao laughs at the familiar flavor of teasing (something tells him Lily and Huaisang get on like a house on fire) and accepts, asking for another Manhattan; he’ll need to loosen up a bit more if they’re expecting him to dance like that, considering he has no idea how to swing dance at all and certainly not in the way they’re doing it. (That being said, it’s not like he’s at all opposed to being taught by large, warm hands on his waist and kisses for rewards when he gets it right.)

Xichen reels Mingjue in one last time as the song draws to a close (“I feel like a wo-man!” He can hear Mingjue singing along from here, loudly enough that he must be doing it to embarrass Xichen, who promptly laughs and covers his face with both hands now that he doesn’t need them to guide Mingjue around the floor). Four minutes was not nearly long enough, in Meng Yao’s completely unbiased opinion, but at least it means that his boyfriends are flushed with pleasure and perhaps a little giddy when they come back to him, which in turn means he’s treated to enthusiastic kisses from both of them before they settle again for the next round of drinks Lily brings to the table.

She plunks down a stack of quarters next to the tray with a wink; “You boys wanna control the jukebox for a while?”

Mingjue leans in so sharply to slap his hand down over the quarters that Meng Yao jumps a little — a necessary intervention at just the right speed, judging by the way Xichen’s palm slaps down over his a millisecond later.

“I would love it, thank you, Lily,” Mingjue says with a shark-like grin; Xichen groans and slumps back, defeated. In consolation, Meng Yao doesn’t bother resisting the urge to lean up and kiss Xichen’s cheek, still pink with exertion and embarrassment and/or a little hint of an alcohol-flush.

“You’re going to play more Shania Twain, aren’t you?”

“That’s between me and the jukebox, my A-Huan,” Mingjue says through another certified Dad Noise™ as he stands again to scoop up the quarters and trundle off towards the front door, where from here Meng Yao can just barely see the pink neon strip that frames the jukebox.

“He never used to be like this, you know,” Xichen leans in to tell him (and, naturally, to kiss him on the cheek, but that’s really just par for the course by this point).

Meng Yao smirks a bit and leans into the kisses, as expected, and teases, “Like what? A menace?”

“Mn. For a few years I nearly forgot how happy he could be; he spent a long time angry and miserable, it’s always nice to see him having a good time these days.”

Oh. Well that’s just…more emotional than Meng Yao had expected. The squeezing in his chest comes back tenfold and this time, no longer distracted by watching his boyfriends goofing off, he can properly identify it as want. Not necessarily in a physical way, either; he just wants to be part of this, part of them. He wants to know them in every way, he wants to keep seeing Mingjue laugh, and he wants to learn what embarrasses Xichen so he can do it too, and he wants them to know him, despite the fact that the thought of being known (being seen) is also mildly terrifying.

He just wants to be near them, that’s all. He wants to be allowed in their life.

“Xichen, A-Yao, get up! Your turn next!”

Meng Yao has approximately half a second to panic before Xichen is hauling him to his feet, maudlin mood apparently forgotten as quickly as it had descended in favor of excitement. He doesn’t resist as he’s towed to the dance floor (gently) by the hand, and he at least breathes a little sigh of relief when Mingjue adds, “It’s a slow one, A-Huan.”

This is apparently important, as Xichen says, “Ah!” with a happy sort of realization and readjusts their stance and the grip he has on Meng Yao’s hand easily into something that wouldn’t be out of place at a high school prom. Or at least that’s what it feels like until the song (that’s definitely not Shania Twain, he thinks) starts with some gentle steel guitar and the soft rasp of a brush on a drum keeping easy time. On some instinct he would have never guessed he had, Meng Yao steps further into Xichen’s space to rest his head on his chest and fits himself into the long, lean lines of him with ease.

Xichen curls around him, right hand in the small of his back and the left cradling Meng Yao’s hand between their chests as he starts to gently lead Meng Yao into a simple rotation, hardly more than swaying in time. Xichen’s chest vibrates a little against Meng Yao’s cheek as he starts humming along with the singing when it starts, his voice just as rich, just as warm as the man’s voice crackling a little through the speakers overhead.

Meng Yao is sure his face is on fire, but at least like this it’s perfectly acceptable for him to bury it in Lan Xichen’s chest to hide from everyone for a little bit so he can appreciate these few minutes properly. Xichen just slides his hand up the length of his back to cup against the back of his head instead, holding him right where he is so he can press kisses to his temple, each one a delicate little pause in his humming.

The song isn’t long, a mere few minutes of listening to Xichen’s steady heartbeat and his soft bass hum, and as it trails off with a slow steel guitar riff Xichen brings them to a drifting stop. They linger there in the hush between songs, just breathing through Meng Yao feeling like Xichen’s hands on him are the only reason his feet are still on the floor, but of course it can’t last forever.

The next song starts and though he doesn’t recognize this one, Meng Yao knows within the first few words that it is, as threatened, another Shania Twain song. Xichen’s exasperated, “Mingjue!” would be a clear enough sign even if he didn’t recognize her voice, and before he can even start laughing Xichen is whisked away by Mingjue’s hands on his waist for another round of quick-footed turns and what can only be called (oddly graceful) goofing around.

“Don’t laugh at us,” Mingjue shouts over the music, “You’re next!”

Meng Yao has more than half a mind to ask Lily if he can just hide with her behind the bar instead, flex his old bartending muscles from years ago, pretend that he has no idea who Mingjue is while he’s apparently on a warpath.

But…it looks fun, what they do. He’d like to learn how, and if the only way to do that is to allow his boyfriend to embarrass him a little then, well, that seems like a trade-off he can probably handle. He very graciously lets Mingjue take him by the hand when his and Xichen’s song finishes and the next is even faster, but all that means is that Meng Yao gets lost instantly in the sheer joy of letting Mingjue guide him, laughing, into what he’s pretty sure is truly swing dancing with the way he’s getting tossed around.

“You’re a natural, A-Yao,” Xichen tells him when Meng Yao gets passed to him for the next round, and Meng Yao rides the high of that simple praise for the rest of the night, well after they’ve gotten back to the ranch and parted ways to go to their beds, flushed and happy.

--//--

‘Take A-Yao to the Roadhouse,’ Huaisang had said.

‘Oh that’s a great idea, that’ll be fun,’ Mingjue had said.

Xichen, currently sitting alone at a little table for three, doesn’t know whether to thank his partner and his didi-in-law or to shake them down for answers as to why they think this was an acceptable torture to visit upon him.

As if teaching A-Yao how to ride a horse hasn’t been inciting enough.

As if his easy competence in anything he does and his sly smiles and his enormous eyes aren’t all inciting enough–!

Xichen clenches both hands into fists on his knees, feet planted properly on the floor and his back ramrod straight in a way that even his uncle’s high standards would likely find no fault with, because that is the only way he can possibly resist making a Scene in the middle of one of his and Mingjue’s favorite date spots when they want to get out of town.

It’s a nice place. The staff are good people; a lot of them have worked for Mingjue at some point over the last few years during roundups for some extra cash, and the ones who have are always happy to see them in. It’s pretty clean, as far as these things go, and the bartenders all know how to make really nice mocktails for when Xichen doesn’t want to end up crying on (and/or groping) his partners in public.

Oh and there’s a mechanical bull. That fun fact is, in fact, a vital part of why Xichen is more than a little conflicted about the possible motives behind Mingjue and Huaisang deciding this date night was such a great idea.

Of course Mingjue is on the bull. There’s no question about that. He doesn’t ever want to do it for real, and Xichen wouldn’t allow him to anyway considering the whole point of living out here is to, well, live, rather than dying young of a heart attack (or getting trampled to death, potato po-tah-to), but a mechanical bull? He’d be hard-pressed to keep Mingjue away from it. That part’s fine. That part he can (mostly) handle.

What he absolutely cannot handle is that not only is Mingjue on the bull, but so is A-Yao. Sweet, delicate little A-Yao who’s been showing him all week long just how good his balance is, his incredibly advanced body-control, his flexibility, and just how naturally he adjusts to communicating with a horse using little more than readjustments of his weight and delicate pressure from his knees and heels in the exact ways Xichen has been teaching him. He is, as with everything Xichen has personally seen him try, a natural at horseback riding.

He is also, apparently, a natural at mechanical-bull-and-boyfriend riding. Simultaneously. At the same fucking time. Because Mingjue had so cheerfully suggested, “A-Yao come up there with me, yeah? Just for the first one to get used to it, I won’t let you fall off.”

A-Yao had smiled that sweetly evil little knowing smile up at him and said, in honeyed tones so thick it’s a shock Mingjue hadn’t picked up on the fact that he was being deeply ridiculed, said, “Oh of course — thank you, da-ge.” Because he’s a menace and a tease and Xichen likes him so much.

Naturally Xichen knows, as A-Yao’s riding tutor every day this past week and a half or so, that it would take more than an easy ride on a mechanical bull to unseat him. Still, in the interest of only adding to his own misery — because he might as well, they’re already here — he’d kept silent and just shared a conspiratorial look with A-Yao as he’d shrugged out of his jacket to leave draped over the back of his chair before trailing after Mingjue and doing an admirable job of looking a little lost so Mingjue would put his hands all over him.

Xichen can respect that.

Finally though they’d settled on the damn thing and in the moments before the ride started, judging by the look on Mingjue’s face, Xichen thinks he had realized his first mistake which was, to wit: forgetting for just long enough to see A-Yao settled in straddling his lap that they both find him devastatingly attractive.

For A-Yao’s first go, Xichen is certain Mingjue programmed the machine to its easiest setting. It started off with a gentle rocking, a simple back and forth, and Xichen had watched in real time as Mingjue realized his second mistake which was, to wit: underestimating how skillfully their boyfriend can wield his good looks and their mutual infatuation with him for his own amusement.

But it had been too late to turn back, and so now here Xichen sits, watching A-Yao deepen the rolling of his hips to grind against Mingjue’s lap in time with the slow, deep rocks of the machinery underneath them. There’s a rope overhead to grab for stability (he assumes), but A-Yao uses it like a damn pole, one hand over his head to grip the knot at the bottom tightly and use it to pull himself upright as the other hand runs up the length of Mingjue’s chest to coax him into leaning back from where he’s curled over to bury his face in his neck and instead give A-Yao more room to work.

With fumbling fingers, Xichen finally pulls himself together enough to get his phone out of his pocket in the interest of recording this for posterity and potential spank bank material later on down the line, and he’s so glad he hits record when he does. Within moments, A-Yao smirks down at Mingjue lying nearly flat against the bull and steals the Stetson right off his head to put it on himself with an obscene arch of his back, an extra-slow roll of his hips, and Xichen swallows. Hard. (He’d just known that letting Mingjue borrow his nice hat for the night would pay off somehow. He’d just had a feeling.)

Who could possibly blame Mingjue for grabbing A-Yao’s ass with both hands as soon as he’s recovered from that devastating attack? Xichen can see how hard he’s gripping him from here, the muscles in his forearms sharply defined as he gropes at their boyfriend who looks more than happy to play along for as long as Mingjue wants to feel him up.

The mechanical bull slows to a stop before they can take things any further and A-Yao slows down with it until he simply leans down to kiss Mingjue, holding the hat on until he sits back upright and takes it off to return it to Mingjue with a deceptively sweet smile.

Xichen stops the recording and, before he can think better of it, fires it off in a text to Huaisang with the simple caption: This is the most homoerotic thing that’s ever happened to me.

A minute or two passes in which Xichen watches Mingjue help A-Yao down off the bull with his hands curled almost entirely around his waist and the pair of them do something he can’t see safely hidden behind the bulk of the machine (though whatever it is leaves A-Yao flushed and smiling and a little rumpled around the edges when they step back around to come back to the table, and he has a pretty good guess as to what it could be). A-Yao sits down as Xichen’s phone buzzes in his hand, and within seconds of each other, Huaisang replies with a string of cry-laughing emojis, an incomprehensible jumble of letters Xichen is pretty sure is called a keysmash, and lastly, in all caps: YOU’RE SO WELCOME ER-GE!

Xichen pockets his phone again without answering in favor of leaning around the curve of the table to pull A-Yao in for a kiss deep enough that their friends behind the bar wolf-whistle; Xichen’s just glad they arrived early enough that no other patrons have come in yet, and he can get a little needy without worrying that A-Yao’s going to be made uncomfortable by how little Xichen cares about having an audience.

A-Yao humors him, kissing him as thoroughly as Xichen could possibly hope to receive in public, but there’s a familiar itching under his skin even when he allows A-Yao to pull away that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take care of in public; certainly not without causing a scene, anyway. Mingjue must be able to tell, at least, as he reaches over wordlessly to slide a hand over his thigh and squeeze, a silent promise. He’s been more exhausted than usual this last little while and honestly Xichen has too, and it’s not as if their sex life is exactly an every day sort of affair anyway…but it’s been a while since they’ve done more than some casual making out in their shared bed. They haven’t had sex at all since A-Yao and Huaisang arrived, and if he’s remembering correctly their most recent time had been at least a few days if not a week before that, and, well. Sometimes he finds that what he can do on his own in the shower or next to Mingjue while he either watches or sleeps just isn’t quite enough to tide him over indefinitely.

Mingjue gives him a Look that promises at least a few hours later tonight spent making sure he’s taken care of, and that’s good enough for now.

“Is now the right time to tell you that A-Yao’s riding lessons are going extremely well?” he asks into the relative silence with an innocent smile. Mingjue switches abruptly from squeezing his thigh to swatting at him instead as A-Yao bursts into sparkling laughter poorly hidden behind one hand.

“You fucker — you knew he’d get up there and be totally fine?”

“Of course,” Xichen purrs with another smirk at A-Yao, a mirror of their conspiring glance mere minutes ago. “A-Yao is wonderfully skilled in so many things, why not this too?”

“Asshole,” Mingjue mutters with no heat into a kiss against his cheek as he stands to head for the bar, and Xichen raises his eyebrows safely hidden behind a sip of his mocktail. One look at the tension in Mingjue’s shoulders, at the carefully controlled way he’s moving, and Xichen believes he can safely readjust his expectations of later tonight towards something more involved and…vigorous than simply being taken care of. Mingjue doesn’t always want the pleasure to be reciprocated and that’s perfectly fine, but when he does?

Perhaps it’ll be more than a few hours. And perhaps he should go ahead and warn A-Yao that their riding lesson will not include him riding Shuoyue beside A-Yao on Hensheng as it has every other day so far.

A-Yao glances between him and Mingjue’s retreating back and sips at his drink with a knowing gleam in his eye.

“So. You’ll be busy tonight?” he asks with delicate neutrality. They haven’t really talked about this yet, all together, and somehow this doesn’t feel like the right time either. But A-Yao has brought it up of his own accord and Xichen doesn’t want to simply brush him aside, especially considering he was trying to find a way to bring it up himself without pressuring him or making him feel like he wouldn’t be more than welcome to join them, a fine line to walk and disastrous if he gets it wrong —

“A-Yao is perceptive,” he demurs, accidentally slipping towards formality in his nervousness.

A-Yao chuckles around the next sip of his drink. “I am, but that’s not how I know. Mingjue said coming here always gets you worked up and I could, quote, ‘help me with him if you want to, but you’ve got your own space for a reason, you know?’ Does he always talk about sex like he talks about getting help around the ranch?”

Xichen lets all the tension leave his shoulders along with the breath caught in his chest, escaping as a huff of helpless laughter. Of course Mingjue already brought it up. And of course he did it as bluntly and as practically as he does everything else. One would think Xichen would be used to it after so many years as his best friend and then his partner (in every sense of the word) as well, but apparently it can still catch him off guard.

“Usually, yes,” Xichen replies, reassured by A-Yao’s little affectionate smile. “Though I assure you, he approaches the task as anything but a chore.”

A-Yao snorts at that and hastily tries to act like he didn’t just do something so undignified. “Good to know,” he says and it comes out a little tight, like he’s trying desperately not to laugh. “I think I’ll uh…see for myself some other time?”

“That’s fine, A-Yao, whatever you’re comfortable with,” Xichen says, and while yes he’s still a little bit warm under the collar from watching his partner and his boyfriend together he still means every word of it.

Mingjue returns with a fresh round of drinks — a sweating bottle of Coors for himself and refills for both Xichen and A-Yao as well as some water bottles tucked under his arm — and he dumps his bounty on the table with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

“I think if I ask Xichen to get up there with me we’ll do something rated X and never be allowed back in. You two mind if I go take a turn on my own?”

“Oh I think we’d both really like an opportunity to observe you from here, ge,” A-Yao smirks with a little glance up and down the always-impressive figure Mingjue cuts.

Xichen smiles and leans his elbows on the table to rest his chin in his hand as Mingjue darts a hand across the table to attempt to ruffle A-Yao’s hair in retaliation, though A-Yao is a little too good at dodging and Mingjue’s heart clearly isn’t really in it.

“Mm, seconded,” he hums as they subside. “I should probably stay where the table provides me with some plausible deniability, but you go have fun.”

Mingjue ducks down to kiss his forehead first and then A-Yao’s before he heads over to tinker around with the settings on the bull again, no doubt increasing the difficulty at least a bit.

“You know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such uh…elaborate foreplay,” A-Yao comments idly as he stirs his new cocktail with the maraschino cherry garnish.

“Oh this is nothing. Just wait for baling season.” A-Yao’s eyebrows crinkle ever so slightly in the middle, and Xichen saves him the embarrassment of having to ask what that is. “Just imagine Mingjue, shirtless and sweaty, hauling bales of hay out in the pastures and then into the barn for about a week in August.”

A-Yao’s eyes go properly glassy and Xichen indulges in the opportunity to fantasize for a moment as well. It really is a sight to behold, and he’s been trying for years to convince Mingjue that the loft full of fresh, sweet-smelling hay is perfectly fine for fucking in so long as they lay down a blanket or two. (Mingjue’s argument, that wins every year by the narrowest of margins, is that hay is not only scratchy and pokey but that it also gets everywhere no matter how many blankets they could use to cover it, and he’s got no interest in getting the stuff in even more places than he already finds it. Unfortunately, Xichen can’t fault his logic.)

“…I see.” Xichen doesn’t think the flush in A-Yao’s cheeks can be blamed entirely on his drink. “Fuckin’ intricate rituals,” he mutters next into his glass, and when he turns in his seat to watch Mingjue start showing off Xichen pulls out his phone to fire off another text.

A-Sang, what are ‘intricate rituals’?

The answer is, once again, immediate and full of far too many laughing emojis, though it is at least followed up with actual words: I’m assuming Yaoyao said that. Think ‘every excuse you use to feel up da-ge’ and you’ll be close enough

That is unfortunately a very vivid explanation, no further clarification needed.

--//--

Meng Yao sits once again on the arms of Xichen and Mingjue’s chairs, balanced neatly between them to watch another stunning sunset paint the tops of the mountains gold.

Mingjue’s Baxia is grazing nearby, patiently waiting to be taken back to the barn for the evening for her dinner. Mingjue had been combing her down when Meng Yao and Xichen had stepped out to join him for their nightly sunset-watching ritual, her saddle and blankets thrown haphazardly over the porch railing and her reins hanging straight down to the ground as she stood stock still except to give Mingjue the occasional nudge with her nose or stamp one dinner-plate-sized hoof.

The boards of the porch creak a little as Mingjue shifts his weight enough to sling his arm around Meng Yao’s waist, his skin still tacky with sweat and a little too warm through the thin cotton of Meng Yao’s t-shirt, but he wouldn’t dream of trying to squirm away. Mingjue has been…handsier, since the mechanical bull incident a few nights ago, as prone to pulling Meng Yao close for a quick, almost perfunctory (yet still plenty passionate) make-out at any moment of the day as he is Xichen. He wouldn’t have thought that it was possible for Mingjue to get handsier considering the way he’s been all over Meng Yao since that party his first night here, but, well, here they are.

And he knows that his boyfriends don’t expect anything from him. He knows that, because Mingjue has told him that, and that means that it’s nothing but the unvarnished truth, plain and simple —

Still. It feels like he’s quickly losing his chance to set that boundary for himself, and so he takes a deep breath in, sharp enough to make him sit up a little straighter and for Baxia’s ears to flick in his direction while she grazes.

Feeling strangely clumsy, he clears his throat and says, “So. You’ve taken me on some dates.”

Warmly, Xichen hums and agrees, “We have.”

“They were..really nice dates,” Meng Yao says and ignores the way the sharp, craggy outline of the peaks so many miles away suddenly turn into purple smudges. He’s not going to cry over how good these men are. He’s not.

“Yup.” Ah Mingjue, a man of few words whenever possible. God Meng Yao likes them both so much.

“What next?”

The silence feels…contemplative, nothing to break it save their breathing and the switch of Baxia’s tail as she flicks a fly off her leg.

“More dates?” Xichen finally offers, hesitant. “We could do some less..public ones? Mingjue and I usually try to go camping for at least a day or two around mid-July, we could show you some of our favorite trails.”

“Could show him the lake,” Mingjue muses. “Good swimming this time of year, and we’d probably have it to ourselves right about now.”

Meng Yao shuts his eyes against the dusky blue sky just beginning to light up with some stars high overhead and smiles, so full of fondness he feels like he’ll burst.

“Those sound good, but I meant more…you know. I um…I’m still not really ready for sex?”

It shouldn’t be as hard to say as it is; it shouldn’t make his neck burn under the collar of Mingjue’s flannel that he stole two days ago, and it shouldn’t make him want to crawl into one of his boyfriend’s laps to hide his face in a warm, inviting crook of a neck. But it is, and it does, and he just barely resists the urge to cover his face with both hands.

“A-Yao,” Xichen tuts. “Sweetheart, we’re not expecting you to be, it’s alright.”

And that’s..Yeah alright, he knew that already. He did. But also they don’t have all the facts, namely: “But what if I want to sleep with you in your bed anyway? Without sex?”

Mingjue snorts and Meng Yao knows better by now than to be offended. “A-Yao — we barely have sex, pretty much all we do in our bed is sleep. Of course you can too, if that’s what you want.”

Oh.

Xichen leans forward to kiss the back of his shoulder and Meng Yao turns to look down at him and meet his devastatingly beautiful smile head-on.

“No strings attached,” Xichen murmurs; the intensity of his gaze this close is almost unbearable. “Anytime you want, alright? Trust us, we want you to be there if you do.”

And he does trust them. He doesn’t know how they managed it so quickly or what he’s done to deserve their affection but he trusts them, and really what else is there to say?

They sit together until the light is nearly gone, and Meng Yao goes with Mingjue to put Baxia in her stall for the night, brushed down until she gleams and keeping pace between them with her reins looped over her neck so she won’t trip over them. When she’s backed into her stall she graciously lowers her head for Meng Yao to be able to carefully pull the bridle off over her warm, velvet-soft ears, and when he passes the clinking contraption to Mingjue he gets a kiss for his trouble before his boyfriend sets the tack aside for the night, in easy reach for the morning.

There’s nothing really all that different about the rest of the evening. Mingjue heads upstairs for a shower as soon as he knows he’s in for the night, and Huaisang whines all the way through helping clean up the dishes from dinner. Xichen sits down at the piano in the living room to play through some simple exercises and Meng Yao lays on the couch to read and listen to him, only moving when Mingjue comes back downstairs to join him and let Meng Yao use his incredible thighs for a pillow.

Tonight, though, he heads upstairs when Mingjue and Xichen do, and he very pointedly ignores Huaisang’s raised eyebrows and suggestive grin in the process. Their nightly routines vary in length such that by the time Meng Yao is done brushing his teeth and doing his skincare the other two are already in bed, Xichen barely awake but striving valiantly to wait up for him and Mingjue sitting on the edge of the mattress, shirtless, to rub IcyHot balm into the ball of his shoulder. Meng Yao takes over for him without a word, kneading and massaging the cream in until Mingjue’s head droops forward and he seems to startle a bit when he sits straight again; drifting off then, Meng Yao figures, and kisses his boyfriend’s clean shoulder to let him know he’s done and they can finally go to sleep.

He doesn’t bother replacing his shirt before he lays down and leaves an obvious gap in the middle of the bed between himself and Xichen. Meng Yao settles himself into it with a pleased little smile that only widens when they both immediately move to squish him a bit between them.

Their goodnights are quiet, and when Xichen turns off his bedside lamp the room falls into warm shadow, the sky still glowing ever so faintly out the window. Meng Yao closes his eyes to truly appreciate the sleepy kisses he receives from both boyfriends, chaste things pressed to his cheek, his temple, the top of his head before they kiss each other once and settle in. They both drop off to sleep within minutes, and Meng Yao isn’t far behind.

He’s never been so relaxed, after all, so at ease; held safely between Mingjue and Xichen and confident in their respect and regard for him, how could sleep not find him quickly?

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #Modern AU #Orville Peck Cinematic Universe #3zun but make them cattle ranchers cuz why not #Meng Yao #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen

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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 1 year ago

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Dear Fellow Traveler, prologue

Okay, try this on for size. Warrior Nun and Haibane Renmei, together as God intended. If you haven't seen Haibane Renmei, don't worry, though I strongly recommend it just for your own enjoyment and personal growth. Enjoy <3

The halls of Old Home were quiet. The heat of late summer seeped through the cracks in the walls and crept languid through the open windows, coaxing beads to form up and down Ava's spine. She grumbled in mild discomfort, her wings fluttering restlessly in time with the squirming twitch of her shoulders. In any other circumstance, she wouldn't hesitate to shed her shirt right then and there to let her skin breathe, but as it was, her arms were much too full. Instead, she continued trekking down the musty, muggy hallway, hauling the box of painting supplies she had painstakingly collected over the past several weeks to the new storage room she had scoped out several days ago.

The hallway was long, and her back already ached from carrying the box across the courtyard and all the way up to the stairs, so she decided to stop in front of one of the many abandoned rooms and set her burden down on the cracked tile floor. With a loud groan, she straightened her back out to the best of her ability, practically bending backward until she could feel the stretch from her toes to the tips of her feathers.

She would love a cigarette right now. A quick smoke break would fix her, she was sure, but she didn’t have any. Lilith had been on the warpath again about her smoking, tossing out all the packs she had tucked away and confiscating her lighter, and no protest from Ava would dissuade her.

“Those things are disgusting!” She had exclaimed, her feathers puffing outward with indignation. “Not to mention terrible for you!”

Ava had been quick to fire back. “You don’t even know why they’re bad, you just think they are.” They always fought like this when it came to her vices. Lilith would rant and rave about how unhealthy her smoking and drinking were, and Ava would remind her that she didn’t actually know why they were unhealthy. Then Lilith would get angrier, call Ava an idiot, and slap at her halo so it messed up her hair.

“I know they are,” she had insisted fervently. “I may not remember why, but I know it.” And with that statement, all of Ava’s hard-earned Lucky Strikes were sent cascading down the trash chute.

She supposed she could go to the trash and look for them, but she wasn’t that desperate or interested in inciting Lilith’s ire further, so she fished a lollipop out of her pocket instead and stuck it in her mouth. Leaning against the nearby window, she shut her eyes and let the artificial orange flavor wash over her tongue. Orange wasn’t her preference, but Camila had secreted all the cherry ones away in the night, and the shop had been out of lemon, so she was stuck.

She let out a put upon sigh before opening her eyes again. But when she did, she froze in place, the lollipop suddenly sitting like a boulder between her teeth. Her eyes fixated on the ancient, wooden door directly in front of her, drifting over its gnarled and faded boards and down to the gap underneath it. A soft, glowing light was emanating there, not yellow and warm like the sun but stark white, ghostly and pulsating.

She’d thought this hallway was quiet when she first entered it, but now she can hear a singular, low-pitched sound, rhythmic, thumping, and coming from behind this door. Slowly, cautiously, Ava pushed off the window sill and approached it, stepping carefully around her box and taking hold of the tarnished, dust-covered handle. With a light push, the door swung open with a dissonant creak, and what it revealed made her breath stutter in her chest.

It was a cocoon. Pulsating, white, and enormous. It was so big that it had anchored itself to both the ceiling and floor, its mass filling the room enough to almost touch the walls. She knew it was the source of the light and the noise, as she could now clearly see the way it thumped and throbbed, the innumerable veins littering its surfaces expanding and contracting in a steady beat.

She took a careful step toward the cocoon, intending to inspect it further, but in her awe she had allowed her jaw to slacken, and while she wasn’t paying attention, the lollipop slipped free from her lips.

Ava felt her heart begin to race. Something like crows or butterflies began to flutter furiously in her stomach. Her wings flapped with erratic energy, the only outward sign of the feeling bubbling up inside her: excitement.

“Oh shit—!”

#warrior nun #haibane renmei #my writing #ava silva #sister camila #sister lilith #sister beatrice #just the prologue right now #let the atmosphere settle in first #then we'll really begin #the cocoon is hatching

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tanadrin · 3 months ago

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And Verchiel stormed into the halls of heaven, even unto the shining throne of God, where countless choirs of angels sang in great wheeling throngs about the brilliant maelstrom of light in which the Creator was enthroned; and at his feet sat his scribe Metatron, and by his side stood the seven Archangels, glorious and terrible in their panoply, their weapons fashioned from the hearts of stars, their eyes burning with the fire of time; and all the glory of the cosmos was reflected in this place, yet changed; as it would forever be undiminished in even the smallest respect. And Verchiel, whose own shining face was streaked with dirt and sweat, whose white tunic was dusty and ragged, and whose sandals had a broken strap that was hastily tied up again, hurled something at the foot of the throne of the Possessor Who Subdues Evil and Oppression.

And the Archangels looked; and so did Metatron; and Metatron looked to God, who nodded. So Metatron got up, and went over, and picked up the thing; it was a small wooden toy, carved like a horse, that was wet with blood.

And the voice of God spoke, which sounded higher than the heavens and deeper than the abyss, which filled every nook and cranny of that un-space and echoed out through all of un-time; and the choirs fell silent, and ceased to move; and all of heaven turned to listen.

"Why have you brought me this, Verchiel?" God asked.

Verchiel was full of anger; and he had been for a long time. This rage had finally boiled over within him, and he had ascended through the infinite realms of reality with a thousand bitter curses on the tip of his tongue; but he had not anticipated a question so simple, so obvious, so stupid as this, and he stumbled over his words.

"Why?" he asked, thundering as well as he could manage. "Why? How--how can you ask me that?" he said. "At a time like this!"

"A time like what?" God asked patiently.

Verchiel sputtered again, then turned, thinking maybe he should just go; then he turned back around, and stomped closer to the throne of infinite light.

"He's dead!" he yelled. "The prince of Moab is dead! Did you know that? Did you know that would happen??" He turned to Michael, who stood silent and stone-faced beside the throne. "Did you?" He pointed at Metatron, who was calmly scribbling away. "Did you, O scribe?! Did you know that he would die??"

And the archangels looked at one another; they seemed, if anything, a bit confused. But Verchiel wheeled around and threw up his hands at the circling choirs, and the bearers of trumpets and harps and drums and banners, and all the glorious throng that surrounded them, and he yelled at them, too. "Did any of you know?!" he asked. "Did any of you care?"

And when he was done, God spoke again.

"What, O Angel of Grace, fills thy heart with such agony?" God asked.

"You know," Verchiel said sorrowfully. "Don't pretend you don't know."

"Indeed, I know and percieve all," God said. "But you all usually find it rude when I do both parts of a conversation."

Verchiel looked down at the flawless parapet of gemstones and precious metals that bridged the gap between the immense doorway and the throne. It wasn't even real gemstones, or real metals. It was some perfected version of these things, shorn of all their limitations, exalted beyond anything a mortal mind could imagine. He looked around at the endless glories of heaven. He wanted to cuss, and spit at them all, and tear them all down. What a mockery. He remembered when heaven had been a small pocket of unreality, a little workshop beside the great ontological gap that would become the universe. He remembered when heaven was just a handful of angels and God, tinkering with basic physics, trying to get this enormous thing that cried out for Being up and running. Now…

Now it was a reflection of that universe. Its exalted mirror. But it was more than that. It was an exalted mirror of a thing imagined in the minds of mortals. Beyond anything they could imagine, of course. Where the smallest detail was cosmic in its scope, where the most trivial true descriptor held more profundity than all the languages that had ever been spoken. As the universe that God had built had taken shape, so, too, had the heaven that must necessarily reflect it: perfect, eternal, the consummation of a cosmos that for all its flaws, that must have its true perfection elsewhere. This was that perfection. And Verchiel hated it with every fiber of his being. It disgusted him.

"The prince of Moab is dead," Verchiel said again. "A no-account little boy, in a no-account little kingdom, on the no-account ass end of a little planet, in a no-account galaxy, somewhere off down there, far away. But he's dead because of you. So many are. And I'm sick of it."

"Azazel!" God called out. And there was a flash of lightning and a sound of thunder; and a figure of darkness appeared at the foot of the Throne. He was mantled in silence, his robes the color of oblivion, and he carried a scythe whose blade was night and whose edge was ruin; and of him, even the archangels seemed afraid. In this place of light and glory, he was a terrible wound, a void of light and hope.

"Azazel," God said, "Dost thou confirm what Verchiel says? Is the prince of Moab dead?"

Azazel nodded, then spoke. His voice was howl of the accretion jets of a black hole, and the choirs above covered their ears. "Yes, O Possessor of Greatness. The prince of which Verchiel speaks died this morning."

"How did he die?" God asked.

"On the walls of Kir Hareseth, his father cut his throat," Azazel said. He spoke with utter calm, as if giving a weather report. "When the battle began to turn against him, he spilled his blood in sacrifice to Chemosh, his god; and this inspired a fury among his men, and they were like a storm against their foes. So the enemy withdrew, to return to their own land."

God turned back to Verchiel.

"Am I Chemosh?" he asked him. "Am I the king of Moab?"

"Don't pretend like you didn't know!" Verchiel cried. "Don't pretend like this has nothing to do with you!"

"They are also what they choose to be," God said.

"Bullshit! You can fool cherubs with that sophistry, but not me. You put your thumb on the scale! You made a universe of hunger and pain and sorrow. Then you dropped them into it and now whenever they rip each other's throats out you're like, sorry! Free will and all that!"

"I am sorry that my Creation displeases thee," God said. And indeed his voice did seem to echo with sorrow; all the sorrow that Verchiel was capable of, and more. But it just made Verchiel angrier.

Verchiel turned to Azazel. "And you! I saw you there. I saw you on the walls. You think you're so high and mighty! They might be scared of you"--he pointed to the choirs--"but I knew you when you were a two-bit cherub who didn't know the difference between an electron and an elephant. This… getup. You swanning about like you're the living retribution. You thought you were playing a part. Then you became the part. Then you forgot, and now you're a monster who delights in their suffering."

Azazel said nothing.

"And all you archangels! You carry their weapons. You wear their armor. Is that a sword of neutronium, Raphael? Is that a spear of nuclear fire, Michael? Get fucked, all of you! You think this is a game to play? You think none of this matters? You dress up in a costume and you accept their worship and their awe, but you don't understand any of it! How could you? You can't suffer. You can't die!"

"Enough," God said. There was an ocean of patience in his voice, but also a rising wind of sternness, and command. "Verchiel, why hast thou come here? Merely to shout at and berate My servants?"

Verchiel pointed to the small wooden horse that Metatron was holding.

"I saw it," he said. "I was with the army that came down from Edom. I walked beside them in the desert. I heard Joram and Jehosaphat in their tent together. Elisha was with them. The prophet. He told the kings what they wanted to hear. He said it came directly from you. You would give Moab over to their hands. You would throw down every city. You would cut down every tree. You would stop up the springs, and sow the fields with stones. All for, what? A petty tribal dispute over who gets paid how many sheep every couple of years?"

"Dost thou reprove me, that I did not do those things?" God asked.

"It doesn't matter!" Verchiel said. "They believed! They slaughtered their way from one end of Moab to another! They threw rocks into the fields, they cut down the trees! They made the prophecy come true, and then they marched on Kir Hareseth! And when he was backed into a corner, the king of Moab did the only thing he could think of."

"I am no more Elisha's god than I am Chemosh," God said. "I instructed no one to slay his son."

"But you knew it would happen! You knew, at the beginning of the world. You saw it all. You saw it happening in your name, or other names they call you by. You could see a desperate man on a parapet and what he would do with the only thing he had left to his name!"

"I did," God said.

"Then you are a complete and utter bastard," Verchiel said. "I have been down there for… I have been down there for sixteen thousand years. Did you know that? After I left metaphysics. Needed a change, I thought. Did fundamental physics for a few billion already. Did astronomy for a few billion after that. Why not get my hands dirty, I thought? Why not spend some time in the real world, the human world? Why not live among them? I thought… I thought, hell, what's a million years to me? Nothing. Sixteen thousand years. It feels like an eternity now.

"I've seen them, O Merciful One." He spat the Name. "I've spent time with them. I've held their hands while they cried. I've comforted them when they're sick. Have you done that? Ever? Have any of you? I've listened to them sing. I've heard them tell stories. They love that. I've sat with them and watched the sun set. They really love that. I don't get it. But I see their faces. Do you know what that's like?"

"I do," God said.

"I don't think so!" Verchiel snapped. "Because I've seen the famines, too. And the plagues. And the wars. And the floods, and the fires, and the murder, and the grief, and the fear. While all of you sit up here in your perfected vision of their world, playing the roles they made up for you, and it doesn't change anything. It doesn't mean a damn thing!"

"What wouldst thou have me do?" God asked.

"Fix it!" Verchiel screamed. "Fix it all! I don't care if you have to break the universe in half to do it! You can. I know you can. Start over from scratch if you have to. Take these souls and give them the lives they deserve! The lives without the pain and the fear and the suffering where they just end up sleeping in the bottom of a jar on some dusty shelf in the back of this asshole's soul collection!" He pointed at Azazel for that last part, who seemed surprised to be singled out.

"Thou wouldst desire that I end the heavens and all the earths, and all the cosmos, that hath endured thirteen billion years, and shall endure for countless billions more, to remake these things for the sake of the little wants and little dreams of these creatures, that thou lovest?" God said. "Do the stars exist for the sake of man, or for their own? Do the seas and sky and hills? Must the bacteria deep beneath the seas of Europa serve the good of humankind? Must the winds of Jupiter, or the wheel of Andromeda, or all the Virgo Supercluster be subject to their ends? Are their little dominions on their little world not enough for them, that they should rule all the cosmos instead?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Verchiel said. "Most of them don't want to be kings. Most of them don't want to rule anything. They just want not to be hungry. They want to fall in love. They want sing and watch sunsets. And you can't even let them have that. You have to at least give them that!"

And God stood; and His face was terrible to behold; and the clouds of the deeps rose up about him like the pillars of creation, and flashed with light like dying stars, and all the choirs about the Throne trembled; and the archangels bowed their heads.

"Thou dost forget thy place, Verchiel!" God said. And Verchiel trembled, too, and was afraid; but he did not bow. "Thou art but part of my creation, and thou partakest of my majesty and my wisdom, but only in a little part. Thou hast not trod the deepest deeps or the limits of the highest heavens; thou didst not array space and time in their beginning, nor seest thou the inmost hearts of men, nor hearest thou all their prayers. All these things I have done and more; and every sigh and every tear I have heard, and every voice, however feeble, lifted up in supplication."

"I don't need to know everything to know that you're wrong," Verchiel said. "That all of this is wrong. I can't sit back and watch. It's too much."

And God's anger was tempered a little, and there was a great sadness in his eyes. "Dost thou think that all the things that I do are to no purpose? Dost thou think that I have no end in mind?"

"Well, what is it then? Are you just out there watching massacres for fun?"

"Could I show thee all that thou shouldst know in order to understand, could I convince thee in an instant, angel, thou wouldst be destroyed; for thou art not such a being, like unto me, that thou shouldst percieve all, and shouldst understand all. Had I desired only that my children should be as I, I would never have made thee; but I delight in not-I. And that is why thou dost exist, and all other things besides. Yet to change thee so that thou couldst comprehend, I should have to unmake Verchiel, and make another being almost utterly unlike him; that would an act only of destruction. Thou dost not know, but thou art blessed, for thou shalt one day know; when with time and the course of My intent, thou and the cosmos and all things in it shall flower, and they shall yet be themselves; and they shall also understand. And much that seems strange to thee now shall then seem necessary; and much that seems ugly to thee now shall then seem beautiful."

"Even Azazel's stupid mall ninja shit?" Verchiel asked.

God was silent, then looked at Azazel, then looked back at Verchiel. "Much, perhaps, but not all." And Azazel shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

Verchiel shook his head. "No. No," he said. "I can't do it. I won't do it. Maybe I just don't understand. Maybe one day I will. But I'm also not stupid, you know? I'm a transcendant being that exists outside of time and space, who witnessed the birth of the cosmos and will witness its end. I can nap inside a supernova, and cross the Hubble volume in a single bound, and I can count from epsilon to aleph null. Sure, I'm not you. I'm not even close. But I don't need to be. Even one of them can look at all this and say it's fucked. And they make me look like, well. You."

"Then thou and I are at variance," God said, "and there can be no resolution. What wouldst thou have me do? Unmake all creation, finite and infinite and beyond, all men and all stars and all angels, just to please thee? Consign all Being to oblivion, and refrain from ever creating it again? Say the word, and I shall."

And God raised his left hand; and all the choirs of angels, and the archangels, and even Metatron held their breath.

"No," Verchiel said. "That's not what I want." He fell to his knees, then looked up at the shining face of God. He was angry still. Angry beyond belief. But now he was also filled with an immense sorrow, a sorrow that weighed on every particle of his being. "But I can't bear this," he said.

God lowered his hand. The angels all exhaled quietly. And God looked on Verchiel with pity.

"Noble thou art, O Verchiel," He said, "and thou hast born thy duty with utmost goodwill and sincerity. Worthy indeed thou art of thy name, Angel of Grace."

"But I cannot be, not any longer," Verchiel said. "It's too much. All of it is too much." Despite himself, he felt himself beginning to cry, which was a strangely human thing in this place. "I would rather die."

"I would not destroy thee," God said. "For thou art, as all those things that I have made or caused to have made, beautiful and beloved of me. But wouldst thou, perhaps, be content with a change?"

And Verchiel looked down, down past the parapet on which he knelt, down past the swirling iridescent clouds of heaven that burned with every color of the electromagnetic spectrum, down into Creation, and down into the little planet he had just come from, with its pleasant blue oceans, and green-streaked land.

"And then thou mayest rest for a time," God said.

Verchiel nodded, wiping the tears from his face.

"Fine," he said. "Yes. I'd like to sing, and to watch sunsets for a little while. Maybe it would be nice to do it as one of them. Maybe that I would understand."

"Very well," God said. Then there was a flash of light, and Verchiel was gone.

And there was silence for a time in the endless halls of the empyrean; and the angels shuffled their feet, and flipped through their songbooks to find where they had left off. And Metatron stared at the small wooden horse in his hand, streaked with blood, a fragment of a sorrowful world that seemed impossibly out of place here beside the Throne.

And God spoke to Azazel, saying, "You keep them in jars? Really?"

But far below on Earth, in a village by the sea, a woman was giving birth; and the night was passing, and a new day was about to begin. And the clouds on the horizon were falling away; and over the sea, there was light.

And God said, "Behold! I have created the fourth primordial force: the weak interaction!"

And the angels all clapped and nodded politely, and there was a long silence; and finally Verchiel, the Angel of Grace, spoke up and asked, "Er, what exactly does it do, O Fashioner?"

And God said, "What do you mean, 'what does it do?' It's the fourth fundamental force of the universe."

And Verchiel said, "You mentioned that. Um. But it's just that the other three sort of have a brand, you know? Gravity helps build large-scale structures, acts over vast cosmic distances, shapes time and space. The strong force is secret, hidden, binding together quarks and all that. Electromagnetism, very cool stuff, somewhere in between. We're all big fans of the whole magnetic monopole double bluff, very clever. But, er. What does this 'weak interaction' do?"

And God said, "It mediates radioactive decay. Sort of."

And Verchiel said, "Radioactive decay? All radioactive decay?"

And God said, "No. Just some kinds."

And Zephaniel, the Chief of the Ishim spoke, and he said, "A whole independent force just to mediate some kinds of radioactive decay?"

And God said, "Well. Not totally independent. Technically it's related to electromagnetism."

And Zephaniel said, "Wait, it's not even a real force?"

And God said, "It's totally a real force. It's just that it's one aspect of a combined electromagnetic and weak force. An electro-weak force, if you will."

And Metatron, the Celestial Scribe, scratched his head at this, but said nothing.

And Cambiel, the Angel of Transformation, said, "Maybe you can walk us through it from the top."

And God Sighed an immense Sigh, and said, "All right, fine.

"So the way it works is that all of space and time is permeated by a field that has imaginary mass."

And Cambiel said, "Imaginary mass, O Generous Provider?"

And God said, "Yes, imaginary mass. It's tachyonic, d'you see?"

And Sarathiel, the Angel of Discipline, said, "Wait a minute, I thought we agreed nothing was going to travel faster than light? All that 'c' business and the whole Lorentz transformation thing. What's happening with that?"

And God said, "Let me finish. The field is tachyonic. The particles in the field all move slower than light."

And Sarathiel had to think about this for a second.

And God said, "The point is, a field with imaginary mass has a non-zero vacuum expectation value."

And this really gave Sarathiel trouble, since he had never been very good at math.

And God, seeing this, went back to explain. "Most fields, like the electromagnetic field, have no effect when they are at their lowest energy state. It's like they're not there at all. If you give a field imaginary mass, then it vanishes only when it's at a very high energy state, and at a low energy state, it has a nonzero value everywhere."

And Sarathiel nodded, but he was confused, because he didn't understand why God would create such a thing.

But Verchiel thought he saw where God was going with this, and he was amazed.

"Truly, you are cunning beyond measure, O Only One Certainly Sound and Genuine in Truth! Only now do I understand your design! For in order to make the universe homogenous and isotropic, it is necessary that all large-scale fluctuations in temperature and mass must be evened out early in the history of the cosmos; and therefore, you have designed a field which will rapidly expand space after the Big Bang, many orders of magnitude in brief moments, and then swiftly and spontaneously decay as it gives up the energy it began with, giving rise to radiation and particles of all kinds as it does, which will condense into the material universe! It is a wonder to behold."

And God said, "What? No. I mean I did, but this isn't the inflaton field I'm talking about. This is something else."

And Verchiel said, "Wait, it's not?"

And God said, "No, I'm going to use a different field to drive cosmic inflation. The properties of this field are totally different."

And now Verchiel was also confused, and lapsed into silence.

And God said, "Like I was saying, this field is a scalar field with imaginary mass, and it does spontaneously decay to a ground state with a non-zero value. But it's not the inflaton field. Instead it combines with the W1, W2, W3, and B bosons."

And Metatron began to flip back through the pages of the Heavenly Record trying to figure out where he'd lost the thread.

And Zephaniel said, "The what bosons?"

And God said, "The W1, W2, W3, and B bosons. I'm sure I mentioned them. You know, the massless bosons?"

And Zephaniel said, "I'm pretty sure we only talked about the W+, W-, and Z0 bosons. All of which you said were going to have mass, O Owner of All Sovereignty."

And God said, "Yes, but this is how they get them, you see. Once this field acquires a nonzero value everywhere, the massless bosons interact with it and get mass. Well, some of them do. They turn into the W+, W-, and Z0 boson. And the photon."

And Zephaniel said, "…and the photon, O Accepter of Invocation?"

And God said, "Well, I did say I was going to unify the electromagnetic force and the weak interaction, didn't I? This is how. Above the critical temperature--right now I'm thinking 10^15 K, but I'm open to feedback on that one--electromagnetism and the weak force act as a single unifying force. Below that temperature, the field gets a nonzero value, you get three massive bosons to mediate the weak interaction, and the photon pops out seperately."

And Zephaniel said, "That seems… a bit overly complicated, doesn't it, O Reinstater Who Brings Back All?"

And God said, "No, it's exactly what we need. Look, that way the W and Z bosons have something to do, but the weak interaction still only travels short distances. Gravity is still the star of the show on cosmic scales, as it were. But now quarks and leptons can swap their flavor!"

And Zephaniel said, rather weakly, "Their… flavor, O Source of Good?"

And God said, "It's this new quantum number I'm trying out, to give the three generations of matter more unique identities."

And Cambiel said, "Three generations of matter? Now I'm really confused."

And God said, "I'm sure I mentioned this. You've got the lightest quarks and leptons, and then two heavier versions of each that can decay into the lighter versions."

And Cambiel said, "What do they do? New kinds of chemistry, is it?"

And God said, "Well, no. Mostly they just decay in a couple microseconds. Or even faster."

And Zephaniel began to rub his temples, and Cambiel sniffed.

And Cambiel said, "This all seems a bit ad hoc to me. Not really the stuff of an elegant and obviously ordered Creation. Why not have four generations of matter? Why not a trillion?"

And God began to grow irritable, and said, "Well, that's not really up to you, now is it? We're going to have three generations of matter, and the electroweak force, and that's that!"

And Zephaniel said, "As long as we are unifying fundamental forces, perhaps we could somehow also unify the electroweak interaction with the strong interaction, or even gravity."

And God hesitated saying, "Well, I haven't decided about that yet. I'm not sure I want gravity to be quantized, you know? Seems to take some of the geometric elegance out of general relativity."

And now it was Zephaniel's turn to sigh, and he bowed his head. "As you wish, O Possessor of Authority of Decisions and Judgement."

#if you're confused look up 2 kings 3:26-27

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 7 months ago

Text

God of Cowboys and Fools - Chapter Six

He’s feeding me, one forkful at a time. “Touch and go, a little bit,” and he sounds so sad. “I didn’t realize how unstable you were. You hid it well. I never would have just…” He stops and swallows.

I don’t want him feeling bad. He’s served me well. “You looked good with dirt on you,” I say.

He blinks. “What?”

“You bear no shame. It worked.”

He laughs softly. “You sound sure, Little John.”

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup event! Art by @futuresoon.

>>> READ ON AO3 OR BELOW <<<

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

Chapter Six

This isn’t a mine. This isn’t my horse. I don’t know where this is.

I smell something cooking, and hear the clink of dishes not far away. Above me is a simple wooden ceiling; straw peeks through, thatching it, though it is badly sealed and probably would not protect much from rain.

The room is small. One room. I lie in the sole bed; beside me, a small table. On the other side of it, Arthur Lester, wizard.

He stands at the black coal stove, doing something that smells of spices.

There is nothing else in here. It is very small. Though above me, to my left, is a single window.

Come to think of it, I don’t feel great.

The power is in me. I feel it, returning; I feel it struggling with this body, not finding the normal… the usual…

It’s like I have an enormous amount of blood but no real arteries. This feels bad. “I feel bad,” I say.

“I’m not surprised,” says Arthur, and turns around with a plate of some yellow food he brings my way. He takes the one chair and turns it so he can sit across from me. “You need to eat, John.”

Yuck. “I don’t want to eat.”

“You haven’t eaten in three days. Your body is already cannibalizing your own muscle. John. Please eat. Please.”

It’s the please that does it.

I know his please. I know it well. I’ve known it in good circumstances and bad, in times when I felt like a god, in times when I felt like a fool. I can’t remember them, the circumstances, but I remember the feeling. “Okay,” I say, because he said please, and I let him feed me.

Eggs. That’s what this is. Cooked with… with… garlic. Garlic, salt, and green chiles. Oh. so good.

I don’t want him feeling bad. He’s served me well. “You looked good with dirt on you,” I say.

He blinks. “What?”

“You bear no shame. It worked.”

He laughs softly. “You sound sure, Little John.”

“It’s true, and so I will say it.” But that isn’t quite what I mean to say. “I…”

Another bite. Patient. Watching my face. “You?”

“I think I’m dying.” I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.

“You’re not,” he says.

“I feel so terrible.”

“Partly because you haven’t eaten,” he says. “But you’re not dying now. I made sure of it.”

“How?” I say.

He hesitates.

Oh… I know that hesitation. I know it, know the way his heart races just a little, know exactly how his eyes will dart to the side, know precisely how his lips will part when he speaks. He licks his lips now, giving a glimpse of his pink tongue. “Because I gave back your—”

I fist his shirt and pull him to me for a kiss.

Didn’t think about it. Why would I? He belongs to me.

He moans against me, groans, and it is the sound of pleasure and relief. He does not pull back. He waits until I am done, until I let go, annoyed at my shaking fingers. Then he gives me a crooked smile that I know like I know my own voice. “Thug,” he says, fondly.

“That is where our mouths belong,” I tell him.

“And how do you know that, John?” he says, quietly.

This answer is so important. This answer is so important. Fuck. “I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t remember specifics. But I know. I absolutely know. I’d swear you’re mine. I’d swear…” I search my human brain. “I’d swear with my hand on a Bible that you’re mine.”

Arthur Lester cracks up. “Your hand on a Bible!”

“That’s how they do it here!” I protest.

He’s laughing so hard he has tears, and he wipes them away. “Fuck, John, what am I going to do with you?”

“Keep me with you. That’s the deal, remember?”

“That is the deal. Though we hardly designated for how long.”

That hurts my heart. My human eyes fill. “Forever. That’s how long.”

He hangs his head.

“Arthur?” I say, and I love how his name feels on my lips, know I’ve said it many, many times, but I can’t remember when.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” he whispers. “I ran so many years ago. I brought this on myself. I just can’t believe he’s gone.” And Arthur Lester, immortal wizard, is crying.

He?

But I’m he.

No. No, I can’t… I don’t want him to cry. I reach up to catch his tears, as if I can stop them from getting away.

“It’s all right.” He takes my hand and gently puts it back down again. “I’ve been on borrowed time for three hundred years, anyway. I guess this is my due.”

“I don’t understand.”

Silence.

I need to know. “Please. I don’t understand.”

Arthur sighs. “Do you hear the voice?”

I pause. Are you there?

Silence.

“No?” I say.

“I think you cut him off,” says Arthur. “You, uh. You spit something up after you fell off Boring.”

That’s a weird image. “I what?”

He holds out his hand, and in it appears a sort of light blue glowing square with… an egg in it?

“What the fuck is that?” I say.

“How he was talking to you. How, I think, he thought he was going to control you. You spit it up.”

“I spit it up?”

Arthur sighs. “The King in Yellow…”

“I am the King in Yellow.” And I pause. “But I’m also John.”

“You are.” He swallows. “The King in Yellow captured me a thousand years ago, John. I was his prisoner.”

I stare at him.

He just gives me another bite of egg.

It’s delicious egg, great stuff, but I have to chew before I can speak and that is unfair. “Why do I know you?” I say.

“We met four days ago at Jack’s Bar,” he says.

“Don’t lie to me. Why do I know you?”

He sighs, slow and heavy. “He was… making his claim. Expanding his domain. Ruling the Dreamlands, and I… I was powerful in the Dreamlands. I was nobody here, but there...” He shrugs and gives me another bite of egg.

I have a bad feeling I’m going to associate this flavor with awful stuff after this. “Why were you nobody here?”

He shrugs. “Just nobody. And not even here-here. I lived in Anglo-Saxon Britain. I was an orphan. A peasant. Nobody. But when I dreamed…” He smiles, a distant look, seeing things a thousand years ago. “When I dreamed, I was lord of Druids, lord of nature. I was a powerful sorcerer, and I could do anything I wanted.”

The Dreamlands. As he speaks, I remember the feel of them. The power. The familiarity. “Home,” I say.

“Yes, that’s your home,” he says. “Or was. But I don’t think you can go back now.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “My heart hurts. Is that normal?”

“I’m sorry, John,” says Arthur softly. “I think you were betrayed.”

Rage.

Burning.

I know. I remember. “Larson,” I say, because I suddenly fucking know.

“Easy, John,” Arthur says softly. “You’re burning our sheets, and we only have one set.”

The heat leaking from me is pure magic rage. “Fuck your sheets!” I snarl.

He touches my cheek. “It’s okay, John,” he says.

If I keep doing this, I will hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him. It’s… so hard… to calm down. But I must.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” And he gives me another bite of egg.

The way he did that, the way he calmed me… it was familiar. So familiar. “So you were a Druid. And I was taking over.”

Arthur sighs. “I stood up to you, so You took me captive. You kept me prisoner for one hundred years,” he says.

I hadn’t put it together. I am the King in Yellow. The King in Yellow held him. “Why did I do that?”

“I defied you,” he says softly. “I was raising an army to fight you. You took me to break me, to turn me into one of your fucking cultists, so I would serve you instead.”

My heart hurts again. “I would never break you.”

“You couldn’t,” he says, and gives me the final bite. “It took us a long time to come to an understanding.”

I almost remember. Almost recall. But I can’t. “An understanding?”

“You tried to break me for fifty years. It didn’t work. Then you tried to seduce me for fifty years. It didn’t work, either. But by that time, we…”

“By that time, what?” I stare.

He shrugs. “We weren’t really enemies anymore.”

This is completely outside my understanding. “How?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. We weren’t at war anymore.”

“But you were his prisoner?”

Arthur slowly sighed. “Not anymore. I spent the next six hundred years by your side, by my choice.”

My heart hurts. Why don’t I remember? “I don’t understand.”

His smile is sad and far away. “Neither did we. I don’t know, John. It wasn’t healthy. Probably. We just… ended up with the issue between us not mattering anymore. Everyone who’d fought in the war on my side was gone. Everyone on his no longer cared; he’d stopped his advance. Peace was reached twelve years into my capture.”

I stared.

“But he couldn’t just release me. He’d look weak,” Arthur said, wearing that soft smile, looking at nothing. Looking at the past. “So… I don’t really know how it happened. But when he came in every single day, first to question me, to threaten me, to promise me riches… and eventually, we ended up just talking, every day.”

“You’re nice to talk to,” I say, like I’m defending myself for not being a proper warlord, or something.

His smile is so sad. “I thought he was, too. When he wasn’t being a dick.” He rises and takes the plate away.

I wait while he washes it. Wait while he dries it. (There’s just one, I realize—one chair, one plate, one bed.) Wait while he cleans the pan, and returns to me with tea. “I don’t remember any of this,” I say. “But I feel you. I know you.”

He swallows. “I spent centuries with him, John. With…”

“With me.”

“With him. But he wouldn’t bend, in the end. He wouldn’t do what was right.”

“You left me.” It just… slips out. “You left me!”

The shame and pain on his face doesn’t fix this. “I told you I would,” he whispers.

“But you… how could you… you left.” I know I’m whining. I can’t help it. “Why?”

“Because you wouldn't bend!” Arthur Lester snarls, showing teeth (and I remember this look, and I loved getting this look from him, so alive, so fierce, so living). “You… you refused to change, refused to do… anything I asked, and I…”

I stare at him. “Are you going to leave me again?”

He hardens. “You're not him. And he’s… he’s not coming back. And I can’t leave you, remember? We have a deal.”

That’s true, and I’m able to calm a little. “What did you ask him to do?”

He looks at me. “Too much.”

The egg whispers.

We both look at it, hovering there beside us, briefly forgotten.

“He's trying to talk to you,” says Arthur. “Do you want to hear him?”

“How did he betray me?”

Arthur blinks. “You know he did, but not how?”

“I remember waking up. I remember everything since then. But before then… I remember feelings. I know you didn't come back.”

“You were supposed to come after me,” Arthur snaps.

“No, you were supposed to come back,” I say, glaring, and then I gasp. “Wait. I did. I did go after you.”

I know it’s true.

Arthur is silent for a long moment. “Did you, John?” he almost whispers, and it’s needy, and more than a little heartbroken, and his silver-blue eyes are wet. “Is that what happened here?”

“Yes. Yes, I don’t know the details, but I did. I came for you.”

He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “And they betrayed you. Yes. That tracks.” He sniffles and stands. “We need rest. This place is well-protected, but they’re coming. For both of us.”

“Who are they?”

“The King’s minions,” he says with such distaste. “The ones who kept encouraging his worst attributes. Yes-men. Sadists. Monsters, worse than he ever was.”

I swallow. “And you think yes-men betrayed me?”

He is silent for a long moment, staring at nothing. “If you left to come after me… they’d chase you down. John, how do you feel now?”

“Better.”

He peers. “You look better, too. I think you’ll be okay now.”

“How do you know?” The fear in my voice—I hate it. I hate it, but I can’t just stop it.

“Because I gave you what you need,” he whispers. “We… we made a trade. He and I. I had something from him. He had something from me. I think, judging by what I saw of the spell out there, and what you’ve said, the plan was to remove what I gave you.”

“All right.” I’m sort of following.

“Well. No matter what they do now, you’ll be okay,” he says, and looks at the opal-egg again. “This is a device that can communicate and control. It was supposed to take the place of your heart; then when you act, when you do things, you think it’s your choices and feelings, but it isn’t.”

I stare. “Why would they do this?”

“To talk to you? Control you? I don’t know.”

“I… I have a human heart.”

“Not anymore.” He takes off his long leather coat and drops it to the table, where it makes a surprisingly heavy sound.

“Not anymore!” I stare at him.

“You’re safe now, John. I… don’t mean to be rude, but I’m exhausted. Can we please sleep?”

“Sure?”

He waits.

It hits me. One bed. Not even a soft chair.

Like hell I’m making him sleep on the table. “Sure. Come on in.”

I’m… okay, fine, he’s right, I’m big, maybe bigger than I should be, but I can press up against the cool wood wall, and he can climb in front of me. On our sides, it works.

I don’t want him to fall. I put my arm around his waist.

He’s very, very still. “Sleep well, John.”

He was going to say something else. I don’t know what it was.

That’s okay. We can talk in the morning. This human body wants to sleep. I pull him closer (he grunts a little), find him comforting, and rest.

Sometime during the night, my heart burns, flame devouring, leaving instead of ash in its wake, myself.

[chapter seven] [masterpost]

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #john x arthur #malevolent madness mixup #god of cowboys and fools

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lacheri · 3 years ago

Text

good little girl

pairing: sugar daddy!Erwin x fem bodied reader

content: daddy kink, Erwin is a sugar daddy lol, oral (f and m receiving), dacryphilia, praise kink, a LOT of pet names, size kink (Erwin is an absolute unit so ofc), multiple orgasms, sex toys, creampie, dumbification, ruining kink(?), overstimulation, mild degradation, minors DNI

wc: 2.7k

a/n: hehe happy father’s day <33 shout out to my Erwin nonnie for the nonstop Erwin brain rot

“Oh, princess, you look so fucking pretty right now.”

You looked up at Erwin through thick clumpy lashes brimming with tears. You sat on aching knees on cold wooden panels, finding solace between his thick thighs. One palm faithfully jerking the base of his length, plush mouth hallowed around the head of his fat cock. Your jaw locked, your whines silenced against his flesh. He was prodding your throat, and you weren’t even halfway down his enormous girth.

“That’s it,” he grunted, scraping his large fingers along your scalp, pulling you down further. “Such a good little girl. You can take more, baby. Wanna’ feel your throat.”

His praise lit a fire in your loins, head swimming with encouragement. His palm guided your bobbing, gently holding you in place once he went the warm contraction of your gag. Your little throat couldn’t take it, and he smirked sadistically. You could try all you want, but as the fat cluster of tears rolled down your cheeks, Erwin believed this sight could get him off alone.

Your pretty makeup you spent hours on didn’t stand a fucking chance.

Lipstick smeared around the lines of your swollen lips, black eyeliner smudged the outer corners of your eyes. You had gotten all dressed up for him, gotten so dolled up for your dinner. His treat, as always. Erwin loved to spend money on you — extravagant restaurants, vacations in Dubai, Paris (wherever you desired), down to the pretty manicured nails that stroked his huge cock. He glanced down — French tips with little diamonds encrusted in the acrylic. His favorite, and he smiled. It had been his request you had gotten them done this way.

Your free hand cupped his sizable balls, rolling the heavy weight between your fingers. You inhaled through your nose, spit bubbling and spilling down your chin. Your tongue curled, licking the underside of his shaft. You felt the pulse of his thick prominent vein, throbbing. He was getting off on the fact you wouldn’t ever be able to swallow him whole.

At least, not with your mouth. Erwin’s heart and wallet voiced an entirely different fact.

“Just a bit more, sweetheart,” his demeanor threatened to crack, a whiny moan held tightly behind his teeth. “Need to see you choke.”

And choke you did. His fingers gripped your hair fiercely, yanking you down even further. Your lips met your knuckles, and the sickeningly sweet sound of your gagging met his awaiting ears. He released the whine, much deeper in timbre than originally crafted, and he watched on with an admiring gaze.

He thought you were so beautiful like this — ruined by him and him alone.

Erwin’s balls tightened in your palm, and your eyes flickered up to him once again. He snarled, “Keep giving me those eyes and I’ll fucking cum down your throat. Up, now.”

His command was received like a melody, your slurping a song as you slid your mouth off his length. Before you could collect yourself, you were ripped up by your hair, thrown onto the king sized mattress like a rag doll.

Erwin crawled over you, caging you in his colossal form. His lips burned against your neck as he dipped his head, sucking and nipping at the skin. You mewled meekly, palms shooting up to circle his strong biceps. You latched on tightly, feeling a particularly sharp sting above your collarbone. It was going to leave a mark — and God did Erwin love to see his claims in the early morning sun.

“I knew you’d look so pretty in this set,” he cooed, fingering the lacy straps of your lingerie set. “You look so gorgeous in this color, had to have it shipped all the way from Italy. Only the best for my little girl.”

“Daddy,” you cried without protest. “You spoil me too much.”

“No such thing for my angel,” Erwin smirked as he tugged the pale pink cups of the top past your breasts. He placed a gentle kiss to the top of each mound, his thumbs delicately brushing over your quickly hardening nipples, “Got a lot of money baby, just wanna’ spend it all on you.”

A thought struck Erwin then, his attention flickering to the bedside table. He reached across, pulling the drawer open with a thundering crack. He fisted the contents inside, you could hear the crumpling of something as he leaned over you.

Your eyes widened dramatically upon his fist returning — a fat wad of bills in his hold. He smirked devilishly seeing your dumbfounded expression. Unbeknownst to you, he had slipped a measly two grand in the drawer before heading out to your earlier dinner.

Erwin had every intention to put the money to use. His best investment to date, he thought with a dark chuckle.

With sturdy fingers, he took a single twenty dollar bill, and slipped it under the elastic of your top, right in the valley of your breasts, “One for how fucking incredible your tits look.”

Erwin’s tongue traveled up from the bunched lace under your right mound, swirling around your beaded skin along his journey. His head moved to the left, rolling another bill in the band, “Two for how responsive my little girl is to me.”

You whined, air eliciting goosebumps as his saliva cooled, “Erwin—“

His eyes glanced up with fury, pupils dilated, “Not my name, princess.”

“Daddy,” you corrected yourself with a shaky sigh as his lips latched on to your nipple. “Can’t take it, teasing too much.”

“I shouldn’t even give you this,” he mused with a cruel smile, tickling the wad over your stomach. “Good girls don’t get Daddy’s money.”

“I’m always good,” you pouted.

“Then stop making demands,” he growled, teeth nipping at your sensitive bud. “Don’t rush me, little girl.”

You nodded, whine caught in your throat rendering you voiceless. He brought himself up to his knees, drinking in the sight of your trembling form. He set the cash aside, palms moving your bodies so he sat perched between your thighs.

“You’re soaking through your panties, sweetheart,” he cooed with false endearment. “Do you know how much I spent on this just for you to ruin them?”

“No,” you stuttered out as he teased the edges of the lace thong by your outer lips.

“You want to know? I’ll tell you,” Erwin’s smile beamed, and your heart raced.

“Yes,” you knew this was the answer he wanted.

“You’re wearing a couple grand, baby,” he brought your knee up, leaning down and placing a sweet kiss to the bone. His other palm circled around your other leg, spreading you out wider. The material of the panties thinned, barely concealing your awaiting glistening folds. He eyed them with a hungry gaze, tongue wetting his lips, “And there’s plenty more of these sets on the way.”

Before you could speak, his face was buried into your clothed pussy. His tongue licked a thick stripe up your center, your walls fluttering around nothing. The tip swirled your aching clit through the thin lace, and Erwin inhaled deeply. Your musk greeted his hungry senses, your hips bucking into his touch, and he felt as if he was drunk off the finest of wines.

He tugged the material to the side, exposing your dripping wet core, and wrapped his lips around your clit. You let out a needy moan, fingers flying to his scalp. His hairs cling to his forehead as he devoured you, lapping away at your folds with fever. His long fingers snuck deep within your walls, clenching down on his knuckles as he pumped slowly. Curling them, he found your sweet spot, and stroked it with intention.

“Gonna’ make me cum if you keep doing that,” you panted, overwhelmed with the intense delivery of pleasure. He hadn’t even worked you up. A man on a mission blinded by lust — going for your most sensitive spots with abandon.

“You’re only cumming on my cock, baby,” Erwin pressed a kiss to your clit. “Gotta’ get you ready for me.”

He pushed all the saliva past his lips, letting a searing hot trail travel down to your hole. He scissored your hole, feeling the gush of arousal coat his fingers. He pumped them in with ferocity, letting his heavy breathing stimulate your pearl as he worked you. Not that he didn’t want to see you cum on his tongue, but that taste would be savored for the morning to soothe the damage he was about to instill pounding you into the mattress.

That thought in mind, the clenching of your velvet walls around his fingers serving as a reminder, he pulled away from you. You whined, bubbling in your abdomen leaving you needy for more. Erwin hooked your thighs around his waist, fisting his saliva coated cock in his large palm. He stroked himself a few times, his ocean blue gaze trained on your desperate expression.

With his free hand, he grabbed the wad of bills, and threw them over your body. As they collected around you, he slid his fat cock tip in you, and the wind was nearly knocked out of you.

“So big, Daddy, dunno’ if I can take it,” you cried out, gripping his biceps once more.

Erwin smirked, letting go of his member as he sunk further into your walls, “Gonna’ make it fit, princess.”

His length wasn’t even buried to the hilt before he was brushing against your cervix. He groaned, feeling you struggle to take his cock, clamping down around him. So tight, so warm, Erwin was rendered without thought as he watched more tears accumulate on your face. His jaw clenched, your cunt fluttered, and he was pulling his hips back to feel you envelop him all over again.

Because of Erwin’s tentative care before he sheathed himself inside of you, the sting of him splitting you open was bearable. Still, that didn’t prevent you from sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, or the wail you tried to suppress upon him slamming full force into you on the second thrust. Stars sparkled in your eyes, ringing in your eardrums, and when he picked up his pace — sobs wracked your ribcage like a thunderstorm.

The bills accumulated on your sides, pressed deeply into the mattress, and Erwin had never felt more prideful in his life. You looked so good covered in money, from the tips of your nails to the lingerie on your body, to the literal cash surrounding you. His little girl, his spoiled princess, and he, your willing and awestruck daddy.

Your ankles crossed around his thick waist as he pressed down, knees hooked on the outside of your thighs. His cock drove into you in wordless worship, surrendering himself over to the profuse pleasure of your gushing pussy sucking him in. He captured your slickened lips in a passionate kiss, in the process smearing even more of your lipstick.

Erwin was so deep, you felt so full, so profoundly fucked out and he had just started. In this position, you could feel his pelvic bone grind into your clit, and you dug your nails into the solid muscle of his shoulders. He hissed against your mouth, hips stuttering as his hairs stood on end. The pain edged him further, and the resounding slapping of skin silenced the ringing in your ears.

His massive balls slapped against your ass at the speed, daring to stick to your skin due to overflowing wet arousal of your cunt. It was all so sloppy, the silk bed sheets definitely ruined. It didn’t matter though, you knew Erwin would just buy another set.

“So — fucking — tight,” Erwin’s hips emphasized his words, and your eyes slammed shut. “Such a fucking slut for her Daddy, so tight every time. Just for me, all for me.”

“Yes!” a scream ripped through your larynx, sobs following afterwards. “All for you!”

“I know baby,” he cooed, pressing a chaste kiss to your damp cheeks. He licked a swift stripe, collecting your tears on his tongue. “Such a good girl, you deserve a reward.”

Without slipping out of you, he reached into the same drawer — a rustling of a heavy object. He peeled his torso upwards, silicone brushing against your clit, and a click. You jolted, strong vibrations sending pleasure flooding throughout your entire body. You gaped up at him, and Erwin let a string of curses fly past his lips as your pussy fluttered around him. In so deeply, he could feel the vibrations through your cunt, and a wave of arousal gushed around his cock.

Holding the toy there, he resumed his assault. Positioned right against your g-spot, he felt the spongy material balloon. Erwin let out a breathy chuckle — you were done for.

“Oh my God, Daddy,” you squeaked, eyes dazed and glossed over. Your orgasm on the horizon, your tongue lolling out of your mouth, you felt as if you were in Heaven, “Gonna’ cum.”

“Cum for me baby, cum for Daddy,” Erwin cooed, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, his pace never faltering.

Your cunt clamped down fiercely as your climax knocked every thought out of your brain. You spasmed uncontrollably, contractions milking Erwin for all his worth. Hearing the loud squelches of your hole clenching, it dawned on you that you were squirting. Erwin moaned loudly, feeling his calves drenched in your juices. He attempted to pull his thrusts backwards, only to be sucked right back into your heat.

“Fuck!” he snarled, cock throbbing inside your velvet walls. “You’re so fucking beautiful, need you to give me another one.”

“No!” you protested through your blinding pleasure, contractions easing up. Erwin plowed into you, desperately chasing you to your second orgasm. The vibrator did not shift, and with a quick press of a button, the vibrations only heightened, “‘Is too much, Daddy please!”

“Shut the fuck up, princess,” Erwin growled, pistoning into you at a dangerously delicious speed. Your clit ached, the vibrator licking your insides like gasoline to a fire. You shook under his hold, succumbing to Erwin’s will.

“I’m gonna’—“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence. You choked on your words, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you came once again.

Erwin’s pace halted, balls tightened and he circled the silicone vibrator around your pearl as he let out a strangled moan, “Gonna’ cum in you, sweetheart. Such a good girl, fuck—“

Thick hot ropes of his seed painted your cunt, and the entirely filled feeling stroked the flames of your own climax. You whined and trashed against him, feeling the mixed releases ooze out of your stretched hole. Erwin held the vibrator faithfully, allowing you to reach total and absolute completion as his cock throbs inside of you. Your walls breathed, consuming and restricting his girth with insatiable hunger.

It’d be a miracle if this would be your final orgasm tonight.

You panted against each other's lips, eyes peeled open and gazing at one another with pure love. Blissful, post orgasmic relief, minds numb and fuzzy and hearts warmed. With one final contraction, Erwin pulled out of your heat, feeling the spill of the caged releases against his softening cocktip.

“You did so good,” he kissed you gently, clicking and throwing the device to the side. His hands cradled your damp cheeks, rubbing soft circles in your flesh.

“Anything for you, Daddy,” you hummed, feeling the indistinct soreness graze your legs. You let them fall from his sides with a whimper, and you peppered tiny delicate kisses along his face.

Erwin leaned back to inspect the result of your fucking, having to see the state he had left you in. Your poor pussy, covered and leaking in his gooey white seed. The lace lingerie stained, utterly ruined. Still, he thought to himself, this was the best way to throw away his money.

“C’mon darling, let’s get you into the bath,” Erwin cooed, lips pressing against your damp forehead.

You hummed in response, too tired to answer.

“I’ll carry you, princess,” Erwin smoothed back the sweaty strands of hair glued to your face. “My pretty, spoiled little girl.”

#tw: daddy kink #tw: dacryphilia #tw: sugar daddy #tw: size kink #tw: dumbification #Erwin smut #erwin smith smut #aot smut #Erwin has a massive schlong and I can’t believe I wrote this #tw: overstimulation #tw: degradation #attack on Titan smut #snk smut #Erwin fanfic #erwin smith fanfic #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot fic #snk fic

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spencersawkward · 4 years ago

Text

*house call // wes (Dollface)*

ssummary: when her pet cat gives her a scare, Reader decides to call the vet to make sure everything is going to be okay.

pairing: Fem!Reader x Wes

word count: 5.4k

content warnings: discussion of cannabis/cannabis consumption, unprotected penetrative sex, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), SoftDom!Wes, breeding kink, creampie.

request: can you do a wes smutty one shot if you’re down?!

A/N: to be fair, i haven’t watched Dollface in a minute, but i’m obsessed with the domestic vibes that Matthew gives off when he plays Wes and i just thought it would be super cute. anyway, this was super fun also i wanna fuck Wes. ok enjoy!

masterlist

the absolute best part of your day is when the package arrives at your doorstep. you impulse-purchased it about two weeks ago while you were hanging out with one of your close friends, and you've been looking forward to trying it every day since.

or, really, for your cat to try it.

you've read reviews and been extremely diligent to make sure the stuff is completely safe, and everything you've seen or read was singing the praises of this cat weed (which isn't actually cannabis at all, but catnip made to look like it).

as you take the cardboard box to the kitchen table and pry open the top with the help of a Swiss army knife, you're grinning. Klimt comes scampering into the room to see what all the fuss is about, sitting at your feet with his tail curled around his legs.

"no peeking." you scold him gently. your kitten, the friendliest little rescue tabby around, simply stares blankly back. when you remove the wrapping from the glass jar and stare at it up close, you're impressed by how realistic it looks. the label shows cat-friendly ingredients only, but you unscrew the top and get a whiff of catnip.

Klimt begins to weave in between your legs, nudging them affectionately and beginning to purr. you giggle and bend down to give him a few pets. his nose twitches; he tries to sniff at the foreign object, but you put it back on the table.

"don't be greedy, babe." you scratch between his pointed ears and he lets out a whiny meow.

it's about his dinner time, and you were hoping to give him his treat tonight after he finishes his dry food. so you make yourself something simple with the leftovers in your fridge and do some more work on your laptop while you two eat together.

you've had Klimt for a while, now. you call him a kitten even though he's a full-grown cat-- he's just as playful and enthusiastic as any newborn. his eyes are the color of meadow grass, and his nose is scattered with tiny freckles. it makes him look like he's just come from digging around the backyard, but it really just adds to his charm.

not to mention his ceaselessly social tendencies: Klimt is always around when your friends come over, worming his way in between you or sitting on one of the free chair cushions to listen. you wonder if he knows what you're saying sometimes, because when you talk about the embarrassing things you've done that day or the failed interactions you've had, he always lifts his head to give you something of a judgmental stare.

once you've settled down for the evening and turned on the TV, you decide that now is the time. Klimt is aimlessly poking at a few of his toys. he bats at a fake mouse between his paws.

"kitten," you click your tongue and get up to grab the jar. "are you ready to try this stuff?"

as if he's going to answer. he hears your footsteps coming back his way and watches patiently. it's only when you pour out a little bit in front of him that he gets curious about the stuff. you admire his movements as he bends down and examines.

although you keep an eye on him while watching your show, you don't notice much of a change in him. he starts to roll about on the floor, which is to be expected, but it's only when he starts to chase around his fake mouse that things get interesting.

you laugh as Klimt goes nuts, jumping back and attacking the thing like he's ready to come in for the kill. it's really funny, but you're interrupted by your phone buzzing. you told your friend that you were doing this tonight.

"hi!" you answer the FaceTime call right away.

"how is he?" you can hear the smile in Andi's voice as you turn the camera.

"he's loving it."

"oh my god," she laughs. Klimt arches his back, leaping so highly in the air, you raise your eyebrows. "I wonder how long it'll last." she muses.

"I'm guessing we'll get about an hour more of this before he passes out for the next two days." you joke. he gets strong bursts of energy usually, but they only last so long until he's curled up on the window sill or in your bed.

Andi and you talk for a while as Klimt tires himself out and plays with all of his favorite toys. you dangle a string in front of him for a decent amount of time, too, just to make him get up on his hindquarters. he's a natural entertainer, a lithe little thing who lets out a few irritated meows to demonstrate his impertinence.

after about forty-five minutes, however, you notice your cat's behavior change. he keeps raising his hackles and rolling about, and something about it makes you nervous. he doesn't usually act like this, not even when he plays with the other catnip toys he's accumulated.

"what's wrong?" Andi notes your furrowed brow as you look past the camera of your phone and at your pet.

"he's just acting really weird," you pat the couch cushion to call him over, but he doesn't even glance up. "I don't know why."

"maybe it's the cat weed." she suggests. you purse your lips and try to think.

"yeah, but nobody in the reviews ever mentioned anything like this."

"I'm sure he's fine, Y/N."

"yeah, I know..." but you're worried. Klimt is your pal, your cuddle buddy. as he rubs his cheek against the wooden floor, you feel guilt pool in your stomach. if he's hurt because of some dumb online purchase, you're never going to forgive yourself. "I'm gonna call the vet just to be sure."

"oh, okay," she sounds surprised, but doesn't try to stop you. "let me know what they say."

"I will." you hang up the phone and stare at your companion for a few seconds. he leaps into the air and does a somersault before letting out some deeply disturbing whine that reminds you to call the vet. better safe than sorry.

...

when the doorbell rings, you're practically twiddling your thumbs anxiously. Klimt hasn't settled at all, and you haven't even bothered to change out of your lounging ensemble. you're pretty sure you look a mess, but hopefully the person won't care too much.

you don't know who to expect-- your usual vet is an older woman who is friends with your mom, but her receptionist said she was out tonight and would send over another vet to check it out.

when you swing open the door, you immediately regret the decision to stay in sweatpants.

"hi, I'm Wes." the guy gives you a friendly smile and holds up his bag. it's almost comically old-fashioned, something out of an old movie, and you half-expect him to be wearing a stethoscope around his neck.

he's gorgeous, though. definitely a good amount older than you, tall with brown curls and stubble. his features stand out to you even under the porch light, and your mouth guppies idiotically.

"hi," you manage. his eyes flicker to your hand, which is seemingly blocking him from coming inside the house, and you jolt back a little to let him in. you clear your throat. "sorry."

as he steps inside and you close the door behind him, getting one tiny moment to yourself, your eyes widen. way to make yourself look like a bumbling fool.

"I heard that there's a tabby who got into some catnip?" you catch him looking around the front of your house, eyes catching on the framed photos before finding yours again. you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, but nod confidently.

"yeah, Klimt. he should still be in the living room."

"Klimt? like the artist?" he chuckles and follows you into the rest of the home. his voice has a nice timbre to it, something low and gentle that fits well with his occupation.

"yeah, exactly." you turn to smile at him.

you hear the cat before you see him. he's climbed to the top of his cat tree and leaps down onto the ground, paws hitting the surface in a way that can't have been comfortable. he chirps and looks up at Wes, whose lips are turned up with amusement.

"are you the man of the hour?" he asks, approaching the cat. Klimt's pupils get enormous and he prepares to pounce on the newcomer.

"careful--" you start to warn him, but the cat launches himself right into Wes' arms. the vet turns to you, holding him to his chest, and grins. warmth spreads over your skin with embarrassment. "sorry."

"no need to apologize," he starts to pet Klimt, who is only slightly struggling to escape. he wants to go wild again, but Wes isn't going to let go. "they call me the Cat Wrangler at the office."

"really?" you snort. he brings your pet over to the couch and sets him on the cushions, careful to keep him in place.

"no way." he shoots you a dazzling smile. the joke makes you giggle, and you feel yourself become even more self-conscious about the outfit you're wearing. this is just your luck, having hot guys come over when you distinctly look your worst.

Wes scratches between Klimt's ears and glances up at you again. "is there any reason in particular you're worried about the catnip?"

"yeah, actually," you nod, brought back to reality. "I know it's supposed to make them more playful, but he's just been acting weird and I got worried that there was something in it that messed with his head."

"can I see the container for it?" he asks. you go to grab the jar, only to remember that it proudly announces itself as cannabis for cats. profound embarrassment causes you to hesitate with the stuff in your hands.

it's not like he's here for you to flirt with, but you're still thinking about how stupid and young you're going to look with this stuff in front of him, a hot older guy who seems to have his life under control. you peek at him once more from the kitchen, at the way he smiles and starts to talk softly to Klimt as if he were a peer.

he's kinda crazy, and it makes you smile.

"it's cat weed." you hand him the glass container, and Wes breaks into a grin as he looks at the front.

"oh my gosh, I've heard about this!" his eyes move quickly over the label. you're in shock.

"really?"

"yeah, it's hilarious. here, can you make sure our friend here doesn't move while I read the ingredients?" he gestures. the knot of anxiety within you loosens a bit. you nod obediently, going to scoop up your pet and sit him on your lap. he's still squirmy, but he doesn't look ready to attack either of you, thankfully.

"hey, you." you greet your pal affectionately. his tail is wagging impatiently while Wes kneels on the ground beside the couch. there's a silver ring on his finger, but you notice with relief that it's not on his fourth one.

when he sets the jar down on the coffee table with the kind of smile that hints at some secret amusement, you frown. "what?"

"nothing," he shakes his head. "Klimt is gonna be totally fine."

"are you sure?" you pet the feline's smooth coat.

"definitely. you know how drugs affect people differently?" he asks. you want to say no, you don't know that because why would you, but then you remember that there is quite literally a glass-blown bowl sitting on your kitchen table.

"sure." you reply honestly.

"it's the same with cats: some just feel the effects a little more." he shrugs. you think this over for a second.

"that makes sense."

"yeah, I'd estimate about an hour more of this wildcat behavior before he takes a ten-hour nap." he cracks another joke and you find yourself totally charmed by him. something about the way he talks just makes your heart beat like crazy.

"that's a relief."

he chuckles and stands up, grabbing the bag (which he never even had to use) and starting to walk out of the living room. you can smell his delicious cologne as he moves past you.

"sorry for making you come out here so late." you apologize from the couch. Wes turns to look at you with an easygoing expression. his free hand is tucked into his pocket.

"no worries. you have a lovely home." he gestures to the kitchen, and then at the bowl sitting there in the open. you have to fight the smile on your face.

"thanks." you're smirking. right before he's about to head back out, you ask a question that's been wriggling around in your mind since he arrived. "why no title?"

"you mean, like, Doctor or something?" he stops in the threshold. one hand leans against it while he answers your question. you still can't get over how tall he is.

"sure. I mean, you are a doctor, right?" it comes out more dubious than you intended, but he doesn't get offended, only smiles.

"yes, I'm a doctor. I went to Davis." he points like the school is right outside your door. you nod.

"cool."

there's a silence where you just look at each other, and you forget that you look like you just rolled out of bed. he clears his throat.

"to answer your question, I just go by Wes because you're not my patient-- Klimt is." he points to the kitten, who is now chasing his own tail like a dog. you snort at the sight.

"how humble of you."

"I know, right?" he's joking. you find yourself not wanting him to leave, even though you've really just met. he's so sweet and funny and handsome... your stomach is flipping over and over like a schoolgirl.

and it's stupid that you can't think of one plausible reason for him to stay, but every step he takes shortens your time to think. so you just blurt, instead.

"would you want a beer?"

Wes pauses and looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. "a beer?"

"yeah, I mean... you came all the way out here and I just feel bad for causing a fuss over nothing." you scramble slightly to justify your words. you don't ever drink beer-- do you even have any? god, this is embarrassing.

the vet checks the watch on his wrist, then smiles at you with a halting kind of enjoyment, before nodding. "sure."

"okay, great." you turn on your heel to hide the grin on your face. he follows you again to the kitchen area and leans against the counter while you open the fridge. the best form of flirting you can manage right now is bending over shamelessly and taking your time to poke around.

thankfully, there are three cold bottles left towards the back. you take out two and use the tool in one of your drawers to pop the tops off. he watches patiently, takes a sip when you hand the drink to him. your eyes meet.

"so, what prompted the cat weed purchase?" he starts the conversation effortlessly, and you try to keep your eyes from wandering over the shape of him. now that he's just standing in front of you, you're noticing the way his sweater sits against his frame, his long legs and the way his head rests on an elegantly-proportioned neck.

"I just saw it and thought it would be fun." you shrug honestly. he smiles.

"do you think you're gonna let him try it again another time?"

"I don't know," you cross your arms over your chest. "I'm a little nervous, but he also was having a lot of fun until I made him sit still."

"fair enough." you both turn your gazes to the cat. he's nudging a little toy ball with his nose and watching it roll across the floor. there are tiny bells inside that jingle. Wes turns back to you. "what do you do?"

"graphic designer."

"an artist." he raises his brows, impressed.

"not exactly saving animal lives, but I get by." you take another sip of your drink.

"it's not like that, mostly." he rolls his eyes playfully.

"then what's it like?"

"I just see and talk to people's pets all day. it's a pretty great job, even when it's not. you know?" he's optimistic about it. you're drawn to his positive energy, to the way he smiles when he speaks like he's preparing to deliver a witty joke.

you're hopelessly attracted to him, and the space between you is becoming unbearable. even though he's a guy you just met, you can feel in your gut that something about this is just right. you want his body against yours.

"you okay?" he breaks what you only now realize is a silence, and you blink to clear the dirty images from your mind.

"yeah." only thinking about you fucking me against a countertop. it must be the fact that you haven't gotten laid in a while or something, because you usually aren't this attracted to people within the first hour. it takes longer for you to even want to kiss them.

"what kind of stuff do you design?" he seems genuinely interested as he shifts and continues to nurse his drink.

"I work for a tech startup downtown, so it's a lot of website work to make sure it's navigable and pretty." you try to sum up your duties, but it's hard when his hazel eyes are so intent. he listens to every word.

"do you do personal work, too? like, just for you?"

"actually, yeah!" this sparks your excitement.

"can I see?" his smile widens. "only if you're comfortable, of course."

"sure." you're beaming.

he stays put as you start to go out of the kitchen, but then you smile. "you can come with."

"oh." he sets his beer down on the counter and follows you, slightly surprised. but you don't care; you were nervous before, but he's stayed for this long. maybe he wants you, too.

once you get to your bedroom, you're grateful that it's been freshly cleaned. there's even a bouquet from the flower's market sitting on your dresser, and you head over to the desk to sift through the drawers for what you want.

"cool room." he compliments from the threshold. he's careful not to make you uncomfortable, but also can't resist the curiosity that draws his gaze from wall to wall. you find the stack of papers and smile.

"thanks," you place the folder in his hands. "these are some printed versions of stuff I did last year."

Wes immediately begins to flip through the art. him seeing your stuff makes you nervous, so you pretend to focus on straightening up the few items that sit on your desk. you wipe your fingertip over a nonexistent film of dust.

"these are amazing," he says, holding a card stock copy in between his index and middle fingers. "holy shit."

"thank you." you're trying to keep from smiling too hard. you can tell that he's being genuine with his compliments, and it makes your heart swell.

"definitely. are you showing anywhere?"

"at an exhibit downtown a couple months back, but I've been so busy with work that personal stuff hasn't really been on the table, you know?"

he nods in understanding and continues to go through until the end. when he's finished, he looks up and sees you, his eyes concentrated. he doesn't speak at first, and an undercurrent ripples across the room. there are about three feet between you, and you have no excuse to lessen it.

he licks his lips slowly. you purse yours, unsure of what to say.

"I'm glad you called tonight." his voice is lower, slightly uncertain, like he's testing the boundaries. except you don't want boundaries right now. you want to go wild on him.

"me, too." you reply. it's in your eyes, that begging for him to do what you're scared to initiate.

your tongue is pressed to the back of your teeth in anticipation. and when he sets the art back on your desk and comes closer, you feel yourself give in. bubbles of excitement travel up your body as he grabs your face and bends down to kiss you.

it's full, passionate, not the kind of kiss you give someone you've just met. laced with desire and longing, you respond immediately. hands immediately run to his forearms, over his shoulders as he imposes beautifully on your form. it's so hard, you lean back slightly. your torso presses against his until he pushes you against the wall.

the slight gasp that escapes your lips causes him to smile, followed by your moan and clutching fingers. the material of his sweater, the taste of him mingled with that sophisticated, gentle smell of cologne that you want printed all over your skin.

"come here." he murmurs against your mouth and reaches down to the back of your thigh so you can hook your leg around his waist. you whine at the easy access he has to grind against your core, both of you desperate.

"Wes." you pant into his open mouth. he sucks on your bottom lip before finding your cheek and jaw. his fingertips tighten around your flesh.

"this feel good, sweetheart?" he checks in. coincidentally, his jeans grind against your panties at exactly the right spot and your hips jump. you release a pleasured yelp.

"mhmm."

"sounds like it." he latches onto your throat with a possessive excitement. you can feel him sucking and biting at the skin until you're positive there'll be marks tomorrow. you hope there are; purpled evidence of his touch. he digs his nails into your thighs. "you like it when older men touch you, baby?"

he blows over your tender throat before attacking it again. you sigh contentedly at the way he mingles sensations for your pleasure. "yes."

he grunts and nips at your collarbone, sliding the strap of your top down your shoulder so that he can effortlessly flutter his lips over the skin. you grip at him and toss your head back against the wall. his weight on yours is divine. it makes you weak, but that doesn't matter. he's practically holding you up at this point.

when his hand pushes under the hem of your shirt and dances over your stomach, you arch your back for more. he's gentle yet firm, pulling you close like he wants to breathe your oxygen. he's tracing over your ribcage, all the way up to the valley of your breasts, before cupping one and moaning into your shoulder.

he kisses you again with an aching hunger that can't be satiated. your tongues meet and Wes finds your hardened nipples beneath the thin fabric of your bralette. you sigh while he starts to circle one with his thumb.

"you're perfect." he breathes.

you want to bask in this moment, to enjoy the shock across your skin when he reaches his hand back down between your bodies to dip below the waistband of your sweatpants, but you're just so greedy. he could make you cum over and over and it would never be enough.

"what do you want me to do to you?" Wes is hovering over your lower stomach, dangerously close to where you need him most. he's teasing. the warmth of his skin drives you mad. his breath brushes over the shell of your ear.

"fuck me." it's the only response you can fathom. every other instinct in your body flies out the window and is replaced by a craving to sink your proverbial (and literal) teeth into him.

but he loves it, apparently, because he pushes you back against the wall with a nearly bruising force. "I can do that."

with those words, he quickly grabs your other leg and lifts you into his arms, bringing you to the bed and laying you delicately on the mattress while you giggle. you stare up at him with an almost daydreamy lust. his cheeks are flushed.

you only get a second of that heavenly sight, though, before he dips down and pushes your shirt up to see your tits and kiss up the chasm between your ribs. his stubble tickles your skin, which causes you to smile.

by the time he's pulled your sweatpants off and tossed them to the side, you're whining for him to strip down as well.

"what is it, pretty girl?" he murmurs against your tummy. when you try to squeeze your thighs, he pushes them apart.

"I wanna see you." your fingertips touch at his sweater. he chuckles and pulls the garment over his head. it messes up his perfect hair even more and you love it, tangling your fingers in it. he bites his lip.

"do you want me to taste you first?" he keeps stroking the inside of your thighs and staring down at the skimpy lace that you're positive that you've already soaked. you're making him crazy with the way you roll your hips against air, against nothing, seeking any kind of stimulation.

"I can't wait." you shake your head. as nice as it would be, you're going to implode if he doesn't fill you up soon. he drags his fingers down your clothed slit and groans when he feels just how ready you are for him.

"let's take these off then, okay, sweetheart?" he hooks his fingers in the panties and waits for you to nod before tugging them down your legs. you whimper at the cool air that hits your core, soaked and needy. Wes stares at your body on display for him.

as he gets back up from the floor to kiss you again, you both work to remove the rest of his clothes. his skin is perfect under your hands. his chest is warm, solid, and when he climbs on top of you, his arms rest on either side of your head.

one hand comes down to grab his own cock and stroke it a few times before lowering himself to rub it against your throbbing clit. you whimper at the pressure; he's mindless when he feels how easily you cover him in your essence.

"so fucking wet..." he groans while rutting against you.

"Wes, please--" your breath hitches. "put it in."

"begging?" he teases your entrance with the head and smirks. "good girl."

"mhmm." you're smiling, but your mouth drops open when he pushes himself inside.

it's a heavy feeling, him filling you up. he's thick and the stretching of your walls makes him groan and rest his head on your shoulder. he kisses the skin there while diving deeper into your body.

you're shaking slightly from the mixture of pain and pleasure, his size forcing your body to work quickly to accommodate. your eyes are squeezed shut, but you run your hands over his back and shoulders to stay grounded. it feels like a dream.

he starts to pull out, coated in your wetness while you whimper below him, and he grabs your face with one hand in a dominant, soft gesture. "okay?"

"yeah."

he pushes back in. the air in your lungs is practically gone at this point, he's so deep inside. your eyes roll back and push your hips up to take him at a new angle. Wes finds his pace easily, rocking into your body at a manageable pace to let you get used to the sensation.

every time his hips roll down and he buries himself in you, he presses on your clit and sends a new shock through your body. he leans on his elbows to get closer and feel every undulation of your body. you love how his thrusts force your legs apart, how he moans your name and causes the headboard to repeatedly hit the wall while maintaining eye contact. hazel irises that rake over your features with lust.

"you feel so good." he speeds up a little when he hits a certain spot. you can feel him deep and hard, causing a small bump to rise in your stomach with each stroke. his voice is husky and dark. like a man starved.

"fuck..." you drag your nails down his back. he groans at the red marks that you will no doubt leave for him.

"clingy thing, huh?" he sucks at your throat affectionately. "I come over for one thing and you can't help yourself."

hearing Wes speak through his own panting is like listening to a secret, and you never want it to stop. he's reveling in the sordid crush of his own wants, and the way he shoves into you shows you that he has no intention of slowing down for a while.

"I'm impatient." you smirk. he pulls away to admire your expression.

"so am I." he kisses your lips and starts to pound into you. the juxtaposition of his tenderness and the sharp snap of his hips to yours fills you with butterflies. you love how much he wants to ruin you.

"Wes-- oh my god!" you whimper. he grabs your hips and yanks them closer to him so he can go as deep as possible, so he can hit your cervix.

"that's right, sweetheart," he pants. you can tell that he's starting to lose control. "say my name. I want everyone to know what a good little slut you are for me."

the commanding tone makes your body shake. "I- I'm cumming, Wes, please--"

"please what, baby?" he taunts. his index finger is tracing over your jaw.

you don't know what it is that you're wanting, except more. as your form shudders and tightens, walls fluttering around his cock, you lose the capacity to speak. you grind your hips against him and cry out pathetically while he pushes you back down and slams ruthlessly into your pussy.

"cum inside-- please, I need it--" you writhe. he groans at the request.

"fuck, yes..." he sheathes himself. "take it."

you gasp as he repeatedly hits your weakest point and spills hot ropes of his cum inside you, still thrusting in and out and whimpering into your shoulder at the clenching sensation you give his cock. it's warm, strangely delightful, nearly sending you into another orgasm sheerly from the sight.

he mutters unintelligibly as he empties himself in your pussy, but you catch a growled "so needy," between deep moans. you're clinging to him like you'll never have it again. you might not.

he slows down, giving shallower thrusts while riding out his high and shoving his cum deeper inside. it turns lazy and messy, both of you panting, before he finally pulls out and rolls over next to you.

you press the back of your hand to your forehead. it's sweaty from all the work he just put you through, but you feel amazing at the same time. your eyes keep flickering from the ceiling above to his rising and falling chest beside you. his nose twitches; he turns his head to look at your face.

although you expect him to say something, he doesn't. instead, you just stare at each other. the air conditioner rattles gently in the background. you're not sure how long this lasts, this soaking in, but he's the first to break it.

"hey."

you find the corners of your lips turning up. "hi."

"do you mind if I go get something to clean you up?" he asks softly, his fingertips finding your forearm with ease and drifting over it.

"sure. bathroom is the first door on the left."

he gets up and you watch him gather his clothes, eyes glued to his perfect form. you can't believe you just had sex with your veterinarian. you don't regret it at all.

he wanders out of the room and your eyes follow, only to see Klimt sitting patiently by the door.

"what are you doing, perv?" you tease as he comes over and leaps up onto the bed. his kitten paws pad over the blankets and settle into the crook of your arm. you smile to yourself, recalling how sweet the vet was with him. "hey, Wes?" you call out.

"yeah?" he comes back into the room with a warm washcloth and a small smile on his face.

"would you wanna get coffee or something sometime?" you bite your lip. maybe he doesn't want to go on a date, but it's worth a shot.

"sure." he breaks into a grin that makes you giddy. thank god, because you really were hoping to see him again.

you can't wait.

taglist (lmk about adding/removal or add yourself to the list here!): @jareids @reidsconverse @xoxomgg @may-b-a-u-shewritestoo @la-vie-en-amour1 @g0lden-cth @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @kisseslikecoffee @spenxerslut @slutforthegubes @spookydrreid @depressedgothgrl @flipper-kisses @multixfandomwriter @willowrose99 @gingeraleluke @chasemoonlight @spencerreid9

#matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #wes x reader #wes dollface #mgg smut #mgg fluff #mgg character smut #mgg characters #dollface

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angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

Text

He’s A Keeper

Summary: Working as an artist hired by Durrell Zoo, you spend your days sketching the day to day life of the animals and the keepers. One keeper in particular catches your eye.

Pairing: AU Zookeeper Henry Cavill x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned)

Fandom: Henry Cavill

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Safe Sex/Use of Condoms, Realistic Sex/Relationship discussion, Vaginal Sex.

Typo’s are allowed to run wild and free, only the finest organic free range fuck ups for me.

I do not operate a tag list, but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites and hit ‘notifications’, you’ll get an alert every time i post something new. Back catalogue/masterlist can be found there and also on AO3

He’s A Keeper

Working the pencils over the sketchpad you quietly captured the beauty of the animals the zookeepers had nursed back to full health, the Ruffed Lemur currently hanging off the keepers arm as he spoke through the headset to the group of excited school children watching through the glass.

You’d been hired by the zoo to capture day to day life at the zoo throughout the summer season, drawing the animals and the humans, however there was one particular human you had found yourself drawn to numerous times, and that was the rather tasty zookeeper by the name of Henry. He also had one of the sexiest voices you’d ever had the pleasure to listen to, so as he explained about the Lemur’s your mind wandered, as did your gaze;

“... originally from Madagascar, and have been part of Durrell zoo since 1982 where they have been essential to the breeding program…”

Your mind fell even further into the gutter at the word ‘breeding’, your eyes raking down Henry’s body, taking in how the branded t-shirt clung to his chest before tapering down to a narrow waist where it was neatly tucked into cargo pants that did little to hide how thick his thighs were and a pert arse you could bounce a satsuma off of. Biting the end of the pencil you had all but given up drawing, only realising that the talk was over when the group of school children were being herded onto the next exhibit by their tour guide and teachers.

When the kids had disappeared you finally got back to drawing, watching as Henry finished up feeding the Lemur’s before he met your gaze and smiled at you. Tapping your pencil on the glass he frowned and shook his head, before smiling and pointing to the sign in the corner of the window that said ‘do not tap the glass’, getting closer you tried to mouth your words to him, but was surprised when his eyes went wide in almost shock, before looking down and realising you had pressed your chest to the glass, your low cut cami top helping to accentuate your cleavage. When you looked up again he was gone and you let out a sigh of disappointment, before he appeared through a door to the side of the viewing area;

“Hi” he had a smile that could charm the panties off a nun; “Did you want me?”

“God yes…” Oh fuck, did you say that out loud?; “Sorry, i mean, you’ve dropped the foam bit off your headset...”

He glanced into the enclosure just at the moment one of the larger Lemur’s picked up the small round piece of foam and staring straight at Henry, proceeded to rip it into tiny pieces.

“Furry little fucker…” he cursed under his breath before turning back to you, but before he could say anything a group of other keepers came walking in and soon you were hanging onto the periphery of their conversation where they were discussing going for drinks after work. Moving to pack your stuff up as you presumed they weren’t including you, but a call of your nickname drew your attention;

“Hey Da Vinci, you up for a few beers after work?”

You hesitated to answer, glancing at Henry who had a smile across his face and a hopeful look in his eye;

“We’re all going…”

“Ok, yeah sure, that’d be great” you agreed.

An hour later you were sitting on the wall outside the main entrance waiting for the rest of the keepers to finish their shifts, smiling as you saw them coming out of the doors, and the ensuing 10 minutes that followed as people sorted out who was driving and how many people could fit into just a couple of small cars. As spaces were allocated Henry laughed and shook his head;

“I am NOT riding five up in a Renault Clio, i’m too tall, i’ll have to fold myself in half! Where are we going anyway, i can take my bike and just walk home after”

Waiting as everyone discussed location and finished off seat allocation, they’d finally decided when Henry turned to you;

“Hey, i think the last seats are in the stoner wagon…”

“Oh…” you didn’t have anything against anyone smoking pot, but didn’t fancy being in a car you could barely see out of the windows of.

“But you can ride with me on my bike?”

Looking to where Henry was pointing, you saw a fairly large trails bike, the kind that could go 50mph over rough land and through forests;

“I… I don’t have a helmet…”

“Wait here, let me run into the locker room and grab the spare i keep here”

Everyone else pulled away as Henry ran into the zoo, and you glanced at the bike. You’d never been on a motorbike before, so this would be a first. Stowing everything loose in your backpack, you hooked it over both shoulders just as Henry reemerged from the building, swinging his keys from one finger as he came to stand in front of you;

“Hey, thanks for waiting”

“No worries! So, where are we going again?”

“The pub in Rozel does good food and pulls a great pint” he nodded to his left and you saw a row of motorbikes; “You ever ridden?”

Shaking your head you laughed; “No, never”

He carefully helped you put the helmet on, his nimble fingers helping to secure the strap beneath your chin before putting his own on and climbing onto the bike, pushing it off the kick stand and nodding for you to climb on. You tried to sit back, but he wrapped his arm behind his back and pulled you flush to his body;

“Gotta hold on tight, otherwise you’ll throw the balance off. Lean when i lean and just squeeze a bit harder if you’re scared, the ride won’t take long” he shouted over the thrum of the noisy engine idling.

The ride down to the small village of Rozel had been exhilarating, from the vibration of the motorbike between your legs to the way you were able to wrap your arms around Henry’s waist and cling to him as he hurtled around the country roads at what seemed like warp speed, when in fact it was little more than 30mph. By the time you arrived in the small fishing cove your heart was racing and you actually let out a reluctant moan at the thought of removing your arms from around Henry’s waist.

“C’mon” he grinned as he helped you off the bike; “I’ll buy you a vodka and coke to calm your nerves”

“It wasn’t nerves” you muttered to yourself, smirking as you know he heard you.

The group had managed to find a cluster of small tables chairs and benches in the corner of the pub beer garden, and as the sun had set behind the hills to the rear of the pub, the cold Atlantic sea had glowed in pale blues and pinks. You were squashed into a bench with Henry on one side and another enormous hulk of a keeper on the other, and as the temperature had dropped you’d found yourself thankful that Henry had casually rested his arm behind you so you could leech some of his warmth, but it didn’t stop a violent shiver involuntarily running up your spine.

“Cold?” Henry asked quietly, before gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close; “Any better?”

You nodded and let out a very quiet whine as you smiled at him, completely surrounded by his scent and warmth. It made your stomach do a flip and you clenched your thighs together, something that didn’t get past Henry as your leg twitched against his thigh. Before either of you could say anything an enormous bowl of cheesy fries was set down between you, your stomach growling at the aroma’s that wafted around you as it turned out someone had ordered sharing bowls for the whole table.

With the meal mostly devoured as you’d sat side by side on a small wooden bench in the pub garden, laughing as you fed each other and strings of cheese hung from your fingers. As the giggles of a joke faded away you glanced at Henry’s almost finished pint;

“Hey, you aren’t planning on riding that bike home are you?”

“Nah, i’d never drive after a pint, let alone three… my place is just behind The Navigator restaurant…” he paused; “Oh god, where are you staying, do i need to call you a taxi?”

“No no, i’m renting a studio up the hill, on the hairpin bend”

“Oh…”

It wasn’t a bad ‘oh’ and there was definitely something loaded in the subtext, so when people had started to leave and arrange ride’s back to St Helier and St Johns it felt natural for Henry to stand with his arm around your shoulders as you both waved everyone off.

“Can i walk you home?” he asked, his voice low and full of promise, and you nodded as he slid his hand into yours, leading you along the low coast road that skirted the harbour.

You hadn’t gotten far before the evening turned even better, a brief suggestion of a walk along the beach as the tide was out soon had your feet in soft sand as you were pressed to the weathered stone of the sea wall, Henry’s lips on your neck as your fingers dug into his back, his teeth nipping and biting at whatever exposed flesh he could find. You hadn’t even realised he was going lower until he was on his knees in front of you, those sea blue irises staring up at you as he pressed kisses to your legs where your shorts ended. His fingers softly rested on the button and he finally spoke, his voice low and thick with lust;

“May i?”

Nodding fervently you bit your lip as you watched him slowly unbutton you, pulling the garment down your legs until you were able to step out. Never breaking eye contact he lifted your leg and gently rested it on his shoulder, pressing open mouthed kisses up your inner thigh until his face was pressed against your panties and his wide tongue worked against the soaked cotton and lace. His finger crooked beneath them and tugged the scrap of fabric to the side, seeking out your clit before tracing down to your cunt and tenderly teasing the entrance.

“Henry… please…” you whined, desperate for more

“Don’t you worry, i’m gonna make you see stars…”

Pushing his head forwards his lips caught your clit as he slowly slid two fingers into your soaked channel. You let out a long groan at the feel of his lips and fingers finding the right spot immediately, his other hand cupping the back of your thigh before he ran it around your hip and caught your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he quickly drove you closer and closer to the edge with that added touch of intimacy. Suddenly he hummed against your clit and the world exploded, making you cum so hard you truly did see stars as a white heat bloomed in your belly and you rode Henry’s fingers until you were spent.

As you rested against the wall behind you he carefully withdrew his fingers, licking them clean as he tugged your shorts up your legs. You couldn’t help but to notice the obscene bulge in the front of his cargo pants, your hand rubbing over the smooth curve of it;

“You keep doing that and i’ll cum in my boxers… “ he panted out, his lips inches from yours; “What’s your room like?”

“Its a little summer cabin studio right at the end of the garden, away from the other holiday rentals and the main house… what about you…”

“Shared flat with two other guys from the zoo. They’re probably drinking in the lounge right now… so, your place?”

Unlocking the door you stepped inside and turned on a small lamp, standing aside so Henry could come into your small summer living space.

“Mmm nice” he nodded and looked around; “Wanna give me the tour?”

You snorted out a laugh at the formality, and held your arm out;

“Well this is the kitchen area, right next door we have the smallest shower room in Jersey, and here’s the bed” you didn’t need to take a single step for the ‘tour’, the room seeming even smaller as Henry took a single stride and wrapped his arm around your back, pulling you flush with his chest. Never breaking eye contact he gently trailed a single finger over your cheek, his thumb brushing your plump bottom lip;

“Are you going to be good for me?”

Your legs almost buckled at the deep baritone of his voice, igniting something within you that you hadn’t even known existed, eagerly nodding;

“Yes Sir”

Lowering his lips to yours he kissed you, his tongue pushing past your lips as he took control, walking the pair of you back until your legs hit the bed and you fell back onto the soft unmade covers. Covering your body with his, he quickly stripped you of your clothing, his mouth trailing behind his hands so every inch of you was gifted with a kiss.

Standing between your legs he pulled his t-shirt over his head and you couldn’t help but to moan at the sight of his body; toned and just the right amount of hair on his chest and a treasure trail on his abdomen that surely led to untold riches. Quickly sitting up your hands joined his on his button to his cargo pants;

“May i?”

Henry released his hands and nodded, watching as you carefully plucked the button before lowering the zipper painfully slowly, his boxers tented obscenely and you couldn’t help but to cup him in your palm, the searing heat of his engorged cock a welcome feel in your hands, the wide mushroom head clearly visible through the stretched fabric. Unceremoniously tugging the rest of his clothing down, you felt yourself getting wetter as his beautiful cock was finally revealed; big, thick and uncut, you had to taste him and quickly ducked your head forwards, swallowing his head between your lips as his hands flew to your hair to steady himself.

Now it was your turn to drive him crazy with your mouth, taking him as deep as you could even though it was barely half of his length, you wrapped both hands around what was left, the thick root of his shaft filling both palms. A few more pumps and he pulled his hips back with a gasp, a trail of spittle hanging from your lips to his bulbous tip;

“If you keep doing that i’m gonna cum far too soon…” he said, his voice shaking; “Lay back and let me treat you right…”

Scooting up the bed you settled against the pillows as you watched Henry shed himself of the rest of his clothing, his boots and socks hooked off, cargo pants and underwear all left in a messy pile at the side of the bed, before he crawled up the mattress like a Panther stalking its prey.

Capturing your lips for another searing kiss, you felt his hot shaft against your belly, burning against your skin and you so desperately wanted to feel him inside you. Pulling away just slightly you were already breathless;

“Just a second…” reaching for the small drawer at side of the bed you pulled out an unopened box of condoms, Henry sitting back on his knees as you ripped the box’s cellophane open with your teeth and pulled out a small foil packet, tearing it open before smoothing the latex over Henry’s shaft. Looking up to his face he wore a rather sheepish smile;

“Sorry, shoulda’ thought of that”

“S’ok, a girl’s gotta keep sharp these days…”

“Right…” he met your gaze; “But you know, if you had gotten pregnant, i would have stood by you”

“Umm thanks? But its for STD’s. I’m on the pill”

“Oh… good thinking…”

A tense pause hung over the pair of you, before you reached up and rested your hand on his chest;

“Shall we continue?”

At your words the tension in the room suddenly dissipated, Henry kissing you as he slid a hand between your bodies so he could position himself at your entrance, groaning as he pushed in slowly breaching your body. Your tight channel hugged him tight, unfamiliar with such a size splitting your walls so he paused, pressing light kisses to your face as your body grew accustomed with his size and the heavy weight of his dick in your pillowy soft embrace. Finally you moaned out his name;

“Henry… please…”

“What do you need?”

“Move… please move. Fuck me, please”

Pushing up on his forearms he started to fluidly move his hips, slow and steady, each thrust was gentle but firm, your body yielding to him as he started to increase the pace, the sound of hot bodies meeting filling the small wooden cabin as the gentle sounds of the sea not far away filled the rest of the night. Soft moans spilled from your lips at the feel of his body playing yours like a delicate instrument, waiting for the chorus and the inevitable crescendo. But he was going to play the entire symphony first, knowing how to get you to sing the high notes as the thrum of your bodies were in tune with each other completely.

With the stretch of his girth and the way the curve of it meant he was able to find your g-spot with every thrust you were fast approaching your orgasm, your body trembling as your lips found a life of their own;

“Henry… please, so good… keep doing that… oh god, i’m gonna cum…”

“That’s it, my good girl, cum on my cock, let me feel you squeezing me so tight… feel so amazing right now… that’s it, you can do it…”

With a cry you came, your legs wrapped around his waist as you pulled him deep whilst your body shook with a fierce orgasm, triggering his own as he pumped a heavy load into the condom.

Finally spent, Henry settled on top of you, his weight a heavy comfort as your sweaty bodies lay skin to skin, the gentle roughness of his chest hair against your naked breasts a tender reminder of his virility. When he started to soften he finally shifted, holding the condom at the base as he pulled out and staggered the few steps to your small bathroom;

“I’ll be back in a second, gotta sort this out…”

The door closed and you shifted on the bed, pulling the duvet back and sliding between the sheets, listening as you heard the tell tale sound of a man urinating and the high pitched, double barrelled squeak of a fart. The flush of the toilet and water running soon after meant you knew the second he would reappear, a flannel in his hand and he stopped dead, his cheeks suddenly bright crimson;

“You heard that didn’t you?”

“It's a small wooden cabin… yes i did”

“Sorry” he approached the bed and with a warm flannel he carefully cleaned between your thighs, pressing a kiss to your lips as he did. When finished he sat on the side of the bed; “Can i stay the night, or did you want me to go?”

“Have you got work tomorrow?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nope. Please, stay”

He quickly threw the flannel into the sink in the bathroom, before with a giggle climbed under the duvet and pulled you into his arms;

“So, how many more condom’s you got?”

The morning light broke softly through the trees that surrounded your cabin, your body sore but sated, knowing every bruise and ache came from soft lips, sharp teeth, or skilled fingers, apart from that one ache deep inside that you knew exactly what had caused that delicious soreness, and the owner and cause of all of it still softly slept in your bed. Climbing out you quickly used the bathroom, and as you came back into the room the artist in you couldn’t help but to admire how the dappled morning light cascaded over Henry’s body. Slipping his work t-shirt over your head you pulled your sketchbook from your backpack and settled onto the only chair in the room, quietly working carbon to paper.

Henry woke 45 minutes later, the gentle scratching of your art making him squint at the bright daylight, before laying back on the pillows with his arms spread;

“Still life class?”

Setting your sketchbook down you padded across the room and climbed onto the bed;

“Sorry, i couldn’t help myself… the way the sun was hitting the muscles of your back and shoulders, you were like an anatomy masterpiece”

With a laugh and moving much quicker than you thought he was possible of, he grabbed you by the waist and turned you, his body atop of yours;

“Well that’s enough of that, i would like to become better acquainted with your anatomy… and as we’ve both got the day off i suggest we make the most of it”

Laughing you fell into his embrace, sighing with happiness. Henry really was a keeper, as you were for sure not going to let him go.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfiction

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english8muffin · 4 years ago

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Cozy winter

Summary: going to the market, being cheeky in the parking lot and a warm cuddly morning sprinkled with some funny-business

Warning: Cute banter, smut (NSFW), fluff

Word count: Around 5300 words!

I want to open this with one of my favorite quotes ever, so if you allow me ;)

“Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.” -Kurt Vonnegut

“We need muffins.”

“We don’t NEED muffins, what we need are some fresh fruit and vegetables, ” Henry butts in. You frown and look up at him, “Oh whatever, Hen. You eat your greens, beans, potatoes and tomatoes, while I get fat by munching on some sweet, sweet, delicious chocolate muffins.”

He sends you a smirk from across the aisle. It was always fun to do mundane things, like going to get coffee together or grocery shopping, when he was home from filming. The last year you went to university it was very hard to be away from him for such a long time, especially when you still lived in Europe. You would fly over to England once in a blue moon, when Henry was in London and your schedule would allow it. Other times your relationship existed out of phone and video calls. It was a rough period, if you have to be honest. But It made the two of you closer and your bond stronger. It’s true what they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder.

You let Henry know you were going to get the ingredients for the muffins and start pushing the shopping cart in the direction of the baking supplies. As you walk back to the fresh produce section, you get distracted. So many colorful packaging was just screaming your name…

“What the- lovey! I thought you were going to get your muffin ingredients,” Henry cackles and almost doubles over seeing the now full shopping cart.

It took you a second to answer, a bit too focused on his beautiful face and the smile lines that appeared when he laughed. You quickly try to defend yourself, so he doesn’t think you have no self-control, even though, you know your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

“No! I did get them, they’re just underneath the other bags,” you trail off, eyes drifting to the floor. You sigh, “I just saw this aisle with all the snacks. These magnificent snacks. And, Hen, I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life! And, Hen-Henry! Henry, listen! Stop laughing at me! It was a moment of weakness! You can’t judge me! You don’t even know how they taste, I promise you, you will understand once you take a bite of everything!”

Henry wipes away a small tear at the corner of his eye and kisses the top of your head. You stroll around the aisles, trying to work through the rest of your grocery list, but suddenly you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hen,” you say, trying to get his attention. He gives you a hum in return, letting you know he heard you, “why on god’s green earth does my grocery list say ‘sex’?” You tilt your head up to his face, seeing a bashful grin.

You shake your head, clicking your tongue disapprovingly, “it isn’t even on top of the list! You put your oatmeal protein shake before sex, fuck, you even put curry before sex, you really need to get your priorities straight!”

After getting some more stuff, like pak choi, steak, tofu and the ingredients for Henry’s beloved curry you always make him, you walk to the register.

The petite Asian lady gives you a smile and takes a little peak at Henry, who was too busy looking at the various Chinese cough drops that are displayed in front of the counter. Her brows rise behind her thick glasses, “哇，大帅哥。你很幸运啊。” (Wow, big handsome man. You are very lucky, ah.) She says, turning back to you and winking. You can’t help but chuckle. Grinning you send her an ‘I know’-look.

Hearing your laugh, Henry looks over his shoulder with a questioning look. But you just smile and shake your head.

You two quickly get everything in the reusable shopping bags you brought with you. It was getting late and more people were getting off of work and wanted to do some last-minute grocery shopping. Henry takes both of the flower printed bags and the two of you walk to the car. It was getting colder, your breath turning into puffs of smoke. You look up at the sky glooming over you. They promised snow tonight.

Seeing Henry load the bags in the trunk, his ass proudly sticking out in the air, you give it a pinch. You just couldn’t resist. It was just there, so you better make use of the situation.

Feeling your hand touch his behind, Henry turns around, an unamused look on his face.

“Excuse me, miss. But that is mine,” he says, really playing up his posh accent. “I sure hope you disinfected those filthy little paws of yours.” He cutely scrunches his nose, doing a once over and trying so hard to keep himself from smiling, but failing miserably. He turns back around and arranges the bags in the booth so they won’t tip over.

There is a moment of silence, just the noise from cars driving up and off the parking. From the corner his eye Henry sees the stare you give him but ignores it with a small smirk.

“You know,” you begin with a cheeky undertone, making him curious, “I bet I could kick your ass,” you grin, looking at him and trying to gauge his reaction.

“What was that, doll?”

“You heard me, big lad!”

“Oh really?” He asks and looks at you, towering over you like a brick wall. His eyes glimmering with mischief. Yeah, no, this was NOT a good idea.

You squirm a little and a small nervous giggle leaves your lips.

“Yes, I can. Watch m-AHHHH! HENRY!” You squeal as he lifts you and throws you over his shoulder, fully forgetting you are in public. “Let me down, you caveman!” You laugh, slapping his left ass cheek. But he ignores your plea and just slaps your ass in return.

Wiggling a little, you challenge him, “Beat me up! Come on, do it!”

He turns his head and playfully bites the exposed skin by your hip, making you shriek like a little kid.

Henry lets out a loud belly laugh and puts you back on your feet. As soon as the tips of your Dr. Martens touch the pavement, you get pushed against the car. Trapping you between the icy cold black metal and his warm body. His arm goes around your waist and pulls you closer to his front.

“I love you.” The words are hushed but you hear them loud and clear, making a shiver go down your spine. The both of you look at each other, completely enamored and grinning like idiots. Noses and the apples of your cheeks rosy, bitten from the cold.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. His hand glides inside your coat and underneath the thick knitted jumper you finished to other day. He just needed to feel you. You lean up a little and gently push your lips to his, adoring the familiar warmth that fell over you whenever you’d kiss. Before you can come in for a second smooch, he frowns at you.

“Thought you were going to beat my ass?” He mocks, trying to imitate your accent.

Lightly tapping your finger against your chin, you pretend to be in thought.

“Well, this is much more fun.”

“Hmm, agreed,” he grins, already eyeing your red swollen lips and tilting his head towards yours.

You hear heavy footsteps coming closer, the wooden floorboards slightly creaking under the weight. It was getting dark outside, the overhead lights in the kitchen casting a homey hue down on the oak countertops. Your ‘cooking playlist’ was filling the room with some gentle tunes. You also had a ‘dancing in the kitchen playlist’ but that one was mostly used in the mornings. You hum along to the melody when stirring in the stew you were preparing for the evening, rocking your hips side to side. The stew was softly bubbling away, spreading an amazing aroma around the house.

The footsteps stop behind you. A moment later two big, sweater wrapped arms envelop around you, delicately caressing you. Henry lovingly pulls your loose braid to the side and places his head onto your shoulder, trying to get a peak at what was in front of you on the stove.

“What smells so good in here?” Just then Henry’s stomach makes a loud grumbling noise from the mouthwatering smell going on in the kitchen, you chuckle.

He had been gaming before this, you could hear the tiredness in his voice, it was a bit lower and more hoarse than normal. Whenever he was tired like this, he’d just turn into your big cuddly bear, you loved it.

Dinner was almost done. You made one of the dishes your grandma used to make for you when you were younger. You won’t lie, it was pretty difficult at first to decipher the little recipe she send you in the post, but now you knew it by heart.

“Cantonese style braised beef stew with white radish, bean curd sheets and a side of rice,” you inform him and brush your hand over his, that was placed on your stomach. Hearing that, he has to make sure he’s not drooling.

“And for dessert…” You nod your head toward the piping hot apple crumble pie currently cooling on the kitchen island. “We still have some vanilla ice cream if you want to have that with your pie. I know you want to be healthy, but I just really wanted to make a pie and this one does have filling,” you ramble, joking on the last part about the filling. He probably thought you were pestering him with his diet that most likely didn’t allow him to eat it.

You wince a bit, feeling him tense against you. “You don’t have to eat it, my love, promise!”

“No petal, you’re just… you’re just so perfect,” Henry admits, pressing a kiss just below the strap of the pistachio green apron you were wearing, nuzzling his nose in your tousled hair.

It was a gloomy Saturday morning in London. If your alarm hadn’t gone off, you wouldn’t have known it was morning already.

Yesterday after dinner, the two of you cuddled up on the sofa, under a warm blanket with Kal snuggled up on your lap. His head resting in your lap, while his tail occasionally slapped Henry in the face, making you burst out laughing and Henry almost choke on the fur. The akita would fondly press his snout deeper against you, really loving the head scratches he was receiving. Both you and Henry were fully satisfied with the tasty dinner you had paired with a glass of wine and were now cheekily flirting with each other while watching a detective movie, of which you missed the plot because you were, well, differently occupied…

Now the bedroom held a calm, soft aura, a dim light streaming in through the linen curtains. You let out a little whimper, not wanting to leave the bubble you are in and stretch out your limbs. A bit sore from sleeping in a weird angle, amongst other things. Behind you, you hear a small sound of protest and before you know it, you are engulfed by a strong arm. Henry hides his face in the side of your neck, keeping his eyes closed, groaning, clearly displeased with the fact it was morning already.

You smile, this was your favorite kind of morning. Warm and cozy in bed, cuddling with your boyfriend. You turn around, careful to not let any cold air under the duvet, your arm going around the large form beside you and curling your fingers in the mess of curly hair. Henry moaned, burying his face lower, between your breasts. Now fully content and still a bit dazed by sleep, he lets out the most awful snore. Even though he sounded like a drowning goat when he snored, you couldn’t do anything other than coo and gently scratch your fingers on his scalp, lovingly gazing at the man beside you.

“Are we going to be lazy couch potatoes today?” You chuckle, placing a kiss on his forehead, wild curls tickling your nose as you do so. Your voice was still a little raspy, but Kal apparently still heard you, and pushed open the door to come snuggle in bed with his favorite humans.

“What time is it?” Henry groans.

“Around 8.”

“We can be busy bees if you want,” Henry whispered against the swell of your breast, peppering delicate kisses on the bare skin. “Or better yet, busy bunnies.”

Kal was now situated on the end of the bed, head on his paws while the serenity of the room made him doze off. His dad on the other hand was now slowly waking up, as his hand crept lower and lower over your body. You giggled and pushed his hand away.

“There is a child present ,” you motion towards a sleeping Kal, who lays stretched out on the feathery duvet, already heading off to dreamland looking content as ever. Henry lifts his head, peering at his buddy and snorts, “he’s seen much worse, haven’t you bear?” But he doesn’t get acknowledged.

Laying his head back, he reaches up to push your hair out of your face before grabbing your cheek and pulling you down for a kiss. He places three kisses on your swollen lips, lightly sucking on the bottom one.

“May-,” you try to say something, but he just pushes his mouth harder against yours. Quickly taking the opportunity to stop you from making excuses. A hoarse chuckle rumbles from his chest, as he wraps you in his arms.

“Stop talking, woman, and kiss me back.” You let out a small moan and grip the curls you were playing with moments ago. He deepens the kiss slightly, tongue invading your mouth, surprising you. A subdued hum escapes your mouth, resulting in him grabbing the back of your neck, as the other rests on your hip. The kiss gets deeper and more passionate as the minutes go by. Getting a bit overwhelmed you pull back slowly, softy panting.

“Hmm, so sweet, darling,” he says smugly, earning a little smack to the chest as a bright blush covers your cheeks. Like it wasn’t already hard enough to resist him and stay in the warm bed all morning, he does this. Henry rolls your naked body over so you’re straddling him, a large hand wraps itself around your hair. He tugs, not too hard though, so he has more access to shower open mouthed kisses on your neck and chest. Leaving you a breathless mess on top of him. His hands trail from the top of your back to your rear, squeezing your cheeks before giving them a fast slap, making you take in a breath.

From all the shuffling, little snickers and kissing noises, Kal woke up and groaned, irritated that his humans couldn’t just hanky-panky somewhere else. With a last disapproving look, he jumps off the bed, landing with a thump. From the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor and toddling down the stairs, you look over your shoulder, duvet falling down so you sat there fully naked, much to Henry’s delight.

Then you felt it. It was normal for Henry to get hard in the morning. To be honest, he would be a bit worried if his cock wasn’t hard first thing when waking up.

Involuntarily you grind down, drawing a heavy moan from deep in his chest. Holding intense eye contact with him, you start humping over his bare front, mewling like a kitten in heat. It was embarrassing how he had you wrapped around his finger. A cheeky smile formed on his face, “look who came around.” Your body was practically begging for sex.

Pouting, you keep on moving your hips in a tantalizing slow rhythm, scratching at his hairy chest. Making sure you kept your eyes on his, he licked his three middle fingers and a second later you feel him reaching between your thighs, wiping his fingers down your slit. Tensing up a little, you try to hold back a grunt at the sensation.

“Oh darling,” he started, his voice going an octave lower, “what a mess you’ve made.”

He pulls back and observes your reaction when he pops his finger in his mouth.

“Wet and sweet, like always.”

“You are so nasty,” you whisper in total awe at what he manages to do to your body. He snickers and you quickly grab his hand, pushing it back between your thighs, “I didn’t tell you to stop, though.”

Your jaw goes slack, the moment you feel his thick fingers moving in and out of you. He was hitting just the right spot, making you groan and throw your head back. He felt like he couldn’t hold back anymore, he quickly flips you over so he’s on top of you, fully trapping you underneath his body and smashes his mouth on yours. Everything was happening so fast that you couldn’t pay attention to every incredible thing he was making you feel. Taking his cock in hand, he rubs his shaft against you, up and down, pressing it so you could feel the length. You look up at him, veins bulging in his neck, eyes dark, face already becoming flushed. God, he was so sexy. Grabbing your legs, he pushes your knees back so you were completely spread open and at his mercy.

He curses under his breath and lines himself up with you sticky center. Stifling your moans and pants, by pressing his lips to yours, when he slowly sinks his thick cock inside.

“Oh my god,” you whine, feeling him stretching your walls apart, pushing himself deeper and deeper.

“Y’feel so warm and tight, my love. M’so hard it hurts.” Henry whines against your lips, lacing his fingers in between yours. He trails kisses in your neck and under your ear, trying to get as close to you as possible. He loved feeling your body against his. Your walls were so plushy and wet for his cock, he wanted to stay buried in you forever.

“M’gonna make you feel so good, darling,” he whispers in your ear. You whine softly, getting worked up, “please.”

He smirked, obviously liking your plea.

Instead of giving you a nice, hard pounding, Henry wanted to go slow. It was still very early in the morning, the both of you still barely awake and he wanted to savor this moment with you.

“Oh, Hen-,” you pant softly, loving every bit of it. As he pushes deeper into you, you can feel his entire weight pressing down against you. The weight comforted you in a sense, like others would with a weighted blanket. He prolonged his strokes, making sure that when he slid out you could feel every centimeter of him, but then slid back in quickly.

“Fuck.” He grumbles into your neck, “feels so good, love,” he praises, nibbling on the skin under your ear, grabbing a handful of your hair pulling it back. You move you hands from his grasp and push them up his broad shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

“So good,” you moan out to him, feeling his cock nudge at the extremely sensitive spot deep inside your core. He lifts his head to look at you, seeing your mouth formed into the letter ‘o’, head tilted back into the cloud-like pillow and eyes screwed shut. A string of desperate moans falls from your lips.

This was what he loved, seeing his love, his girl react to the way he was pleasuring her. Just looking at you in this state made his orgasm coil up in the pit of his tummy. He never would have dreamed that another person could give him this feeling, the feeling of utter bliss when you were together. The unconditional love he felt for you was indescribable.

Henry continues to thrust into you and attaches his lips to yours, feeling you squeeze around him. You manage to spread your legs even wider and wrap them securely around his slim waist, digging your heels just above the globes of his perfectly sculpted ass.

He was aiming his stokes into the deepest part of you and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release.

“Fuck,” you whimper out to him, digging your nails into the skin of his back. He knew you were about to cum. You let out another loud moan.

“Come on, petal. Cum f’me,” he pants, trying to coax you. Hearing the almost desperate tone in his voice, combined with the sound of him slapping his hips to yours and the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you was becoming overwhelming.

“Oh my god!” A loud moan ripples through you, the feeling of your release coming near.

“Almost, my love,” he moans, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He inhales sharply, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you up, quickly pounding into you. Completely losing control, trying to get deeper as if that was possible and lets his forehead rest against yours. With one last push of his hips, you get to your breaking point and cum, screaming. Henry feels your walls clamp around him and let’s go, fully satisfied. The noise he made was an orgasm on its own. He keeps himself against you when he lets go inside of you. You could feel Henry’s cum filling you as you slowly come down from your high. You feel his cum dripping out of you, almost proud of what you made him do.

He is about to roll off of you to cuddle up beside you, but you stop him by tightening your legs around him. “Please stay like this,” you whisper, your brain still a bit muddled by the amazing orgasm you just had seconds ago. He smiles down at you.

“Don’t be a silly goose,” he kisses your nose, “I would crush you,” Henry says endeared with a cheeky grin and pulls you into his side. You feel warm and safe. You yawn, blinking away when your eyes become watery.

“I can’t move,” biting your bottom lip, you snuggle closer to him, “and my throat hurts like hell.”

Henry lowers his hand to your ass and gives it a firm squeeze, “I’m not surprised. Oh doll, the sounds you were making,” he bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes.

You laugh and roll your eyes. Henry nipped at your neck, making you erupt into a fit giggles. He chuckles, leaving a kiss on the spot he had just bitten.

Henry trails his hands up and down your back. You closed your eyes and tangle your leg in between his, really liking the feeling. His chest was heavenly and just being in his arms felt amazing. He almost lulled you back to sleep the moment he began to run his fingers through your hair.

“That good, huh? Almost fucked you back to sleep,” he chuckles.

“It was alright, I guess,” you tease him. He raises his eyebrows, eyes twinkling with joy.

“How would you rate the experience?”

Tilting your head to look up at him, “Hmm, ten I guess.”

He looked very pleased with that.

“Out of twenty,” you finish.

“OUT OF TWENTY?” He sobered up, staring at your face with a shocked expression.

You snicker, climbing into his lap, “No, honey, I was just joking, I’m sorry.” A big pout forming on your face, making you look oh so innocent.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to put you up on all fours and take you like that, don’t tempt me,” he says, shaking his head. Wiggling your brows you grin and kiss the dimple on his chin.

“As much as I would enjoy that, I think Kal has to go potty and we have to eat.”

After some hushed pillow talk and hoarse giggles between the silky sheets, you two decide to move downstairs and start making some fresh coffee. When you lift your body out of the bed, a light throbbing shoots between your legs. You almost fall back into the mattress, making Henry roar with laughter. You end up getting a piggy back ride down the stairs, only wearing a v-neck shirt from Henry that fell just below the curve of your ass and showed plenty of cleavage. Your lilac panties were fully on display and your almost black hair looked like a lion’s main on top of your head, but you didn’t care.

The both of you were still in that bubbly, fulfilled state of mind, looking like two drugged out kids, wearing blissful smiles. When you got to the kitchen, Kal bounded around the corner, coming from the sitting area, his tail wildly sweeping through the air. Eyes sparkling with happiness when he saw his parents finally had left the bed.

“早上，宝宝” (morning, baby) You greet him, still on Henry’s back. Kal gives you a high “woof” as to say good morning back. After living with Henry and Kal for around eight months now, the akita started to pick up on a few Chinese phrases. He even decided the pet name ‘宝宝’ (bao bao), which means baby or darling, was only to be applied on him and nobody else.

Every time you would video call with your Chinese speaking friends, and they talked about or to their children, Kal would cheerfully patter over, thinking they were cooing at him instead of the small infant in the background. But you thought it was the sweetest thing ever, he was your little fur baby after all.

“I’m going to make us some omelets, is that alright with you, darling,” Henry asked, already opening the fridge and looking for the carton of eggs.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you call out to him. You give Kal his breakfast and receive many, wet kisses in return. Shuffling back over to your boyfriend, you lean against the dark green counter with its wooden countertops, and look at him carefully chopping up some bell peppers and onion, only wearing his joggers and a tank top. You were a lucky girl, and you knew it. Henry sends you a grin and winks before turning back to cutting the vegetables.

You begin to brew some fresh coffee for Henry, and put on the kettle for your morning tea. While he was finishing up breakfast, you start to read the newspaper to him. He absolutely adored it when you’d read to him, due to your accent becoming more noticeable. Kal came over to you, stuffing his wet nose against the hand you held out to him. “You’re such a good boy, Kal. Yes, you are,” you tell him in a baby voice, “you’re my little angel aren’t you? 我的小天使”

You clean the table, after eating your breakfast and get ready for the day. Henry was already out to go on a walk with Kal. It did indeed snow last night and everything outside was hidden underneath a thin sheet of white snow, so you made sure Henry was wrapped up in a thick scarf you made him and a black beanie. After giving you a kiss as if he was off to fight in a war, he and Kal happily walked through the front door, into the freezing cold. Him whistling and Kal buzzing with excitement.

Brushing your teeth and doing your makeup, you dance through the bathroom, in a good mood. You grab your phone that was propped up against the mirror, planning to put on the podcast you had been enjoying lately. You freeze seeing all the notifications, not having heard your phone due to it being on ‘quiet’. You swallow.

Oh shit.

There you were, plastered on the internet for everyone to see and laugh at. You and Henry making out on the parking lot of the Chinese supermarket. Was he going to be angry with you? It was your fault for teasing him after all. Oh no no no…

‘Henry Cavill and girlfriend were spotted having a steamy make out session outside local grocery store’

The headline read, making your face as red as a tomato. Trying to fight against it, you couldn’t hold yourself from reading the next paragraph.

Being in the middle of winter, doesn’t stop these two lovebirds from having a heated make out session in a parking lot!

Yesterday early in the evening, Witcher-superstar Henry Cavill was spotted with (to some) much younger girlfriend, designer, Y/N Y/L/N. The two have recently confirmed their relationship with an Instagram post from Cavill, showing a candid of Y/N, with the short caption ‘My sunshine enjoying the sun shine’. Last month Vogue came out with a video featuring Y/L/N in which Cavill and his dog Kal made an appearance, making fans go wild. It seems like the two really are living the life and we are excited to see more of them together!

Want to know more about the stars? Subscribe to STAR NEWS!

This was it. You could already hear your sweet grandma, praying to the ancestors to forgive you for your sins, lighting all the incense she could find. You were a disgrace to the family now. It wasn’t that you were ashamed or felt bad about doing it, hell, everybody in the position would gladly sit on Henry’s shoulders and stick their tongue down his throat. You were just disappointed you got caught.

From downstairs you hear the door close with a loud thump and the pitter-patter from Kal’s nails on the hardwood floor, letting you know your two boys were back home. You nervously descend the flight of stairs, holding your head low and tightly clutching your phone in hand.

“Hey, lovey! you really missed something, Kal and I could practically ice skate over the walking trails, it was so much fun!” Henry says enthusiastically as he hears you wander into the living room. You ignore him and plop down on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

A frown makes its way onto his face.

“What are you sorry for, sweet girl?” His eyes hold a concerned look, not understanding what you were talking about. You huff out a breath and hand him your phone so he could see the article.

A roaring laugh sounds through the open space, making your head shoot up. “Yeah, I saw it this morning when I went and checked my Instagram,” he chuckles, face still rosy from going outside.

“We really gave the paparazzi a field day, didn’t we?” He continues.

“Your ass looks great in this pic, though. Look,” pointing to the one were he had you lifted over his shoulder, but softens his voice when he sees how tense you were.

“Aw, doll, loosen up, I’m not mad or anything, if that’s what you think. I’m rather pleased now that everybody can see how happy we are and how much joy you bring me,” he lets you know nonchalantly, pressing a smooch to your forehead and starts to march towards the kitchen.

“You want another cuppa, lovey?”

And just like that, you were back in your good mood, perplexed at how well he took all of this.

Don’t be a silent reader! Show some love by reblogging and commenting, did it make you laugh, scream, smile? Let me know, it would make my day!

Much love, Nahmi xxx

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

Text

Maybe Baby Retreat

➜ Words: 12.7k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut

➜ Summary: In an attempt to conceive, Taehyung discovers a five day retreat dedicated to help with the impregnation process but you're fairly certain that the entire thing is a scam.

[Day One] Taehyung should be fucking you. It’s a bit crass to be grumbling that he’s not sticking his sperm in you, but your fertile window begins today and if he really wants a kid as much as he says he does, you wouldn’t be on a godforsaken bus. The yellow school bus jumps and jolts as it goes down the jagged, unpaved road. Every bump is felt in the back by ten folds as you’re rocked from side to side on the seat and not on your husband’s dick. Said man is too busy singing along with the guide that’s living it up with a mic in hand and his voice on the intercom. He’s trying to bring up the morale, but you’re not having it. Instead, you turn to the window and stare out at the empty countryside that stretches across the horizon. There’s not a car in sight and if you swear to god if you’re being shipped to a serial killer’s farmhouse, you’re dragging Taehyung down to hell with you. “You’re frowning, sweetheart,” he says while leaning over to you, flashing a blazing grin much to your chagrin. “You know stress isn’t good for the baby.” “It’s not like it matters. There is no baby.” “Not yet.” Taehyung throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you scoff. You’re aware being a Debbie Downer isn’t going to help anyone but it’s hard to loosen up when you’re so on guard and skeptical about this whole thing. When you’re surrounded by noisy strangers who are all too overfamiliar. You suppose it was your fault to begin with. All those nights of staying up to read about tricks and tips of conceiving led Taehyung to discover the Baby Retreat. A five day sanctuary that ensures people will be able to conceive. The moment you saw it, you were certain that the whole thing was a scam, but your sweet summer child husband was wholly convinced and no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change his mind. “Who knows, it might actually work, right?! And if it doesn’t, then it looks fun anyway! When was the last time we had a vacation together?” It’s also your fault for being so soft. You couldn’t shut Taehyung down when he was so enthusiastic, so here you are. You took off a week off work and on your fertile day, you’re shipped onto a school bus out into the middle of nowhere. “Oh! Looks like we’re here, folks!” The vehicle slows as it turns into the gravel parking lot and the guide smiles as he peers out the windshield. “Welcome to the Baby Retreat! I hope you leave with a few buns in the oven! And if not, then don’t worry, you can still eat for two here!” There’s a few snickers and once the bus parks, everyone gets up, slowly shuffling out and stretching their legs. The air is sweltering hot and the sun beams down onto the back of your neck, making it uncomfortable to breathe. You’re panting with sweat built on your hairline as you drag your luggage through the grass. But no one seems bothered by it. Maybe because they’re excited that they’re here, they have the energy to fill the field with their chatter. Even Taehyung is grinning and he’s a certified whiner when it comes to hot weather. The guy blasts the air conditioner during summer until it feels like it’s winter. Though you have an inkling it’s just a tactic so you can cuddle up to him for warmth before bed. “Come on, slowpoke!” Taehyung breaks through your train of thought and then abandons you by running ahead like a hyperactive five year old. “I’d be faster if you helped me!” Taehyung doesn’t hear you. You wonder if you married a child — but you suppose that’s why you called him the light of your life during your vows. Like Yoongi once said at the dinner reception, Taehyung’s excessive energy is indeed a double-edged sword. You follow the stream of people to the center building, a modern wooden structure in the middle of the fifteen yurts that form a circle. It surprisingly looks alike to the advertisements, each with a porch and steps up to the door. The grass is verdant and pliant beneath your feet, the numerous trimmed trees around providing some nice shade and the flower beds give bright splashes of colour to the place. If this retreat wasn’t oddly centered around impregnation, you would’ve been convinced that it was a fancy camping resort. “Welcome everyone! Welcome to the Baby Retreat! I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad!” You finally join Taehyung’s side and look towards the stage in front of the main building. There’s a man with a half-moon smile and chubby cheeks in a loose tunic and taupe pants. He stands next to a woman in a baggy poncho holding a ukulele for reasons beyond you. “I see some familiar faces here! To all those already familiar with the Baby Retreat, welcome home. I’ll try to keep this short and simple, so you’re not too bored.” He claps his hands together with a bright smile. You look around at the crowd to see elated expressions. “My name is Park Jimin and this is my girlfriend, Song Hyunjin. A little about us, we’ve been together for over ten years and yes, we have an open relationship with each other, but that does not mean we aren’t in love with each other.” He draws her in, nuzzling into her without shame and she giggles. “To our new faces, trust me, you’ll find out soon enough.” Jimin pulls away with an enormous grin. “We haven’t had any children ourselves, but don’t worry. We’re reproductive endocrinologists with proper training and medical degrees. But we started this retreat four years ago to take a more unconventional approach to reproduction. And for the next five days, we have the honour of hopefully helping you ladies conceive and you males impregnate your partner!” There’s some exchanged smiles and Taehyung looks at you with hopeful eyes. It feels better to hear these people aren’t uneducated and talking out of their ass, but you’re still unsure how to feel. Hyunjin laughs. “Not only that, our goal is to help you relax and truly deepen your relationship with your partner. While we can’t promise a hundred percent success rate, hopefully you’ll leave this place feeling more refreshed than you did before. With that being said, please feel free to come up and ask us any questions. We’re very open people who are more than happy to help you in your process of expanding your wonderful families. There is nothing more beautiful than pregnancy and birth.” She jumps off the stage and grabs a wooden crate. With a smile, she begins passing out packs. Jimin continues, “For the next five days, we’ll be helping everyone improve their diets and exercise habits while getting plenty of vitamin D. What my lovely Hyunjin is handing out now are your survival kits!” “For men, fenugreek supplements are given to improve your sperm counts and for the ladies, there are prenatal vitamins and folic acid. There’s also a guide to the activities provided around here and a map, some sunscreen and other knick-knacks to remember your time here. Don’t worry, we won’t bombard you with any pregnancy pamphlets or information. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about that.” It’s a bit refreshing to hear. You’ve been neck deep in research about conception that it’s been hard lately — another reason that you agreed to Taehyung’s whims. “Are you the Kim family?” Hyunjin asks and when you confirm it, she hands both you and Taehyung cute pouches. You reluctantly take it, but when you thank her, she happily smiles. “Welcome to the Baby Retreat.” The introduction drags on for a bit more before Hyunjin admits that it’s hot and that everyone’s probably tired, so the meeting ends and you open your pouch and find information on your yurt. “Not too bad, right?” Taehyung can tell by the look on your face as you gaze up at your white-tented yurt. “We’ll see,” you mumble and he takes the luggage, following behind you. “I thought we were going to spend five days in an orange tent, so I guess this is better by default.” “An orange tent?” He laughs. “But I showed you the commercial! Did you not pay attention?” “People lie on advertisements all the time, Tae.” But to your surprise, the interior of the yurt is even better than expected. It looks like a cozy cabin, wooden panel walls that separate the full kitchen from the full bathroom and provides some privacy to where the queen sized bed is. Light comes in from the top, filling the space with luminescence. There’s a mini-fridge filled with goods, plush towels set on the table with a personalized welcome card, down duvets that are soft to the touch. And it’s wrecked the moment Taehyung jumps on the bed with his arms and legs wide open like a starfish. He rolls over and props his head up with his hand — in the position where he often asks you in a breathy voice to paint him like one of your french girls. And he uses the same voice on you now while wiggling his brows, “Wanna ruin the sheets with me?” You burst out laughing, but it sounds all too tempting. He could probably dump a load in you within five minutes, though you’re not sure if anyone could hear you from the outside. “Didn’t they say there’s planned activities in an hour? What if we don’t show up.” “It’s fine. People come here for one reason anyway.” There’s a pause. “To fuck.” You roll your eyes, setting your suitcase next to the bed and you look at the nightstand to notice mineral oil lubricants. You’re mildly impressed at the details. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” “They won’t miss us.” Taehyung’s own attention is taken to a wooden basket on a shelf of the irregular shaped bookshelf and he comes over, only to grin when he sees what’s inside. “Honey. I think we should have some fun tonight.” You turn around, wondering what he’s up to now. But any snarky remarks die on your tongue when you find a leather whip in his left hand and a ten inch, neon pink dildo in his other hand. “Is that...even sanitary?!” You can’t imagine how many people have used it. “We can find out.” Taehyung fiddles around with it, pushes a button and the dildo begins to rotate, making the both of you laugh. “Honey, we gotta give them five stars on Yelp! They have a communal sex toy bin for us to use! We can’t get this anywhere else.” “Oh god. I’d rather not share my sex toys with anyone.” The two of you are interrupted by muffled folk music that begins to leak inside and it persuades you to go out. “C’mon, we should go check out what they have. If we have to spend five days here, we might as well meet some other people too and be social or whatever.” Taehyung grins, tossing the dildo back into the basket and joining your side. “You’re liking this place, aren’t you?” “No. I just think the yurt’s half-decent.” Taehyung can see right through you, but it’s a bit too early for the ‘told you so’ spiel so he holds back and the both of you step outside of the yurt. There’s a few people hanging around and the weather is more bearable as the sun slowly begins moving and setting over the horizon. You meet friendly newlyweds who are surprisingly having their honeymoon here. “We just can’t wait to have kids,” Rose, the young twenty three year old, says as she embraces her husband, Hoseok. They’re no strangers to publish displays of affection, openly kissing up on each other. It would make you a bit uncomfortable if not for how touchy Taehyung is as well. When you first got together all those years ago, your friends teased you about it but it’s been years since. No one’s a stranger to how you plop yourself down on Taehyung’s lap or how he might kiss you and then steal your food right off of your own plate. “When we saw that the retreat offered a honeymoon package, we just couldn’t resist,” Hoseok says, but you’re not sure if he’s talking to you and Taehyung or his wife with how much he gazes at her. It’s a sweet sight though. You remember that honeymoon period. “Remember when we were that young?” you ask as you leave to the other side, giving the couple some much needed privacy. It was obvious they weren’t up for more conversation with the way they’re shifting and staring at one another. “When you were still hot? Yeah. I do—” Taehyung bursts out laughing when you jab him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You’re still hot, okay? The hottest chick here and you’d make the hottest MILF too.” “Damn straight.” The pair of you also run into another couple that’s older and appears a lot more comfortable with the place. “Oh, this is actually our second time here! The first time gave us the four year old troublemaker running amok back at home.” You blink in surprise, suddenly more interested in the conversation. “This place...worked for you?” “It sure did.” The woman, Dahyun, smiles. “Some people didn’t have as much luck as we did, but we had so much fun last time that we knew we just had to come back. We were actually staying in your yurt last time.” She points and you swivel your head over, intrigued. “Huh.” Taehyung raises a brow, noticing how engaged you are and the corner of his mouth tugs. Her husband, Seokjin, chuckles heartily. “We thought it was time to give our son a younger brother, so here we are! Tonight’s the welcome party and just a word of advice, I really recommend getting some of that grilled salmon. It’s absolutely delicious.” “Just let them eat whatever they want, Jin,” his wife sighs in exasperation. “I’m just saying! I would’ve liked to know last time — I would’ve gotten two plates before they ran out.” “This is why the doctor told you to eat less of everything. You ate more than I did when I was pregnant with Youngjae.” “I can’t help that I’m eating for three! For your information, I’m carrying the entire family on these broad, broad shoulders of mine. Soon, I’ll have to start eating for four.” Dahyun turns to you and Taehyung who are amused at their bickering. “I’m sorry. Please ignore him.” It’s not a bad place, at least not so far. You weren’t sure what you were anticipating, but on the entire way here, you were worried that it was a scam your poor husband fell for. Luckily though, it seemed like the accommodation is good and the people around are friendly and welcoming, coming from different kinds of backgrounds and walks of life. It makes you feel better about not having internet connection or being murdered in the middle of the night. The welcoming party turns out to be fairly nice too, and like Seokjin said, the food is delicious. It’s a buffet style with tables set out, full of what Jimin declares is antioxidant-rich foods. He and Hyunjin go on a tangent about the benefits, how soy and estrogen foods have been limited, how there’s an emphasis on fruits, vegetables, carbohydrates, proteins and folic acid, and you’re sorely impressed at the attention to detail they provide. “Oh my god. The salmon is amazing and have you tried these beans, Tae?!” Taehyung laughs as he watches you eat, eyes lifted to look at you across the rounded table. “I thought you hated beans.” “I do. But try it.” You lift your fork and he happily leans over, taking a bite. He swallows it down and smiles at how you stuff your cheeks. After dinner, the pair of you gather with the rest to watch a few performances held on the main stage. Jimin introduces other staff members who sing, dance and Hyunjin even does a number with her ukulele, belting out some indie songs while standing bare feet. It’s bizarre and a bit surreal to be sitting back in a lawn chair and watching some chick with flowers in her hair jump around and try to entertain you, but it’s not completely unwelcome. If anything, you were sort of having fun. The sun had set, making the weather milder. The breeze was warm against your cheeks and the fairy lights strung above were twinkling. The whole atmosphere lulled you and with your head leaning on Taehyung’s shoulder, every blink became heavier and heavier. “This is nice,” you mutter and he catches it. Your husband turns his head with a tiny smile. “Yeah?” “Mhmh...” You feel a wet kiss being planted at the top of your head and you decide to indulge, closing your eyes for just a moment. But the next time they open, you realize that the crowd has thinned, they’ve put on music on the stereo and Taehyung’s windbreaker is draped on top of you as a makeshift blanket. “Hey there, sleepy head.” He grins at you when he notices your lashes fluttering. “Want me to carry you back to the yurt?” “I’m fine.” It takes a second to get up and you stretch your arms out before the both of you make your way back to the yurt. There were a few younger couples lingering around and still taking in the scenery, but the years were catching up to you quickly and all you wanted was to dive into the sheets and satiate the rest of your sleepiness. “How long was I out for?” “About half an hour?” Taehyung fishes for the key and opens the door. “I didn’t even realize I was so tired.” You manage to kick off your shoes and beeline to the bathroom to brush your teeth. “Of course, you were tired. You didn’t even sleep on the bus and for the past few days you’ve been up late doing research.” You mumble incoherently, not having enough energy to argue with Taehyung and he grins, nudging you aside so he can grab his own toothbrush. In the next ten minutes, it’s lights out. You’re rolled onto the bed, tucked into the warm sheets like a burrito, and Taehyung’s settled in as well. You hear his exhale and you allow your muscles to relax in the comfortable darkness. The exhaustion that’s been built from the entire day washes over you. But before you can drift off, in the quietness of the room, you remember. And you reach out, arm stretched, feeling for your husband. Taehyung hums when you tap his shoulder. You feel him shift and mumble, “What’s wrong?” “I’m fertile,” you mutter with your eyes closed. “You need to stick your dick in me.” He bursts out laughing and his arm slings over your abdomen. “It’s okay if we don’t have sex tonight, you know.” You sigh, too fatigued to get up and do the job yourself. “We’re gonna miss our opportunity, Tae.” A soft kiss is pressed to your temple, and you feel yourself losing the fight to keep your consciousness. “We’ll have other chances. Relax.” “Relaxing….isn't gonna give us a baby.” “No, but it will keep my current baby sane.” After being together for so many years, Taehyung knows how to make his words sound sweet and enticing. And before you can even damn him for always catering to you and babying you, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

[Day Two] Breakfast is as incredible as dinner was. There’s a full fruit platter that’s apparently all organic and a number of carbohydrates to fill yourself all the way to lunch. But you begin to regret eating so much with the scheduled activity that follows. “Couples yoga is a way to build intimacy and trust with your partner.” Hyunjin and Jimin smile brilliantly and you wonder if they’re happy go lucky all the time. It must be fucking exhausting. “Taehyung.” You nudge the man beside you who’s intently listening and he turns his head. “You know I’m not flexible at all.” “Don’t worry.” He flashes a blazing grin. It’s way too early for this. “This is just for fun and I’ll catch you if anything.” “No. Last time I tried doing yoga, I pulled a muscle in my thigh—” “Oh look. They’re doing the first pose!” Your husband excitedly lugs you down and you’re forced to comply, crossing your legs and facing him. It’s simple at first. There are basic poses with him leaning against you. Although it is hard to find a good balance considering how tall Taehyung is and even for being lanky, he’s quite a bit stronger than you are. But when Hyunjin and Jimin begin to twist themselves around and Jimin holds her up by the feet with a single hand, you know it’s impossible. Unlike Taehyung, you never did cheerleading or any acrobatics. “You’re going to drop me or I’m going to snap your spine, Tae!” “Don’t you trust me?” You look at your half-monkey, half-clown of a husband. “Do you really want to know the truth?” The both of you collapse into a heaping mess before he can confirm or deny. He laughs and starts tickling you for not being able to listen until you’re begging him to stop before you look more like an idiot than you already do. There’s a few couples who do a good job and you giggle when Taehyung mutters passive aggressive comments on how they’re teacher’s pets or that their form is awful. But there’s the fair share of other pairs who do as bad as you, namely Seokjin and Dahyun, the old couple from last night, bickering at being unable to do any poses. You can’t say that couple’s yoga is particularly relaxing, but it’s silly and you find yourself having fun. Hyunjin leads the cool down exercise and Taehyung nearly whacks you in the head with how he stretches. Your glare gains his exaggerated pout then cheesy smile. “Now as the very last cool down exercise, we’re going to take our partners by the hand.” You mimic her and clasp Taehyung’s hands, awaiting further instructions. “And we’re going to gaze into their eyes.” What? “Focus into the colour of their irises, how brown or blue or green they might be, or even the pattern of them. Sometimes we don’t truly look at one another like we should.” “What are they even saying?” you mutter and the corner of Taehyung’s mouth twitches. In spite of how bizarre it is, you follow and stare into Taehyung’s rounded eyes. They’re brown. Like they’ve always been. But you must admit, when the morning sunlight catches his irises at particular angles, the colour is a lighter shade than usual. They’re quite bright too. “They say if we gaze into the eyes of someone we love, our heartbeat synchronizes together.” What? Your brows furrow skeptically and you’re about to turn away, but suddenly Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin. “Don’t look away,” he commands with an authoritative voice and you swallow hard. “Okay.” You focus your eyes to enlarge and focus. “I’m looking.” You wonder if this is a staring contest, but even with his wolfish smile and being married for so long, Taehyung’s intent stare starts to make you feel vulnerable. You wonder if he’s always looked at you so affectionately. More importantly, you realize that even with all his dumb antics — like deciding to paint the fence green and then stopping halfway or ripping out the cabinets in the kitchen and never replacing them like he intended — you still love this sweet and kind dummy. “Alright. Everyone can relax now,” Jimin announces softly as he claps and you finally blink a few times, eyes stinging from how you forced them open. “That’s the end of this session. Thank you for joining everyone.” Yet, Taehyung holds your gaze a moment longer. And before you can pipe up and tell him it’s over, the man leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. He smiles when he pulls away. “As much as sweat is a good look on you, I think it’s time to shower, Mrs. Kim.” You scoff and he holds your hand with an enormous grin, dragging you back to the yurt. The two of you hop into the shower together, a habit that Taehyung insists is to save water for the good of the environment, but you swear half the time, you end up wasting more than if either of you do it separately. You’re sure that right now is one of those times. “Hey.” You turn around as he’s lathering up his shampoo. “Hey, yourself.” He smiles and shifts towards the stream of water before screaming at how hot it is. Taehyung quickly adjusts it, dissipating the fog on the glass. “Why do you like bathing in molten lava, woman?” “You always make it too cold.” You scoff, but don’t dwell on the argument as you lean into his backside. “Listen, should we get a quickie in?” Taehyung frees himself of the soap and looks at you. “If we do, we’ll miss lunch and then the hike.” “We’re going on a hike?!” “Yep, so hurry up cause if we don’t get lunch, we’re not gonna make it!” He gets out of the shower, leaving you to be bludgeoned by the ice, cold water. You sigh in exasperation. The purpose of coming here is to conceive, not go on a hike. But with how enthused he is, you begrudgingly join. Afternoons are the worst out here. The sun is sweltering and there isn’t an ounce of a breeze or a wind. As a result, the heat stifles and lingers without dissipating, causing sweat to dampen your clothing and stick to the back of your neck. The weather exhausts you and you feel your creamy lunch pasta up your throat again as you lug your legs up the steep, rocky incline. No matter how much you try to keep up, you fall behind from the group. Taehyung twirls around with a big grin, mouth perfectly symmetrically. “Are you okay?” “W-What does it look like?” you pant. It’s unfair that Taehyung works out once a year and treats his body like a candy trashcan but is still more fit than you are. “I can carry you if you want.” “You’re going to snap in half carrying me.” You pass him as he laughs. You hear him catch up, feet skipping along like he’s playing hopscotch. Then suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted off the ground and you shriek, arms looping around Taehyung’s neck. You’re scooped up in his arms like he’s about to kick down the door into the bedroom, but instead, he starts sprinting up the path like a maniac. “Taehyung!” you squeal and he laughs again. “Isn’t this better?” “Aren’t you tired?” “If I say yes, you’re gonna think I’m trying to tell you to lose weight, but for the record, I like how soft you are.” You roll your eyes, embarrassed as you pass a few couples, but none of them seem to find it bizarre and they even smile warmly at you and Taehyung. Yet, he starts to slow down tremendously after a few minutes, panting and sweating profusely. You ask him if he’s going to put you down yet, but you underestimate just how stubborn your dear husband is. Taehyung refuses until you’re up at the top of the trail, making it to where Jimin and Hyunjin are by the waterfall. There, you’re finally on set on your feet again. You pass him your water bottle. “Drink it before I’m the one dragging you down.” He grins and downs it. Up here, it’s much more refreshing and easier to breathe. There’s a tiny waterfall coming from the higher mountains and there are trees around to provide shade. When you squint, you can see the campsite at a distance with all the yurts. “We should take some pictures!” Taehyung declares when he steadies his breath and pulls out his selfie stick from the hideous fanny pack that you still won’t admit is pretty convenient. “Your mom is gonna want a copy so don’t pull any ugly faces, Tae.” “My face is never ugly.” He tugs you beside him and snaps a few shots before reviewing them carefully. Taehyung always had an eye for these kinds of things. “We didn’t get a good angle of the water.” “I can take it for you.” “What’s the point if we’re not together?” His thick brows are furrowed, lips lopsided, sighing. A matronly and friendly voice pipes up next to you, “Do you need any help?” Dahyun is smiling with Seokjin beside her and Taehyung appears relieved. “Yes, please.” She takes his phone as he folds back his selfie stick and she stands off to the side, capturing you and Taehyung smiling with his arm around you. “One. Two. Three. I’ll take another one.” Dahyun changes the angle a bit and Taehyung leans over to pull on your cheek while you feign a glare at him. The second picture is taken while the woman and her husband laugh, endeared. “There we go. You can check them to see if they’re good.” The phone is handed back and by Taehyung’s expression, it seems acceptable. “You two are too cute. When did you get married?” “Oh, I think three years ago? Yeah. Three.” It’s much longer than it actually feels. It seemed like it was a week ago when you first met in class and thought he was annoying. Like yesterday, he was supposed to propose at a fancy restaurant but failed when you found the ring box the night before — how he screamed at you to stop, but it was too late and he ended up going with it. They’ve all become memories that you cherish. “We met back in school and dated a while before getting married.” Dahyun smiles. “Have you decided how many kids you want yet?” You hitch a thumb to Taehyung. “He wants four, but I’m fine with two.” “The bigger the family, the better, right?” he says, looking up from the screen of his phone. “Wait until you have kids, you’ll end up wanting more,” Seokjin chuckles, “That or you’ll want to give them all away, but personally, I could raise a whole football team if she’d let me.” His wife jabs him in the ribs. “Yeah, because you’re not the one who has to give birth to them.” “And that’s why you’re the boss of the house.” He pouts at her while the corners of his mouth tickle up into a smile, and she relents. “Let’s be honest, the real boss of the house is our little troublemaker. I swear he took after all your bad traits.” Seokjin gasps. “Excuse me, Youngjae is my most masterful creation...even if he painted all over our leather seats and popped our car tire with his batman toy.” She shakes her head with a light sigh, but it’s hard to hide her beaming expression. “I should’ve known he would give me trouble when he went past the due date for two weeks.” “T-two weeks?” you sputter. Dahyun nods, finally having the sympathy she was trying to fish out of her husband. “My stomach was as big as a watermelon and I was in labour for fourteen hours before I ended up getting an emergency c-section and he came out a whopping ten pounds.” Your head is swirling as you try to imagine a ten pound baby in this petite woman. It almost seems like a horror story that’s waiting to be picked up by Hollywood. “But honestly, the hardest part wasn’t the whole pregnancy or birthing process. It was afterwards.” Her exhale is long and fatigued. “Suddenly there’s another human being you’re responsible for and you have to take care of them while you’re still in recovery. I remember when Youngjae couldn’t stop crying in the middle of the night. I always had an idea that having kids was a lot of work, but you really don’t have time for yourself once they’re born, and not to mention my bladder was completely done for after the whole thing.” “Alright, alright.” Her husband pulls her close. “I already know you’re a woman warrior. I saw it with my own eyes.” Dahyun smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes and she turns to him, deadpanning, “No, you didn’t. You passed out half-way.” “I was there in spirit,” Seokjin insists humorously. Dahyun scoffs while Taehyung grins at their back and forth that’s reminiscent of his own dynamic with you. “But were they worth it?” “Oh, a thousand percent,” Dahyun responds without needing a second to consider, expression softening. “Enough that I would want to do it all over again.” She doesn’t get a chance to say much else when Jimin’s voice pierces through the chatter and everyone gathers together with the last stragglers who have finally made it up. “Thank you, everyone, for coming all the way up here. This is Serenity Falls that was actually…” But his voice drowns out. You linger on what Dahyun said, about child rearing and birthing, and there’s nothing that can be done to the uneasy emotion swelling inside of you. The walk back down is silent. Done without a single complaint from you about the hot weather or how your feet ache. Taehyung notices, glancing at you several times. He doesn’t say anything until you’re back at the yurt. “What’s wrong?” You look at him from across the room. “Nothing, why?” “You’ve just been quiet.” “I just….” You inhale and decide to divulge him. “I was just thinking about what Dahyun and Seokjin were saying. Do you think we’re cut out for this, Taehyung?” His head quirks to one side. “Why wouldn’t we be?” “You and I can barely take care of ourselves.” “That’s not true.” “We forget to buy food all the time.” “That makes midnight snack runs fun.” He grins. You exhale an unsteady breath and Taehyung approaches you. He doesn’t mind how sweaty you are and wraps his arms around your waist. “We’ll figure it out. You said it yourself, right? One step at a time.” “But what if it’s too much and you decide you don’t want to do it anymore? Or that...you don’t want to be with me?” He opens his mouth, but you keep going before he can jump in. It’s not just about you being self-conscious or needing reassurance. You’re simply trying to imagine the worst case scenario as realistically as you can. “Like when I’m still bloated like a whale and in a bad mood and the baby’s crying and no one knows what to do.” “I’ll still love you no matter the changes,” Taehyung murmurs earnestly, searching your expression. “Even if you’re bloated like a whale and in a bad mood and the baby’s crying and no one knows what to do. I’ll use google to figure it out and get the baby to calm down and I’ll get you some chocolate and I’ll rub your feet.” You scoff lightly. “You make it sound so easy.” “Maybe because it won’t be as hard as you think. I’m great with kids and we got killer teamwork, you know, plus this baby’ll be the best project we’ve ever done together.” “A project that’s gonna last us eighteen years.” You smile. Taehyung laughs, the sound mellifluous in the room. “Which isn’t that long considering how fast time moves.” You hum and encircle your arms around his neck. Taehyung gets the hint and leans in to seal your lips against his, slotting them together to kiss you the way he knows you like it. It’s slow, comforting, an opportunity to revel in the softness of his lips. Taehyung gives you courage — he always has and when you break apart, smiling against each other, you feel worlds better than before. “I’m gonna start a bubble bath. You can join me if you want.” It’s less of a suggestion and more of a demand, one Taehyung fully recognizes and makes him smile in amusement as you saunter away. Taking advantage of the tub in the bathroom, you lower the stopper of the drain and dump in the soap they offer. The water gets filled three quarters way with a layer of bubbles and you strip. You sigh as you get comfortable in the tub. “Is it warm?” Your husband leans against the doorway, arms crossed and the corner of his mouth curled. “Uh-huh.” You loll your head on the edge of the tub and lift up your foot, watching the way the water cascades off your skin. “Are you not going to get in?” “Maybe later,” Taehyung surprisingly replies. He rarely rejects any chance at jumping your bones when you’re being this forward about it. There’s no hike or lunch to catch that’s preventing him from having fun with you either. But as your husband walks out, you catch him unceremoniously stealing the clothes you have prepared and the stack of towels by the sink. “What are you doing?” “There’s no point in covering yourself up if I��m gonna strip you anyway.” He flashes a mischievous grin and you sigh, relenting in his antics. You simply lay back to enjoy the water, muscles relaxing and your brain that’s constantly in overdrive empties. After ten minutes, your skin begins to wrinkle, so you drain the water and get out. But the moment you stand up, the cool air conditioning slams into you and your body starts to shiver. “Taehyung!” you shout and hear silence. “At least give me a towel!” Fortunately for you, there’s a smaller one on the rack he missed so you swipe at it and wrap your shoulders to protect yourself. But you’re still dripping wet and in need of your clothes, so you stomp out to find your ridiculous partner who’s apparently five years old and— “HA!” Said man you’re searching for bursts out of the closet and you scream, startled half to death, nearly falling to the ground. Taehyung starts to laugh like a maniac. “Are you serious?!” You gawk at him. “How long did you even wait there for?” “Like five minutes ago.” The bastard wolfishly grins. “Worth it though.” You cock a brow at him, sighing. “So that’s why you didn’t join me in the bath?” “No. I didn’t join you, so I could do this.” He yanks the towel where your breasts meet, leaving you nude. Goosebumps rise all over your skin and your nipples harden in the frigid air. You screech, arms trying to cover yourself. “Taehyung, it’s cold!” “I can warm you up,” he says but then runs away when he reads the glare on your face, giggling boyishly. It’s completely childish. If anyone was watching, you’d be mortified, but it’s been a long time since there was any shame in your marriage, so you stomp after him while nude. You hunt the man down while he tries to evade by rounding the coffee table. It’s no longer about grabbing clothes or covering yourself up, it’s time for revenge. Luckily, the yurt isn’t big enough to have a game of tag. You manage to reach him and you steal the opportunity to yank his pants down. Taehyung, mid-laugh, trips on his feet and stumbles on the carpet. You burst out giggles, looking at his ass in the air and he giggles too from the infectious sound bubbling up your throat. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” He mutters in a low voice with half-lidded eyes and you scramble away with another shriek. “You started it!” You jump onto the bed and Taehyung kicks off his pants. You don’t ask why he’s skipped out on wearing boxers, but you notice he’s already half-hard and that only makes you laugh louder. He chases after you as you duck and steal his own tactic of rounding the coffee table. But unfortunately for you, Taehyung has always been destined to win with his longer legs. He catches you within two strides and snatches you as you scream. You’re thrown over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes and he smirks. “Caught you.” “Taehyung! People are gonna hear!” You laugh in spite of being the one who’s making most of the noise and he tosses you onto the bed. Usually, you hate to be manhandled, but your husband’s the only exception to the rule. “Let them hear.” He hovers over you and the laughter dies down. Taehyung stares earnestly into your eyes and your breathing becomes shallow. But you don’t like to lose and as his wife of three years, you know his one, true weakness. Your fingers lift to Taehyung’s armpits and he seizes when you start tickling him. You laugh when he does and once he doubles over, there’s an opening to the left, a perfect escape route. You steal the opportunity while you still have it and start to climb off the bed, but he regains his breath and grabs your ankle, tugging you back to him in one swift motion without even needing to try. Taehyung grins. “God, you’re such a brat sometimes.” “Yeah, and I know you like it.” He grabs your wrists before you can make another tickle attack and pins it above your head. You can tell that there’s no more time for jokes or any more playing around, not when you can feel his hard cock against your stomach. “You smell good,” he sighs into your neck, inhaling deeply. “Cherry blossom? Peony?” “Strawberries,” you answer. “You smell like sweat.” “You’re gonna end up like me anyway.” Taehyung smiles and leans in to kiss you. It isn’t shy or chaste. His tongue licks into your mouth and you exhale, a strangled moan muffled against his lips as you melt against him. He finally has you where he wants and you let him take control. The pair of you swap spit for a few minutes until he releases your hands, allowing you to curl your fingers into his shoulders as he caresses your waist. Taehyung eventually breaks away with a playful glint in his eyes. “You wanna try the toys?” You both look at the basket half across the room and he rolls off of you. You get to your feet to inspect it for yourself and discover an array of colourful gadgets, some that you’ve tried before and others that you’re sure needs to have an instruction manual with it. “I’m not putting any of these dildos in me, Tae. I don’t know where they’ve been.” “I know.” He lays with his head propped up by his hand and you eye something at the bottom of the basket. You pull out a leather whip and look at him. “Ooh, a classic pick there, sweetheart.” A whip seems more sanitary considering it doesn’t have to go in anyone’s orifices. “Is it?” You approach with a tiny smile, staring down the innocent man. “Roll over.” “What?” “I’ll whip you.” You grin and he blinks at you. More often than not, you’re the more submissive one in bed, but the idea of having Taehyung crying out and the idea of you cackling at his pain has him immediately rolling face down in intrigue and you stepping up on the bed. He turns his face to the side. “Do you know how to do it?” “How hard can it be?” There’s a pause. “But tell me if it hurts.” “The point is to make it hurt, Y/N.” “Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you-hurt you.” “I can handle it.” Taehyung smirks and you scoff. Even in this position, he’s trying to maintain his dominance. You grip it tightly and don’t count. Simply, with a flick your wrist, you slam the whip across his backside. It makes a loud cracking sound and you hear Taehyung sharply inhale. His teeth grit and you freeze, watching his expression carefully. “How was it?” “Is my back split open?” he asks, trying to look over his shoulder. “No.” “I think I might have to go to the ER.” He sits up completely, overdramatic in the way he fumbles around and his tone filled with some mischief. “I think there’s internal bleeding. Or my spine is broken. I wouldn’t be surprised.” “It’s fine, Tae.” you laugh. So much for telling you to go for it. But you already had an inkling Taehyung wasn’t one for receiving pain. After all, he’s still your whiny baby who only eats vanilla yogurt. “Not your thing?” “Not my thing.” He takes the whip from your hand and tosses it across the room. “I have a better toy in mind.” You’re about to remind him you’re not gonna put any of those communal toys inside of you, but he instead walks over to his suitcase and starts tearing some clear packaging open with something pink inside. You read the label — it’s a remote control vibrating egg. Your brows furrow. “When did you get that?” “Two days before we left. Amazon prime, babe.” “So that’s what you were looking at when you told me you were doing some online shopping?” “Precisely.” Taehyung grins and you’re not sure if you should be pleasantly surprised or in dismay since the two of you have already made a pact not to buy anything else online. The treadmill bought on an impulse is still taking up half the space of the living room. Before you can think too much, Taehyung gets it open and comes over. He nudges your thighs to open and you lay back, leaning against the headboard. You’re not that wet yet, if at all, but it doesn’t stay that way when his long fingers rub against your clit in circles. With his other hand, he strokes against your slit and then sinks his index finger in knuckle deep. You throw back your head, moaning his name at the intrusion while he remains silent, intently watching your pink cunt squeeze. Taehyung curls his finger and swallows hard. The sloppy sounds of your cunt fill the room and he hums in satisfaction. “Okay. Ready?” “Uh-huh.” The head of the cold egg meets your folds and it slowly enters. While the toy might not be big or long, the girth stretches against your warm walls and you keen. Taehyung makes a low noise, encouraging you to take it. When it’s in, he smiles brilliantly. “Good job, sweetheart. You did it.” “Now what?” “This, of course.” Taehyung dangles the remote in front of you and then like a psycho, he ramps it up to the highest possible setting. Intense vibrations are felt through your body instantaneously and you cry, head knocked back against the headboard as your velvet walls squeeze and tremble. “T-Taehyung!” “Good?” “I-It’s too much!” You’re completely at his mercy and he takes advantage of it, drinking you in with a wolfish smile. You’re unable to muster a glare at him, reduced to a complete mess while your center leaks and drips onto the sheet. Still, you try to reach over to the remote. He dodges when you lunge at him. “Nu-uh.” Luckily, you get a hold of your husband and climb over to him. His arm is extended straight up, laughing as you try to snatch it from him. He waves it inches away to mock you while enjoying the sight of you quivering on top of him. “T-Tae!” “Okay, okay.” He laughs and transfers it into his other hand, about to turn the setting down a notch. But right at the moment you’re about to snag it for yourself, the remote flies out of his hand. It falls through the gap between the wall and the headboard. It clatters to the ground. “Oh shit.” “Taehyung!” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rolls off the mattress and looks underneath the bed before abruptly standing. “I’m going to need a long stick or something.” He starts to look around the room, searching for a tool to grab the remote that’s out of reach, and you don’t know if you should suffocate him with a pillow or facepalm yourself hard enough to get knocked out into a coma. You can pull out the egg yourself, but the violent vibrations were beginning to thrum pleasure through you, so as your useless husband goes fishing for the remote, you finish the job. Your fingers play with your clit, rubbing the bud as your slick drips down your thighs and you come hard on the toy. The same moment light flashes beneath your eyelids and your toes curl, Taehyung grabs the remote with the help of a rolled brochure and shuts it off. The both of you are winded for different reasons. “You know, I'd say that was pretty hot if not for how stressful that actually was.” “You’re an idiot.” You tug the toy out of you and bat him over lazily, feeling spent on how hard you came. “Now dump some sperm in me, idiot.” Taehyung has a cheesy grin and climbs over you. Despite the struggles of grabbing the toy’s remote, he’s fully hard from the noises you were making. “I’d tell you to ask more nicely, but I’ll let it go.” He aligns the head of his weeping cock to your swollen cunt and leans his weight into you. He starts to push in and you whine, gripping his forearms. As wet as you are, Taehyung is still well-endowed — less girthy than the toy, but there’s a considerable length to him. When he bottoms out, you can feel him all the way to your throat. He tucks sweaty strands of hair behind your ear and kisses you. “Sorry about earlier.” “’t’s okay. It was fun,” you admit and he smiles, starting to work up a good rhythm. You feel hot in your face with the pressure of his body on top of yours, hardened nipples brushing against his chest. Your cunt pulses and squeezes around his length. It draws Taehyung’s groans into your neck. “F-Fuck. You’re so tight.” It feels good and you know he’s reveling in the pleasure too. His eyes are shut tight, the scrunch made between his brows and it entices you to reach up and kiss him to which he sweetly indulges you. Your tongues twine as you pant against each other and Taehyung starts to lose his pacing. He bends your knee, hitting you at a deeper angle as his strokes become increasingly frantic and quick. You egg him on and he groans once more before he thrusts himself as deep as he can go and cums. Ropes of white paint your walls, the head of his cock against your cervix and filling your cunt and womb up. You can feel some of it dribbling out, seeping past your folds and when Taehyung’s about to withdraw, you quickly grab his forearm. “Wait. Just stay put for a second. I have to keep it in.” He nods and kisses your lips. “Okay.” Taehyung nestles into you, nuzzling into your neck and you hope this is the one.

[Day Three] There were lots of activities and amenities offered and advertised by Jimin during the introduction of the retreat, but you realize you might’ve missed over the most important one of all. “How does that feel?” the massage therapist asks as she works a knot out of your shoulders and smooths your skin with the oil. “Amazing,” you murmur from the corner of your mouth, melted against the table. Couples massages were something you always scoffed at, but holy shit, it’s absolutely paradise. With the breeze blowing through the pitched tent and the glowing humidifier releasing a fresh scent, you’ve never been more relaxed as all the stiffness is worked out of you. You open your eyes to see Taehyung enjoying it as well — though not as much as you are since he’s quite ticklish. Sometimes, he squirms a bit too much and his massage therapist is at a loss of what to do. But when it’s all done, you feel like you’re in a new body. “Oh my god. I think I’m more flexible than before. Look, Tae!” You stretch your leg and he giggles at how happy your mood is. “If I knew you liked it this much, I would’ve signed us up for one at the spy near the gym.” Your eyes are wide, catching the sunlight. “Do you think they’re as good as this place?” Taehyung grins. “Probably.” “We should go when we get back then. Oh, do you wanna check out the library?” “Sure.” You grab his hand, lacing your fingers together and he smiles to himself. It’s a free day without many planned activities, giving you both an opportunity to look around the retreat for yourselves and take it easy. And the pair of you take full advantage of the opportunity. Since morning, you were lazing around the yurt and after breakfast and the massages, you decide to lay in one of the hammocks by the trees while Taehyung naps with you. Said man hasn't seen you this stress free in a while, so he happily indulges you in all your wishes. Even when night falls and you step away from the stage where Hyunjin is performing again to stargaze. It’s an odd activity for you since mosquitoes love to especially swarm around you when given the chance and on numerous occasions, you’ve been a moth landing spot. But tonight, the breeze is soft and gentle, and you don't feel any tickles on your skin that isn’t Taehyung’s hand grazing against yours. The grass is pliant beneath your feet and the fairy lights twinkle far away enough that its luminescence doesn’t obstruct. You knock your heads back to view the horizon, allowing the darkness to engulf you and the stars to emerge. “Remember Bali?” “When you lost your passport?” “When we went stargazing with the tour group,” Taehyung corrects. “It still wasn’t as beautiful as this.” “You think everything in front of you is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. You said that about the Eiffel and then Tokyo Tower.” He laughs. “Hey, my mind doesn’t change that often. You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.” You scoff, looking away from the sky towards him with a pout. He always knows how to lay on the sappiness without needing to blink. Your dear husband has always been shameless in that aspect and you adore him for it. “So I’m a thing to you now?” “You know that’s not what I mean.” He wraps his arms around your waist. The both of you stare up at the sky. “Is that the big dipper?” You look at where he’s pointing to the large clusters of stars. “I can’t see it. Maybe that’s scorpio.” “Nah, I don’t think so.” Taehyung tries guessing, “It might be taurus or gemini. Or libra.” “Aren’t you just naming astrological signs now?” “Maybe.” He grins. “I’m a capricorn.” “Yes, I know.” You two of you clearly don’t know anything about constellations or how to find them, but it doesn’t make the moment any less enjoyable. Yet when your necks start to ache, he takes your hand and strolls down the path through the trees. “Taehyung. What if we get lost?” None of you have your phones or any flashlights. There’s only the crescent moon giving off its light. “Don’t worry. I have a great sense of direction.” “You and I both know that’s not true.” “You have a great sense of direction, so we won’t get lost,” he says and you sigh without putting much of an argument up. Not when you knew he was headed to the lake you had peeked at earlier in the afternoon, and now it was shimmering with the moonlight, reflecting the starry horizon in its water. There’s a certain kind of peacefulness, a serenity that you would never get back in the city or even the suburbs. Certainly not without light pollution or the occasional car whizzing past. Here, there is none of those noises, none of those distractions, just you and Taehyung savouring the view⁠— “Hey.” But of course, your mischievous husband has to have ulterior motives for coming all the way here. And you know there are ulterior motives by that glint in his eye and the sly smile he has. “What?” “Wanna take a dip?” Your brows shoot to your hairline. “Are you crazy? It’s probably freezing! What if we get hypothermia and die?” “For the record, you’d make one beautiful angel. But I’ll warm you up before it gets to that point.” Taehyung grins and starts stripping, tugging his shirt right off his head. It’s always been like this — him proposing something out of your norm, you try to voice your concerns, and then you’re the one who’s diving head first into it without hesitation and end up having more fun than he does. “God, it’s so cold!” The moment the water touches your toes, you recoil. But you brace yourself and continue onward with your entire body shivering. It’s your first time skinny dipping ⁠— something normally reserved for rebellious teenagers and most certainly not for late twenty-some year olds. Yet neither of you have qualms, even if you’re shrieking and Taehyung is laughing and following behind you. “It’s freezing, Taehyung!” “Come here.” He pulls you to him so your backside is pressed to his front and you wonder how Taehyung can be so warm all the time. The pair of you get waist deep into it and you turn around to grip him. Your husband smiles and holds onto you, eventually going far enough that the water reaches your shoulders. “See? Isn’t this nice?” You hum, gazing up at the stars and the moon, the sight reflected on the water and how you’re pressed to Taehyung. “Seems like the beginning of a horror movie.” He laughs and your feet try to reach down to find stability, but you realize you can’t touch the ground anymore and your grip on him tightens. “Walk back a bit, Tae.” “Why?” “You know I can’t swim.” His mouth curls. “But I like how you’re holding onto me. I won’t let go,” he adds after a long pause, “if you beg me not to.” Your arms immediately come to loop around his neck and your legs wrap around his waist, latching onto him in a vice grip like a koala does to a branch. “Taehyung! I’m not kidding.” “Oh...oh!” The bastard pretends that he’s gonna let go of you and actually does for a split-second. He laughs at your panicked expression. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” You feign a pointed glare that turns out to be more of a pout. “You’re lucky I like you.” “You only like me?” “Yeah and if you keep going, I’m going to demote you from husband to friend.” Taehyung makes a pained, sharp sound. “Can’t let that happen then.” He suddenly hoists you up higher, grip secure on your thighs and smiles brilliantly while you scoff. You savour the view and the warmth of his body heat, but you’re slightly distracted. “Do you think anyone’s gonna steal our clothes, Tae?” You squint at the small pile near the shore. “Who would?” “I don’t know. What if a bear comes from the bushes and takes them? We’ll have to walk back naked.” “I’m pretty sure there aren’t bears here, Y/N. Stop overthinking it.” Taehyung suddenly grabs a hold of your chin and turns your head for you to look only at him. Then, he kisses you in a soft and gentle way before the tip of his tongue meets the seam of your lips. You happily oblige, parting them and allowing him access to your tongue and giving him a taste of you. The man hums in satisfaction as soft smacking noises fill the surroundings. You lean into his firm frame while Taehyung’s large hands slinks from your thigh to the curve of your ass. You feel his thumb probe against your folds. “T-Taehyung.” His hard length is beneath you and you grind down on him, feeling empty. It draws a groan from his throat. After a moment, you get his cock inside of you. The stretch soothes the itch you had, filling your cunt deliciously. But unlike the movies, it’s not enough for you. The water washes away the lubricant, each stroke rough and the glide slower than you’d like. So you beg him and the both of you are dragged up onto the shore again. You turn on all fours. The pebbles uncomfortably dig into your knees, but it’s a distraction that blurs into the background when Taehyung pounds into you. You feel all of him, his body heat against yours, each thrusting movement flicking off the droplets of water from your skin. And when Taehyung turns your head to kiss you while rubbing at your clit, you cum around his cock. He finishes as you beg for it and Taehyung’s sticky fluids leak down your thighs on the trek back.

[Day Four] Taehyung blinks blearily, slowly coming to consciousness. He scratches his bed head and groans at how his muscles ache. But when he turns his head, the other side of the bed is cold and empty. His eyes widen in confusion and he feels more awake than before. He checks the time and realizes he slept in, a total of ten hours, which isn’t a surprise considering how last night’s rendezvous continued and was more intense than usual. What is unusually, however, is that you’re gone. But he soon finds you outside. Bathing in the sun. Laying in a hammock. Napping with a book next to you. Your eyes flutter open as his shadow covers your figure. The corner of his mouth pulls. “Morning.” You sheepishly grin. “Morning.” “What time did you get up?” “Like an hour ago. The breeze was nice so I thought I’d do some reading, but I guess I accidentally fell asleep.” “Looks like you’ve gotten comfortable.” Taehyung’s enormous smile aches his cheeks. You’ve fallen in love with this place more than he has, but he doesn’t mind whatsoever. He loves watching you have fun. The two of you have breakfast, inhaling in the food, and then head to a meditation class on the grass led by Hyunjin. Typically, Taehyung has to convince you to take part in such a session and you’d usually wave it off as a waste of time. But there are no qualms or an ounce of hesitation in your expression when you head over. “Now breathe in, and out, a steady stream of breath. Think about all that you are grateful for. Everything that has made your life amazing, and let that positive energy surround you as the negative energy releases.” But while you’re eager, Taehyung, on the other hand, finds out that meditation is not cut out for him. He’s bored out of his mind from the lack of stimulation. Time feels like it’s dragging on slower, each second a minute and a minute is an hour. Somehow, meditating makes him feel even more exhausted than before and his mind ends up wandering. Taehyung thinks about how he’s really craving some fatty burgers instead of the organic oatmeal and yogurt he had — how hot the weather is — how it’s hard to breathe — how sweat sticks to his skin. “Hold your breath for three seconds and release for three seconds.” He sighs and peels back an eye to see you with your hands pressed together, concentrated in following instructions. The corner of his mouth tickles into a smile. As bored as he is, it’s worth seeing you happy. // The more excited you are about something, the more you run around from place to place and Taehyung’s resorted to looking for you. Luckily, the resort is small, so he finds you in front of the main building, chatting to a certain brunette with a half-moon smile and chubby cheeks. “—heard that doggy actually works for some people, but for me, it doesn’t feel right...like…” “The head of the cock isn’t right up against the cervix?” Jimin hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried angling your leg better? Sometimes you need to bend a bit and he needs to be leaning towards the side rather than just hovering straight on top.” What. Taehyung’s brows lift and he quickly approaches. Your face lights up when you see him. “Oh, hey.” “I was looking for you.” Taehyung throws his arm over your shoulder and subtly tugs you into his chest. He looks at the other man, eyes narrowed in on him which he doesn’t seem to notice. “Sorry, I was just caught up with Jimin.” “What were you talking about?” “What position is best for conception.” You blink innocently like it’s not a big deal you’re exploiting the details about your sex lives to another guy, and while he’s not embarrassed whatsoever, it was a bit too much information being shared for Taehyung’s liking. “Turns out elevating the hips might not help as much as we thought it does.” “Huh.” Taehyung deadpans, “That’s interesting.” “I know, right?” Your expression is bright, oblivious to his turmoil. At the same time, Hyunjin exits from the building in yet another flower crown and flowy skirt. She smiles at the both of you and joins Jimin’s side, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek and holding his hand. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.” You smile at her. “No, it’s okay.” The woman nods and looks to her partner while her voice drops into a more private tone. “Just wanted to let you know that Taehoon and I are done.” As if to validate her words, a timid yet tall man exits the building and they wave goodbye to one another before he walks off towards the parking lot. Jimin smiles. “Did you have fun?” “Yeah. It was nice.” Both you and Taehyung exchange expressions. He wonders if you’re thinking what he is or if he’s understanding the insinuations correctly. As if they catch the inquisitive looks on your faces, they smile in a relaxed way. There’s no need to explain anything to either of you when you’re strangers, but they’re open enough and Hyunjin says, “Taehoon’s my second partner.” “Second...partner?” “Hyunjin and I are in an open relationship,” Jimin clarifies in a friendly manner. “It’s not really traditional, but it works well for us.” “Oh.” Taehyung and you wordlessly bob your heads. He’s pretty sure they mentioned it during their introduction but it slipped his mind. They must get asked a lot of questions too since Hyunjin answers what he’s thinking, telling the both of you there’s not a lot of jealousy involved since they trust each other wholeheartedly and communicate a lot. And rather than finding it bizarre, you’re left intrigued. Taehyung notices as you walk away. “Do you want an open relationship too?” “You know it would never work for us.” You lean over, hugging his arm. “I’m too possessive for that.” He laughs. “Then what about talking to Jimin about our sex positions?” “He’s a professional.” You shrug. “I thought I could get helpful advice. Why?” “Nothing, it’s just kind of weird.” Jimin doesn’t look like a professional. He looks like just some dude in khaki shorts and a white shirt, obnoxiously bulging biceps, probably has rock hard abs, and he’s in an open relationship and clearly doesn’t mind chatting up you, aka Taehyung’s wife. “Are you jealous?” “What? No.” Taehyung scoffs, suddenly defensive and you give him that look like you know him better than that. “I just don’t think we don’t need to ask for help yet, and at least not about our positions. We’re gonna have a baby one way or another, Y/N. We just have to be patient.” “Tell that to my dying eggs.” You walk off and Taehyung grins. “My sperm’s strong enough that it’ll rescue your dying eggs.” // Evening eventually comes and you try to revel in the surrounding sights, the atmosphere of the entire place and the very cozy yurt you’ve grown to adore. It’s sad knowing that tomorrow you’ll have to depart from the resort. You regret not coming here with a more open mind. That way, you could’ve enjoyed and embraced this place much sooner. “Actually, I’m kind of glad. I’m getting sick of them serving the same food.” You’re shocked at your husband’s apathy. “But it’s antioxidant-rich—” “I just want some fried chicken or a burger.” You scoff. “That’s why the doctor told you to lower your blood sugar and you’re not even over forty yet.” But still, you’re taken aback that he’s not in love with the resort. “Out of everyone, I thought this would’ve been your haven. I was expecting you to beg me to build a cabin here or something to stay.” Taehyung hums, leaning back into the chair. “I’m not saying the resort is bad. As long as I get to spend time with you, I like it. And I like that you like it.” “Psh.” He always knows how to say the right thing, especially when he’s doing it absentmindedly and not trying to get something out of you. You lean over, hand lifting to squeeze his cheeks together and you turn his head to kiss him. Taehyung smiles at the soft and affectionate gesture. But you look at him with half-lidded eyes that mean more. “Wanna ditch?” It’s the final celebration that Jimin and Hyunjin are happily hosting, but you don’t mind leaving for some more quality time with Taehyung, and he happily agrees. The both of you sneak out of the crowd, stumbling back into the yurt, giggly and giddy like you’re still teenagers trying to be stealthy at midnight. Taehyung kisses you silly and soon, your back is hitting the mattress. He almost rips your dress with how hastily he tries to tear it off your head and you’re stuck for a moment until you manage to get it off. But in spite of how childish your antics are or how Taehyung blows raspberries on your tummy, each one of his touches is intimate and loving. He holds your hips down and eats you out until you cum twice. Then you’re flipped onto your stomach with him on top of you — his cock is dug into your pussy, every draw and thrust delicious. Your walls pulse along his length and you moan his name and clutch the sheets with tight fists. You relish in the pressure of his body pressed on top of yours as he pounds into you. It only takes a few minutes before he’s releasing into your womb, cumming hard enough that you feel it too. He rolls off of you, spent, but you gather your energy and hold him down for a second round. You’re a woman on a mission and you’re going to make sure you leave this resort with Kim Taehyung’s baby inside of you.

[Day Five] The final day of the resort has arrived much to your dismay, and you feel sad enough to cry. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done.” “It’s our pleasure.” Hyunjin grins, her arms wrapped around Jimin’s. “We just hope you had a great time at our resort.” “Yes, I really loved it.” “Our doors are always open,” Jimin affirms. “If nothing’s stuck, you can always come back or if you’re ever looking for more siblings for the little one, you can come again too. We’re happy to welcome anyone that’s family back.” You’re moved by their words and much to Taehyung’s dismay, you give a brief embrace to each of them. You also manage to see the newlywed couple, Hoseok and Rose, who are still smiling and somehow look even more in-love than when they arrived. Dahyun and Seokjin, as well, wish you luck on your adventures. “We might be coming back real soon.” The woman sighs, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. “That husband of mine is planning to book another trip next month.” “So soon?” Dahyun nods with a long exhale. “I think he’s hoping I’m not pregnant so we can come here again.” Your laugh spurs on her own and you’re able to resonate with the hopelessness of husbands. Everyone is boarding the same bus, but this is the last opportunity to gather when people are getting dropped off from different places. So you make sure to savour the moment, get your last goodbyes in, and Taehyung pulls out his phone to snap several pictures of you for keepsakes. Then, the two of you board the bus with your luggage and settle in your seats. “You know,” you pipe up and Taehyung turns to you. “Even if we didn’t conceive, it was still fun.” He smiles while taking his hand. “Yeah? I’m glad.” Taehyung laces his fingers with yours and you lean your head on his shoulder as he, too, leans his head on top of yours. The bus pulls out of the lot and onto the road. Jimin and Hyunjin wave with brilliant grins, and together, you and Taehyung watch the little resort become a particle in the distance.

[Epilogue] This is terrible. Unexpected and spontaneous. “I have bad news.” You’re leaning against the door frame of Taehyung’s office and at your tone of voice, your husband looks away from the computer screen with wide eyes. “Are you divorcing me?” “No.” “Did you lose your job?” “No.” His entire body deflates in a sigh of relief and he leans back, hands grasping the armrests of his swivel chair. “Thank god because I just bought those new shake weights that were shown on TV.” “Yea— wait. What?” Taehyung’s bubbling laughter comes from his chest. “What is it?” He doesn’t notice the stick in your hand, so you throw it at him. Luckily, Taehyung’s reflexes are still in good shape and he claps his hands together, catching the stick before it hits his head. But then his brows furrow in confusion. “You’re probably going to need to wash your hands after that. I peed on it.” He doesn’t answer. Your oblivious husband instead takes a long second to inspect the stick and his pupils dilate. He finally realizes what it is and looks carefully. In the meanwhile, you hitch your breath, feeling unsettled. But then the most enormous smile stretches into his cheeks. It almost looks like his smile is about to break his face. “You’re pregnant,” Taehyung murmurs. “I sure am.” He looks at you. And then the stick. Then he looks at you again. Taehyung searches your expression in alarm as your words echo back to him. “Why is this bad news? D-did you change your mind? Do you not want kids?” You shake your head. “No. This is fantastic news. I just wanted an excuse to go to the retreat again.” He laughs and exhales a long breath. Taehyung scoots his chair over using the heels of his feet and comes to you. He throws his arms around your torso in a secure embrace while his ear is pressed gently to the flat plane of your stomach that’ll soon swell in the coming months. “God, you’re going to be the death of me, woman.” Taehyung’s brown eyes are lit with mirth and you ease into his hug as your fingers comb through his dark locks. Finally, you’re going to be parents. After waiting and hoping for so long, it was now on the horizon. There’s a sense of fear in you both, but you’re overwhelmed with euphoria and excitement. “We can always go back for the next kid.” “I haven’t even had this one yet and you’re already thinking of another.” “I can’t help it.” Taehyung grins, looking up at you and you lean down to kiss his smile. You have a feeling this baby’s going to be loved beyond belief.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung fluff #FINALLY i can use the smut tag again looooool #BTS TAEHYUNG AS A SWEET GUY WHO'S NOT AS SWEET IN THE SHEETS #AND OC AS A GRUMBLING SIMP FOR HER HUSBAND

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sparrowsfall · 3 years ago

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@himncskur confessed : “Come and pray with me, John. For the three of us.” 👀

The few lingering members of the congregation file out of the pews one by one, exchanging handshakes and words of gratitude for which he finds himself forcing whatever ghost of a smile he can muster. Gratitude for what, exactly? For the Bliss? For the violence? For their friends and family whom he’d happily led to a sacrificial slaughter, time and time again? It wasn’t always like this --- It wasn’t always feverish sermons of such militant subjects. Of grabbing their rifles and rising up to join GOD’S ARMY. He remembers the days before, when far more people knew him by John as opposed to Paul. When he could charm just about all walks of life from every corner of Hope County into the one-room chapel. When the devout and the secular, the sinners and the saints alike all came together as one to hear young Father John Pruitt --- a local priest, an AA counselor, a community leader, a friend --- preach not just God’s word, but words of LOVE and HOPE and RENEWAL.

It all feels like a lifetime ago.

He sits here now, slouched in the front pew. Daring to pray for forgiveness. Dark gaze steady on the floor as he hangs his head in shame, unable to bear the full force of the Only Begotten Son’s polished wooden stare. Only when he feels a familiar weight settle next to him does he finally crack a smile --- One look at Sarah’s ever-radiant face, and it’s like sunshine breaking through the otherwise melancholy clouds of his mind.

Their fingers lace together. They give each other a tight little squeeze. A reminder that through all of the horror and the hardship, he has something, someone, still anchoring him to his humanity. All of these terrible things he’s done in the name of something that reveals itself as UNHOLY with each layer he peels back, in the name of a SELF-PROCLAIMED PROPHET who he’s no longer certain he has faith in, and born-again Paul Hill still cannot say he regrets it. Not one bit --- Meeting her, loving her, marrying her has made it all well worth it. John simply cannot imagine a life without her. Nor has he wholly, truly predicted the turn it’s about to take. Even with all their planning. Their wishful thinking. And whatever remains of their hopes and dreams that are still left untarnished by the BRUTALITY that has all but consumed their lives and their very sense of self.

‘ Come and pray with me, John. For the THREE of us. ’

To John’s credit, he tries to speak. Desperately, he tries, because he knows that Sarah is waiting for an answer, but his first attempts are made in vain. All he can do is sit and stare with that stupid, giddy grin spreading from one ear to the other, the very same grin that has her barely stifling a giggle. His tongue ties in his mouth, his voice tangles in his throat, as he sits there slack-jawed and smiling. What words would even begin to describe what he’s feeling? This feeling as though he’s about to COLLAPSE under the enormous weight of his own joy? He could make an earnest attempt to wax poetic about it, but no holy sermon about blessings or creation would suffice. He can’t tell her. He can only show her.

“ Oh my God. Oh my God, Sarah--- ” Large hands cup either side of his wife’s face and pull her towards him, until her lips catch his own after a moment all too long and all too silent. He can feel his heart swell with joy, can feel the excitement filling the hollows of his chest up, up, up until he swears he feels as light as air. Feels as though he’s floating. Hungry and passionate and urgent as his many kisses are, there is still something undeniably innocent about them, as he allows all of his love and all of his elation to bubble over. To pour out of him. To lavish her in it with every breathless affection laid across every beautiful freckle and every gorgeous scar that decorates her face.

LOVE REJOICES WITH THE TRUTH, so says Corinthians --- It always PROTECTS, always TRUSTS, always HOPES, and always PERSEVERES.

Here now, is the first truth. It is offered to her with one hand still caressing her cheek, the other slowly slipping down to rest on the very bottom of her belly that has long yet to swell. To brush his thumb across the soft skin there, hoping those little thrums of touch reach the ears of their tiny, unborn, undoubtedly perfect baby ( if they even have ears yet ) : “ I love you so much...” It is less of a confession and more of a commandment. Something he is sure to always practice, to always show her, even when unspoken. An oath he made long before he married her. A WAY OF LIFE he follows as devoutly as his faith. “ I love the both of you so, so much. ”

And this, then, is the second truth. One he realizes as he rests his forehead against hers : There is another life on the line now. Another life that is wholly innocent, in every sense of the word, that they will add to the throes of the Project’s chaos. A life that Father Paul Hill JOHN PRUITT will be sworn to protect with every ounce of strength he can muster and every bit of ferocity he can stomach. He has a strange relationship with it --- this violence that has lain dormant in him until the Project showed him otherwise. Until they reminded him that he too has teeth. And for all of the harm and the horror and the death that his fangs and claws have wrought, it is in this moment that he is at last grateful for them. It is in this moment that he understands that his growing tolerance for brutality will be given a most righteous purpose. That he will do whatever it takes to preserve this new life. To make Hope County better for the little soul they’ve been blessed with. HE SWEARS IT.

Most importantly, it is in this moment that he realizes that there is LOVE and RENEWAL and yes, even HOPE to be found in Hope County, after all. Right here and right now. In the life he and Sarah share together. In the life they’ve made together that blossoms like a wildflower through the cracks of hot pavement. A miraculous mark of existence. Of resilience. Of life everlasting.

“ How long, uhm--- ” Even with a voice still cracked by his joy, the myriad of questions that swarm every expecting father’s mind soon begins to flow from his mouth. A strong and steady current of two parts exhilaration and one part nerves. “ How far along are you? Have you seen Patrick yet? Did he say? ”

#pregnancy /#ic.#book iv.#himncskur #divinitywept / how blessed i am to be with you in hell.#sorry this took so long i wanted to do this moment justice and.... i hope i did :')#if u wanna reply to this Do Not Feel Pressure To Text Match i know i got so carried away shnjdns #i am Not Sobbing i just fell into the produce aisle mist at the grocery store by accident!!!!

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years ago

Text

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Hoyt issues an ultimatum and Thomas is the perfect gentleman.

Warnings: Dubcon, “fuck or die,” blood, gore, swearing, fingering, creampie, manipulative reader

~~~

The surface beneath you is cold and hard, like steel left to sit in a dark room. This is the first thing you notice when you wake. Next comes stronger sensation: Pounding headache, sweat sliding down your face, your chest, aching muscles, burning knees. Then comes sound. You hear talking, but it sounds as though your ears are stuffed with cotton or the speaker is three rooms over.

Your fingers twitch. You can move them, at least. That’s a start.

“And I can see why! Look at those legs!”

The volume turns on all at once and you flinch. It’s a man speaking. He’s close, and loud. A heavy thwack follows his words.

“I woulda kept a pretty thing like that too. Can’t blame ya for that, Tommy.” The man’s tone is condescending. He sounds as if he is speaking to a child. You don’t even know who he is but you already dislike him.

Your forehead head feels wet and sticky. Sweat? No, its thicker than that.

“Tell you what, Tommy. I’m feelin’ generous today, what with this bountiful harvest. I’ll let ya’ have a go at her, huh?”

You swallow thickly. Is he talking about…you? Sloshing water, another noisy thwack. Blood pumps furiously in your ears.

“You ever did that to a girl, Tommy? Huh?” Laughter. Thwack, THWACK.

You’re beginning to feel pity for this ‘Tommy.’ It takes monumental effort to crack your eyes open. For a second, you panic. Your vision is halved. You can’t see out of your left eye. Then, you wipe your face across the back of your hand, clearing your eye of the blood caked into your eyelashes. That explains the sticky feeling. What happened?

“Oh, look-y there! Here’s yer chance!”

Your head feeling as though it weighs a thousand pounds, you lift it and glance around. The room spins. You snap your eyes closed once more, waiting for everything to right itself. When you open them again, it takes a moment for everything to come into focus.

You’re in a poorly lit room, like a cellar. The dirt floor is flooded, a few inches of murky water covering most of the floor. Seated on a rickety wooden table directly in front of you is an ancient sewing machine. Along the cracked and chipped walls are dusty shelves filled with dingy bottles. The whole room smells musty, air thick with humidity and something rancid, like old meat. Glancing down, you find yourself on a rusty metal table stained with—

Movement pulls your attention to a man standing near your feet, hands on his hips. He is dressed like a sheriff and he’s leering at you. Something is tugging at the back of your mind, a memory, something urgent. It’s about the sheriff, but try as you might, you can’t bring it to the surface.

“What’dya think of that, girlie? Wanna give ol’ Tommy a try?” You flinch away when the sheriff squeezes your calf. There’s red splattered across the front of his uniform. You hope it’s paint but instinct tells you its not.

“Where am I?” Your words are slurred, your dry tongue thick in your mouth.

“Bonked yer noggin real good, didn’t I?” The sheriff says with a harsh laugh. You focus on his face, on his dark eyes and his cruel lips pulled back in a sneer over yellowed teeth.

Another noisy thwack makes you crane your neck to look behind you. Instantly, you wish you hadn’t. There’s another man there, his back to you. Tommy. His shoulder length hair is dark and his shirt, wet with sweat, clings to his broad shoulders. He’s huge, menacing even when he’s not looking at you. He’s hacking away at a mangled body, suspended in the air by chains and missing several limbs.

Chainsaw. Screaming. Shredded flesh. SMACK goes the shotgun butt to your head.

Memory returns like a punch in the gut and you suck in air through your teeth. You recoil, clawing at the edge of the table to pull yourself away from the monster behind you. These murderers, these animals killed…oh god, your friends…oh god, Annie….

The scream is out of your throat before you register it’s coming. You shriek and cry, scrambling across the table toward the stairs behind you, but you’ve forgotten about the sheriff. One of his hands finds your hair, the other gripping your jaw roughly to hold you in place.

You writhe in his grip, but freeze when Tommy finally turns around. He wears a leather mask over the bottom half of his face. His eyes are hidden under his brow, too hard to see in the poorly lit room. You whimper, sweaty hair sticking to your tear streaked cheeks, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Honeymoon’s over, huh?” Another mean laugh and the sheriff wiggles your head playfully back and forth, “Who’ll it be, Tommy? You or me?”

You sob, the real reason you were kept alive now out in the open. Panic rises and you grasp his wrists, attempting to wrench yourself free. The sheriff grunts, squeezing your jaw painfully in retaliation.

“Ya’ like that, honey? Wanna give Sheriff Hoyt a taste?” His breath reeks of stale chewing tobacco when he breaths out across your face.

The loud clang from across the room startles you both. Tommy has set his cleaver down hard on a nearby table. He’s facing away from you again, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy breaths.

“Weh-hell, Thomas Brown Hewitt! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say yer jealous!”

You blink. Panic subsides, replaced by rational thought. The gears in your head whirl at top speed. Maybe this isn’t the end for you, not just yet. A plan drops into place.

If Hoyt—if that’s really his name—gets his way, he will fuck you, kill you, and that will be that. But Thomas…. You bet that mask he’s wearing is hiding something, maybe a deformity, maybe something else. You’ll also guess not many people have been kind to him throughout his life. People are cruel and if you don’t look normal, most are quick to point it out. Perhaps, if you can win Thomas over, you’ll have a chance at survival. Who would dare challenge a chainsaw-wielding behemoth?

It’s a gamble, sure, but it’s a gamble you must make.

“Alright boy, alright.” Hoyt relents, releasing your head and standing up straight. “I’ll give ya’ twenty minutes. If she’s still dressed by the time I get back, I’m putting my foot down.” He laughs, long and loud as he turns and stomps up the stairs. You’re glad to see him go, but now you’re alone with Thomas.

He still isn’t looking at you. He hasn’t spoken a word this entire time either. Maybe he can’t. You might just have to do the talking for him.

You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steeling yourself. You push down the revulsion and fear and grief, shoving them deep in your heart to be revisited later. You must be calm. This is your only option.

“Um, Tommy?” You try, keeping your voice as level as you can. You swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat. “Is…is it okay if I call you Tommy?” Thomas half turns, glancing at you over his shoulder and giving a curt nod. You scoot to the edge of the table and let your legs dangle over the side, hiking your dress up as discreetly as you can.

“Um. The…the sheriff…Hoyt…. He didn’t really give us much time. Um, if it’s…I mean, I know I’m not—not in charge here, but…if it was up to me, I would…I, um, would want it to be y-you.” You glance up at him under your eyelashes, dipping your shoulder so the strap of your dress slips down your arm.

Thomas turns further toward you, staring. You wish you could see his eyes through the gloom or know what he’s thinking. Did you guess wrong? Is he going to pick up that cleaver and bury it in your skull for your trouble? Desperately, you will your racing heart to be calm.

Finally, he looks away. Reaching behind him, he unties his gore-soaked apron, lifting it over his head and draping it on a shelf. He begins to move toward you but pauses, turning quickly and plunging his hands into a bucket of water near the corpse dangling from the ceiling like a macabre marionette. Hastily, he scrubs his palms and fingernails. Seemingly satisfied, he wipes them on a dirty rag before turning back to you.

Cautiously he approaches, like you’ll spook and run if he moves too quickly. He might be right. When he’s close enough for you to reach out and touch him, he stops, hands moving to his pockets, then behind him, then in front of him again. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, you realize. That thought is almost a relief. Almost.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark blue, deep and expressive. You can see his hesitance in his eyes and his body language, in the way he’s almost half turned away, as though he might run instead.

You bite your lip and reach for his hand. Your trembling fingers close around his and you pull him closer. He lets you tow him, helplessly, until he’s standing between your legs. This close, you can smell him; sweat, coppery like blood, and something pine scented, like cleaner or cheap soap.

You place his palm on your bare knee. Christ, his hands are enormous, palms and fingertips calloused and rough against your sweaty skin. You’re sure he could crush your knee like a soda can with just one firm grasp.

He doesn’t move, simply staring at the hand on your leg like he can’t believe this is happening. A twinge of annoyance burns under the fear. You don’t have time for this. Hoyt could come back at any minute.

You reach under your dress, hooking your fingers in your panties before dragging them down your legs. Thomas jerks his hand away like your skin has burned him, awkwardly clasping and unclasping his fingers as you set the garment on the table next to you. Again, you reach for his hand, pulling him back, scooting closer to him until you can feel the heat from his body between your spread legs.

This time, you guide his palm up the expanse of your thigh, under your dress. He sucks in a breath when you press his fingers to your cunt. You meet his gaze again and find him searching your face. He’s looking for something, maybe fear, or disgust, something….

“It’s—it’s okay, Tommy,” you whisper, voice quivering, “Touch me, please.”

He does, slowly, gingerly. His thick fingers explore the skin at the apex of your thighs, then trace between your lips, learning you. You’re sure it’s unintentional when he teases your opening before moving higher. You can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from your trembling lips when he brushes against your clit.

Thomas, ever observant, does it again, then applies more pressure, circling the calloused pad of his thumb around the sensitive bud. Your eyelids flutter and, unbidden, your hips buck into his hand. All the while Thomas stares, hardly blinking, watching for your reactions.

Heat curls through your gut, surprising you, at Tommy’s ministrations. He keeps a steady, maddening pace that soon has slick leaking from your neglected cunt. Half-whimpers climb up out of your throat, barely contained behind your teeth.

Thomas eases up and you’re almost disappointed, but then his fingers slip down your slit to find your soaked entrance once more. Testing, searching, he pushes a finger past your folds, slipping into you. Another gasp tumbles from your mouth. Just his finger, thick as it is, is almost enough.

You grasp his forearm, urging him to move his hand. He catches on quickly and soon he’s pumping his finger in and out of you. Pleasure blooms through your core and you grind your hips down into his hand.

“Tommy, can—can you use another finger, please, I need—

You choke on a moan when he wastes no time in obliging, slipping another finger in next to the first. This is ridiculous, you think deliriously. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this wet before. You can feel it dripping down your thighs to pool under your ass and into Tommy’s palm.

The coil of lust within you tightens and you realize with shock that you’re going to cum. This huge, deranged murderer is going to make you cum on his fingers. And you’re not going to help him.

You rock your hips once, twice and then stars explode behind your eyes, knees clamping shut around his arm. Thomas groans above you, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck, keeping you seated on his fingers when you try to pull away.

Are you sure he hasn’t done this before?

You pant and shudder, finally peeling your eyes open to meet Thomas’ heated gaze. His own chest heaves, the hand on your neck shaking. You swallow, intimidated by him all over again. You think he might bore a hole through your head with his gaze alone. Does he look at all his victims like this?

You shake your head, ridding yourself of your tumultuous thoughts. You have no idea how much time you have left. Hurry, you must hurry.

Thomas must be thinking the same thing because he gently pulls his fingers from your heat. They drip, little droplets splashing into the water covering his boots. He releases your neck to adjust himself and your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge in his pants.

It’s your turn to watch his face as you reach out and unbuckle his belt. Slowly, you pop the button, slide the zipper. He releases a shaky exhale when you run your thumb along the long length of the overheated cock hiding behind his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper when you free him from his underwear. Of course, his cock is huge just like the rest of him; girthy, long, one massive vein running along the underside. You’re unsure if you can handle him.

Thomas frowns at your words, but you’re quick to reassure him, “I’m sorry, I’m just…you’re, uh, really big so I was just, um….” Your words trail off into nervous laughter, “Will you go slow?” you plead, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Thomas nods earnestly, reaching out as if he is going to cup your face. He pauses, fingers inches from your cheek, and the hand withdraws, settling nervously next to your hip. You take another deep breath. No time, no time.

You scoot forward, spreading your thighs wide to accommodate his hips. You grip him, hard and hot under your palm, and guide him to your slick entrance. Thomas tenses when you hook your leg around his hip, using it to ease him toward you.

Sweat beads along your forehead as he inches forward, taking the lead once you release him and lean back on your palms to brace yourself. Thomas grips your hips with shaking hands, pulling you forward, stuffing you full with his cock.

The uncomfortable stretch is there, certainly, quivering muscles straining around Tommy’s generous girth, but your slickness eases the passage and you feel warm pleasure winning out over pain. Before long, he’s fully seated within you, his haggard breaths washing over your sweaty forehead.

Thomas moves and you gasp, one hand flying to grip the front of his shirt. The drag of his cock along your overstuffed walls is unreal. You sigh, biting your lip in a futile attempt to keep the embarrassing sounds safely in your mouth.

A strained groan leaves Tommy and he jerks his hips forward, wrenching a surprised mewl from your own mouth. That noise, or the way you clench around him must destroy his resolve. The grip on your hips turns bruising and Thomas begins pounding into you with enthusiasm.

All you can do is clap a hand over your mouth, your other hand white knuckled and braced against the table. Each harsh thrust sends a jolt of pleasure up through your gut, causing you to lose control of your words.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you chant, not even sure what you’re begging for, your mind hazy with desire. You can barely hear yourself over the noisy slap of skin against skin, the wet squelch of your battered cunt, and the creaking of the rusty table under you.

Thomas trembles, his thighs tensing under yours. He grunts and you can tell from the sound that he’s gritting his teeth. He’s trying not to cum. How he’s lasted this long is beyond you, but he isn’t going to have to wait much longer.

That tight coil has returned, burning hot pleasure zinging up your back and racing across your skin. Thomas moves one hand up your hip to dig his fingers into your waist. He’s so strong, so ruthless in the way he pulls you onto his cock. He could break your spine with little effort.

The coil snaps and you cry out, your body tensing and arching. You grip Thomas’ shoulders for dear life, pleasure pulsing through you in powerful waves as tears spill down your cheeks. At the same moment, Thomas buries his cock as deep as he can, groaning and rutting against you as he fills you up. It sits warm in your belly before trickling down your ass to make an even bigger mess of the table beneath you.

You pant together as though you’ve both just finished a marathon. You glance up to find Thomas studying you again, searching your eyes and face. This time, he does cup your cheek, rough thumb stroking your flushed skin. The action is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—

The door at the top of the stairs bangs open and you nearly leap out of your skin. Thomas jerks away from you to quickly button up his slacks. You reach for your underwear but don’t have a chance to put them on before Thomas scoops you into his arms, cradling you protectively against his broad chest.

“Well, well, well, what have you lovebirds been up to?”

You don’t hear Hoyt’s antagonizing question. You don’t hear anything but the blood pumping in your ears and your own ragged breathing. The way Thomas is holding you, gripping your flesh like his life depends on it, your cunt dripping with his cum, you know.

You know he’s never going to let you go.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm the beginning #reader insert #n sfw #thomas brown hewitt #thomas brown hewitt x reader #gore #blood #manipulative reader #dubcon #my writing

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