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captain-barnes-writes · 4 years ago

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Mafioso

Summary: Mob boss Bucky Barnes enjoys his vacation in Colombia in more ways than one.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Latina

Warning: Language, mafia, maybe a little dark?, age gap, daddy kink (or should I say papi kink😏), unprotected sex. Smutttttt—18+

[one-shot with possibility of a second part...]

NOT PROOFREAD.

Word Count: 5.9k

The thick air under the Colombian night sky had made James Buchanan Barnes break out into a slight sweat. Trickles of perspiration stuck to his forehead and his perfectly combed hair was starting to falter under the South American hot breeze. There was something in the air that night, the air so warm it even made someone like him, someone of his stature, want to wear a pair of shorts and a tank top. He’d pushed aside those thoughts though and opted for a dark ensemble that for the first time in a long time didn’t include a suit. He put the choice on the weather, but knew it was a mere excuse to a much needed laxed relaxation--his muscular frame donned a fitted midnight blue polo and expensive black chinos. A pure gold chain with a thick round pendant hung from his neck. Despite the somewhat more relaxed clothing choice, it still spoke greatly for the person he was, for the power he bore in his hands. He was away from New York, away from his many enemies, yet despite that he couldn’t let his guard down even while in a beautiful place like Medellin, Colombia.

He was a mafioso. Leader of a renowned and feared mafia, James, or as many of his closest confidants called him Bucky, was powerful beyond measure. One of the most remarkable features of the feared man was the way his dark profession didn’t at all really relate to the way he looked. With sharp blue eyes and dull clementine lips, Bucky stood over six feet tall and oftentimes used his honeyed voice to get his way. It was a shrill contrast to the person he truly was with his enemies, or those he was not familiar with, a booming menace with toneless manners and gestures. A darkened soul.

More often than not, he would not be recognized or even thought to be a huge asset of organized crime. He was too handsome, too respectful and was a masked businessman to the public but a true bandit underneath. The way he looked and the way dressed so professionally and gallantly with perfectly tailored dark expensive suits and shiny black leather shoes was his greatest disguise. Unbeknownst to whoever that he carried a sharp blade and fully loaded gun with him at all times.

The work was tiresome, physically and emotionally draining. For a man who was so often toneless in the way he spoke of death, in the way he so often wished it and caused it on others, and emotionless with tragedies, he was still a person beneath all the darkness—all the guns and all the violence. Upon a tormenting year filled with too much bloodshed, he’d decided to take some much needed time for himself in a place where there’d been similar violence and crime to that which he was partially responsible for back in the states, but still felt like a secluded place away from absolutely everything. With his turf being monitored by those he trusted most, to some extent he felt free.

For Bucky, Colombia had felt like an excellent choice upon making it and planning the trip to the t a few weeks prior. It’d taken so long to arrange in order to leave things in place and to choose those who were best skilled for the arduous job that was keeping order to such an unbalanced thing that was the mafia. He’d lied about his whereabouts to many, not wanting to compromise everything he’d worked so hard for.

Now Bucky was in the city of Medellin—rich in culture, food and most importantly filled with women. It had barely been his first day and he’d already eyed far too many beautiful women with their dark features and alluring accents. It was nighttime, past 9 pm and he’d just taken a seat under an umbrella-ladden table with a few of his many bodyguards. They were brooding and menacing figures in dark attire. They were simply doing their job, but Bucky wished they’d take it down a notch especially in a bar where nobody knew who he was and what he stood for. Though he couldn’t say that to them because letting his guard down meant showing weakness and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever.

The vibrant graffiti art on the rustic building the restaurant and bar was situated at went so well with the multicolor knitted flag garland that stretched from one side to the other. The twinkling yellow lights illuminating the beautiful scene before him; people dancing, foreign and natives of the land. Hands joined at the hip, on the shoulders, bodies moving one way to the other and faces etched with a liberating kind of happiness. It was a fresh spectacle he hadn’t witnessed in far too long.

The country that had birthed magical realism and the rhythm and sound of cumbia was lit with shining bulbs and people whose bliss was of no comparison and it was slightly, just slightly, rubbing off on him when he found himself with a small smile. The people dancing before him were in their own little world as the unfamiliar music emanated moves from them that he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And then there was her. A gleaming light of a woman with tan skin that glowed underneath the superficial lighting. Her face seemed to be in such a deep concentration that didn’t seem to emanate from stress or from taking on a hard task, but at the simple task of dancing.

She was the epitome of magic in his eyes—a Colombian who bore beauty so devastating it had dried his mouth. The tan skin, dark flowing tresses that reached her lower back and dusky inviting eyes. A charmeuse emerald green dress with a blood orange floral print design clung effortlessly to her body and much to his pleasure, the frill hem of the dress ended just above the middle of her smooth thighs. The radiant energy that emanated from her was more than Bucky could even imagine; she was more than he could even have imagined. Not that he had before. Compared to all the women he’d encountered during the last few hours he’d been on the foreign soil she took all the medals with her. She took absolutely everything and he wasn’t even near her, hadn’t even touched her, or felt the delicate skin of her neck or even felt the glossy lips that he felt desperate to take a hold of.

Her hips were shaking side to side, tips of her toes translating the music that she so deeply felt. Her bones were burning with the sound of her native music, the sound of Cumbia. Se me perdió la Cadenita’s tune playing in the background as the movements of her hips followed every beat far too perfectly.

She was dancing alone unlike the many people that surrounded the large dancefloor who had their partners. Many times, She found herself in this bar in the famous little plaza of Medellin. Frequented by locals and non-locals alike, it was always a party. The ambiance was a delicacy, the drinks were great and the music never missed.

Today, for the first time ever, she found herself arriving at the bar alone due to her friend ditching her for last-minute plans with her boyfriend. She understood, but still wanted to come out on her own for a much needed distraction because work had been hectic and her personal life was even worse. Drinks and a good sweat-inducing dance always did the trick. Just this time she’d have to dance with herself.

Or maybe not.

Y/N felt heavy cerulean eyes burning holes on her back. She’d peeked once or twice and was well aware of the handsome, well-dressed man sitting amongst a group of menacing looking men whom she could tell were most likely white. He was too, and while she wasn’t particularly attracted to white men, he was something else. Had a little kick, a little spice and how did she even know that? She didn’t, but the man was in Colombia so she’d deduced that he had good taste so far. Blue eyes, she’d noticed, short dark tendrils neatly combed and a trimmed beard. It wasn’t until she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts that her eyes lost sight of the alluring man and a flick of disappointment shot through her.

With a scoff, all her movements had come to a halt and she made her way to the bar area to get herself yet another drink. She’d had two so far and already felt the alcohol contents doing their godforsaken job, alleviating the stress from her shoulders,soothing her wracking brain and letting her have a form of tranquil fun. She wasn’t the best drinker and knew that two more drinks and she’d probably have blurry vision and slurred speech. Consumed in her own thoughts, she suddenly heard the bartender ask what she wished to order.

“Un mojito de aguardiente.” She responded.

“Yo tambien.” Me too. A voice chimed next to her. Strong and laced with a very thick accent that had almost made the words incoherent to any ear. It was the polo-clad man who’d been gawking at her from his table just a mere few minutes ago and now he was standing right next to her. He was so close, the skin of their arms were brushing against each other; she thought of how he felt so warm.

“Good choice.” She commented, eyes trailing up to meet his. An abyssal of blazing blue with a glint of mischief and many things she could not make of stared back at her. The crinkles at the end of his eyes came to shape as he offered her a small nod and smile. He was slightly taken aback at the way the English words slipped past the plumpness of her lips, slightly thick but still more than understandable. Far better than his Spanish.

“We both ordered the same thing so I think we both have great taste.” Bucky with all his influence and overwhelming power was overcome with a yearning for the woman beside him and felt as if he’d become prey to her. But he knew far too well that despite the confidence she so easily oozed and the way she had him almost salivating, she was the victim here. It would never be him.

When the bartender came back with both drinks, Bucky had immediately placed a one hundred dollar bill on his hand, paying for both drinks despite her protest, and told him to keep the change. The man’s face beamed and proceeded to thank him profusely to which he waved him off with nonchalance because to him a bill of such value was simple pocket change.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, really.” The woman pleaded, thick brows furrowed as she fumbled to get money from her purse. Bucky was amused as he placed his hand on her arm trying to stop her movements and at the sudden touch, her head snapped to look at him. It was then when her lips were agape with wide brown eyes that he thought she looked so young, and concluded that she was most likely in her early 20s. He became even more curious, pining to know little details about her.

“It was nothing. Just tell me your name, that’ll be enough.”

It was nothing. At this, she became a little nervous. She couldn’t deny he was really easy on the eyes, even that was an understatement, he was as handsome as men came. With the crisp and costly clothes he wore along with the heavy gold chain that adorned his chest and not to mention the fact that he had just carelessly spent 100 dollars on two drinks that couldn’t have cost more than twenty. And the burly men clad in black who stood at the far back of the large bar just staring at them, at him, not letting him out of their sight as if their lives depended on the very man himself. It warned her that he was a man of money and even the way he carried himself spoke of the probable immense power he held.

With a voice that faltered, accent heavy she responded with her name.

“Y/N.” He tried it, weighed it on his tongue and savored it because it complemented her so well. Said it loud so she could hear him and she did, becoming just a tad flustered as she opened her mouth and closed it again. No sound coming out.

“Such a pretty name, darling.” His honeyed voice caused a flutter in her stomach, but she put it on the alcohol and not at the way the nickname sounded too good coming from him. She felt flushed, and at the sensation that her face had become hot she placed her drink down and put her cooled hands on her cheeks. It was embarrassing that she’d become such a mess in front of him and to try to distract him from this she asked for his name too.

“Bucky.” He replied.

“Never heard of that name before...maybe just because I’m from here, um but is it short for something?”

Just like she had paused earlier when he asked for her name, he became slightly agitated too. He took a large sip of the drink, the aguardiente was a tad powerful but the anise accents mixed with lemon and mint were comforting and gave way to a refreshing taste. He turned his face to look at her after a few seconds, having mulled over the meek possibility of the girl recognizing him, elbows propped on the wooden bar counter.

“It’s just a nickname.” He finally succumbed to the way her doe eyes waited for an answer, but he’d lied to her face. It was actually short for Buchanan. Instead he would give her his first name, a simple name. He wished so ardently that she’d be moaning it in no time.

“My name is James.”

“Oh.” Was all that came from the beauty beside him as she sipped her drink. She didn’t seem to hiss at the alcohol and he deduced that she probably drank it quite often.

“How old are you?” Bucky enquired after she’d grown silent, seemingly too interested in the drink that was more than halfway gone. She’d had such confidence earlier on the dance floor, with hips that weaved and swung to the rhythm of the music and her face expression had been so jaunty. Carefree and relaxed. Now in his presence she seemed quite shy. He wondered why she’d taken on this form now, he didn’t think of himself as being too pushy. At least not now because there was no need, she was compliant enough. He only showed that harsh edge when necessary.

“22.” She uttered. He’d been right, she was in her early 20s. God, she was so young and he was already pushing 40. The age should’ve had him walking away, but he wasn’t at the thought of being between her pretty thighs savoring her, tasting her. He wanted to teach her a few things only men his age knew. Taking one last sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. Her waves cascading down to her lower back slightly moved as she yet again twisted to gaze up at him with burnt sienna eyes. She was sensual without even meaning to and he felt his pants tightening.

She adjusted her feet, feeling a slight ache at standing with the bronze pumps and placed a hand on her hip. The plunging neckline of the dress was enticing him. Smooth skin peeking at the bright material that complemented her far too well as if it was made just for her. He himself had just finished his drink as well, placed it on the counter and moved to adjust his pants. The pressure was becoming uncomfortable. He’d moved his gaze away from her to look at his surroundings, a mere habit of his. It was then that her eyes trailed to his hands and that the sleek black object caught her eyes. She stared intently, feeling herself more agitated, and the black metal gleamed as if to alarm her. She let out a small gasp and averted her eyes to look anywhere else, but him

She was panicking at being in such close proximity to a deadly weapon. It was normal to carry a gun and sometimes it did seem as a necessity to ward off danger, but it didn’t ease the discomfort Y/N felt. She placed a hand on her chest while placing the other on the counter and taking a deep breath. She was having an internal battle, one side was chastising her for judging Bucky for the simple act of carrying a gun while the other side was pleading with her to get away.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispered so softly in her ear suddenly. Hot breath fanning on her side of her face and goosebumps arising on her skin. She stuttered, not even coming up with a coherent thing to say. His hand found its way to hers, gripping it, and bringing it up to place his lips on it. His eyes ablaze that she felt them burning holes on her forcing her to yet again meet them.

“Come on, darling.” He hummed, waiting for a response. Her hand was still entwined with his but now he was just holding it at his side, not letting go. His other hand had fallen to the waistline of his dark chinos, the sleek object coming to view. Her breath hitched and she felt as if she was speechless. Had he done that on purpose? To show her that he had the upper hand and that she had no choice but to say yes.

In the most twisted way the one thing she was holding onto was the deep rasp and slowness of his voice and the mere invitation to leave with him had allowed a current of heat creep to her stomach, a pooling sensation in between her legs. She yet again put it on the alcohol because had she been completely sober she would’ve escaped already.

She blinked at him, words continuing to fail her. Bucky was growing impatient at the girl before him who seemed to be fighting with herself. He knew she’d seen the pistol hidden inside the waistband of his pants, but he didn’t even want to hurt her. Not like that anyway.

“It’s a gun, just for protection. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He defended.

She remained quiet and at the sound of no response, he let go of her hand and took hold of her face with both his hands. Gripping it, he brought his lips to hers in a forceful kiss. Her lips tasted like lemon and alcohol, so warm and soft he already felt addicted. She didn’t respond at first, her dainty hands coming up to grab the bottom of his arms to try to let go but it was no use because Bucky was far stronger. When his teeth lightly took hold of her bottom lip, she inadvertently let out a small moan. It was her first reaction and it had him wanting more. Groaning, he pulled away. Eyes filled with so much lust he thought it would seep out of him.

“Shit, come on.” His head turned to his men, signaling them it was time to go. She was going to come with him, she had to. He wanted her to grip the sheets of his bed tonight, bury her head in his pillows and moan his name. He gripped her hand again, dragging the girl through the exit of the bar. She wasn’t fighting, just struggling behind him with her bronze pumps.

In seconds, she was inside a sleek car with the engine revving and Bucky cruising through the Medellin streets. From her quietness, posture and the way her dainty hands fiddled on her lap Bucky deduced that she either didn’t do this often or at all.

In a haze, Y/N wondered what he did for a living. He had an expensive rental, donned tailored clothing of fine quality and had bodyguards for protection. They were trailing behind him in different cars, one in front and one at the back. With one hand on the steering wheel, Bucky rubbed soft circles on her thigh with the other . Her skin was smooth and it dawned on him than in no less than 5 minutes he’d get to have the woman next to him at his disposal. Completely naked and at his mercy. At the thought, he hardened.

“Touch me.” He commanded, voice laced with a yearning need it felt as if it was eating him alive.

“What?” Y/N sputtered, brown eyes growing wide. She wasn’t inexperienced, but this was a man far older than she’d ever been with. He seemed to be nearing his 40s with his fluffy locks already showing signs of graying. And she was still slightly scared that on the other side of his hip was a gun.

“Stop thinking about it. I said it’s not to hurt you.” He sounded slightly peeved, voice sounding a bit rough. He’d caught her eyeing his hip where his gun was. She nodded while taking a deep breath. She knew perfectly well what he wanted, her hands on him. With shaky hands, she began to unzip his pants and though he had groaned at the small action he stopped her with his hand.

“Just through the pants, baby. We’re almost at the hotel.” She blinked, pressing her hands to the prominent bulge on his black chinos. She began palming him through the thick fabric, feeling the ridges of his erection and she shameless bit her lip at the feel, at how big he felt. Through long lashes, she ogled at the man before her. Ruggedly handsome beyond words with a strong build she knew she’d be left aching. Even though she still felt remnants of uncertainty, she mostly felt a deep gust of excitement building within her.

Bucky’s mouth was watering at the actions of the young girl beside him, her small hand touching him in the most sensual way. And it felt like a huge step forward with her hands on him, but he also felt her lingering gaze. It prompted him to remove his hand from her thigh and accelerate on the roads he was not even familiar with but the need to get to his hotel was one of his top priorities. It was silent for the most part besides a few jagged groans that emanated from his chest at the way she was still touching him. It almost pained him to not be buried inside her yet. God, he just knew she'd be tight and sweet.

When they did arrive at the towering hotel building, he’d leaned over and wrapped her up in a sweltering kiss before he had her hand in his hand waltzing through the lobby and into the elevator. The tension was thick and he’d managed to get his hands on her waist pulling her closer to him. He knew better than to try anything on the elevator especially not with his bodyguards in tow.

With his key card already in hand, once in front of his suite, he hastily swiped it and dragged her inside. With a sigh of relief he pushed her against the door, shutting it. In a change of roles, she was the one grabbing at the collar of his polo and pulling him in her to crash their lips together. It was sexy in the nastiest way possible--mouths engulfing each other, him biting her lips, sucking on them and her fitting her tongue inside his mouth. It was sloppy and brought a wave of satisfaction, it just wasn’t enough.

With greedy hands he groped her ass, massaging the roundness through the soft charmeuse material of her dress before he lifted it up through her body forcing them to pull away in order to fully remove the dress. Once it had come off, he threw it in a heap on the floor and savored the girl in front of him. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed and her hair already in disarray she looked just about ready to take him. He could have just come at the sight of her with the pretty white lace set she sported. So tiny it barely covered anything.

“Look at you baby. You look so pretty, ready to take me huh?” He’d lifted her into his arms ushering her to wrap her tanned legs around him while his hands held the fullness of her bottom. She hated that he was fully dressed. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted to see the toned muscles of his torso and touch the bulge she’d had her hands just a few minutes prior, just this time without the thick material of his chinos.

She nodded at his question as a small yes fled from her lips when he brought their lips together again in another needy kiss. This time, he maneuvered through the large hotel room and finally dropped her on his bed. He’d stayed on his feet, removing his shirt and revealing his taut and strong chest.

“You look so good, Bucky” She hadn’t meant for her English to sound so thick, not only laced with a deep onset of lust but with complete delight at the sight of him. She blushed at the way she’d sounded, but he loved it. Loved the way his name fell from her swollen lips.

With a bite of his lip, he watched as her expression went from that of need to one filled with fear as he removed the gun from the waistband of his pants. The dark metal in his hand the only thing her eyes were focused on. He was amused at the innocence she carried. Even in a country like Colombia where crime and death rates were one of the highest back in the day because of people like him, she’d managed to keep that angelic essence. He admired her refusal to let go of it.

“I told you this is only for protection, baby. The only thing that’s gonna hurt you is this dick.” He was half joking, gun still gripped in his hand he walked around the side of the bed to place it on the white nightstand. It seemed as if even that wasn’t enough for her so with a roll of his deep blue eyes, he decided it was best he placed it inside the nightstand drawer. Sure, he had better access and more maneuver to reach for it if it was on top, but he wanted to fuck her so bad and wanted her to enjoy it not have a gun be the reason she couldn’t get wet over him.

She swallowed, a little more calm as she saw the weapon safely stored inside the drawer and offered him a timid smile. He chuckled at her newfound expression and felt the same yearning bubble up again. Desperate to feel her skin on him, he unbuckled his pants in a haste and threw them carelessly on the floor. If he wasn’t so damn hard to the point it pained him, he would’ve had her remove the pants with her small hands. Another time, he thought.

He climbed on top of her, expectant doe eyes staring back at him when his face prodded down at her. She reached her soft hands to touch his face and used it to pull his face towards hers. Lips meeting in a desperate kiss as if starved of human touch; so eager, so needy. His hands didn’t waste time exploring her body. They wanted to be everywhere at once, her breasts, her thighs and the sweet place between her thighs. For the time being, he’d stopped at the swell of her breasts, pushing down the thin lace cups and rubbing her perky brown nipples slowly. Fingers trailing on the smoothness of her areolas had turned to kneading. His lips had parted from hers and trailed down to the sensitive skin of her neck and made sure to take the skin between his lips. Sucking and biting at the skin until blood had risen leaving behind deep purple marks that looked rather painful. She was a withering mess underneath him, soft little moans falling from her swollen lips and thighs widening.

She was so compliant especially when he’d patted her thigh and she’d opened up to him without a single word. His fingers had grasped at the thin lace material of her panties too roughly and it had ripped. Y/N yelped and he didn’t know what to make of her face expression whether it was anger or disappointment that had shown, but he promised her he’d buy her more. Expensive lace just for his pretty girl.

Without waiting for a response, 2 fingers had slowly delved into her cunt. Long fingers forming a slow and torturous rhythm that had her wanting more. If this was his way of making her talk then he was on right track as her little whines grew the more he kept the same pace

“Faster.” Y/N pleaded, hands grasping at the sheets below her. He felt himself gloat as her soft voice egged him on, finally voicing out her needs. He’d given in, fingers pumping in and out of her in briskness all while loving the little sinful moans that she gave out. Within seconds, his tongue had taken place of his fingers licking a long patch of her pretty pussy before he brought them back inside her. Her cunt was soaking wet with her juices and she was so damn sweet. His tongue was swirling against her clit, a move that had her body shuddering in the process. His fingers continued their pace inside her while his tongue drew long licks on her little petal, sucking and swirling that within seconds she’d gripped his hair tightly and came without warning. She’d come right on his fingers, room filling with the sound of her cries. When he withdrew his fingers, glistening and sticky with her unbelievably sweet nectar, he licked a long stripe against her before coming up for air. He looked wildly erotic—hair unruly and mouth wet with the fruits of her orgasm.

When Bucky climbed his way back on top of her, she was breathing so hard her chest was heaving up and down, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, meanwhile her eyes were fluttering in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Open your mouth.” Bucky ordered, voice laced with desire as he stared at the mess of a girl. Her brown eyes fluttered open again and with a bite of her lip, she opened her lips wide for him. Almost immediately his fingers were inside her mouth. He wanted her to taste herself, to taste how delicious she was.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. You like it? Like the way you taste?” God, he sounded so sexy. She hadn’t expected him to be such a talker, but he was making her skin tingle with just the sound of his voice and with the things he spewed out during their sinful acts. She moaned with his fingers in her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head to let him know that yes, she tasted damn sweet but that she was sure he tasted even better. At this thought, she grabbed hold of his arm and pushed his fingers out. Taking charge for the first time that night, she pushed him on his back. His olive skin meeting the black silk of his sheets.

Mischievous burnt sienna eyes peered up at him as she removed his boxers causing the thick bulge to spring out. He was so big and thick in her hands, and she thought of how much discomfort the stretch would be just taking him.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, dainty hand wrapping around the thick shaft moving up and down. He was groaning above, husky and loud. It drove her hand to move faster against him, a line of precum already seeping from the swollen head. It was so enticing seeing the milky substance leaking from him that her head bowed and lips wrapped around the very tip. Tongue swirling against the tiny hole before she sucked it savoring the salty taste of him. She began to bob her head down the thickness of his cock, unable to take him all but making sure what she couldn’t take her hand would. He was just so damn big, she wanted to take him all but when he hit the back of her throat her eyes had watered and her throat hadn’t allowed more to fit in. But he seemed satisfied as his hand tangled itself in hair, urging her to keep the same momentum. Her red lips sucking him , coating him in her saliva. Almost too soon, he’d pulled her off him and pushed her on top of him. Swollen lips meeting in the middle, fervent and needy. She tasted like him but he didn’t care.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft again, pumping him once more before she lined up to her entrance. She pushed herself down slowly, taking him inside her warmth. It was an uncomfortable stretch, the dull ache clear on her face as she grimaced. She took her time, barely moving for a good few seconds before she felt his hands on her hips. Kneading the soft skin there, almost as if pleading for her to move. With the tips of her feet on both sides of him, she began a slow up and down movement. He watched as her pussy devoured his dick, disappearing inside her.

Her breathy moans, shaky feet and slow movements were driving him wild. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed. Bucky’s hips had began bucking up, fucking into her desperate to feel more of her tightness. It wasn’t long before he’d taken the reigns again and her body was shaking above him, helplessly taking the deep thrusts.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl. Your tight pussy can take this dick right, baby girl?”

“Si papi.” Bucky’s ears had perked up at the naughty words. She’d called him daddy in Spanish and it had his dick twitching inside her. He could just cum at the sound of that word.

“Shit, call me that again baby girl.” He pleaded, breathing loud as his thrusts continued to piston inside her before he came to a momentary pause. He pushed her body backwards, her back hitting the silk sheets with a small thud. He lined himself at her wet pussy and drove forward again, feeling her tightness engulf him.

“Fuck me papi. Fuck me hard.” She was driving him wild with her velvety voice and the vice grip her cunt had him in. He began with full rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping filling the large hotel room. Her breasts were bouncing before him, gaining the attention of his lips and his mouth wrapped around her nipple before he gazed at her neck. Ladened with purple marks from his mouth, he wrapped his large hand around it. He’d taken her aback, eyes rolling as her breathing was slightly restricted. He was still fucking her to the brink of insanity and with the added pressure on her neck, she felt the familiar heat building within her stomach, balling up in a crazed manner. He pushed himself inside her with need, wanting her to break apart in front of him so he could follow suit with his own pent up orgasm.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming.” She yelped, voice hoarse with his grip on her neck. She was spasming underneath, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks as she felt the wave of ecstasy shake through her. Her cunt had tightened around his dick, still moving inside her, but the constriction had unexpectedly gotten him to the edge too. He felt himself come with hot spurts inside her, a loud groan slipping past his lips. His stomach shuddered, heaving heavily. He felt as if she’d milked him of all he had.

She grimaced when he pushed himself from her and collapsed beside her. She was spent, sore limbs and a terrible ache between her thighs she knew she’d be spending the night. There was no way she’d make it home without falling asleep. She turned to look at him, and he did too , sharing drained smiles. Noticing her eyes fluttering close, he pecked her lips softly, a stark difference from the roughness of their previous acts.

“I’ll take you to buy new panties tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said, before she succumbed to sleep.

oooooof, this took me hours to write but I felt so inspired. I watched the devil all the time and I, Tonya again (the mustache really does it for me honestly, he’s so hot) and I was like lemme just write a mob bucky one-shot.

Any tips or comments, lemme know. Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. can someone please tell me they’re as disgustingly obsessed with Lee Bodecker as I am, I’m literally burning inside. The little pouch and the PEPSI CUP. OMFGGGGG

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fangmaw · 3 years ago

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Big Bad Wolf

This is a fanfic based on Heart Pangs by @mmmleckerlecker ! Absolutely go read it if you haven’t already!

This fic diverges from Heart Pangs at the end of Chapter 48. After his interaction with the collector, Lux changes his mind about his newly acquired prey. When he returns to the hotel, Benji is gone. We begin as a starving Lux finds Benji—and the aftermath of Benji's rescue attempt.

The door was knocked in, laying in splinters across the threshold. Lux stopped short for a precious second at the horror of it, an ugly gash interrupting an otherwise picturesque scene. The house was quiet, and a soft yellow glow peeked out from the curtains. Then the breeze shifted and he smelled the blood.

The room was unrecognizable. The entire stretch from the door to the kitchen was pooling, sopping red, seeping into the carpet and under the wreckage of furniture strewn about the space. Lux swallowed hard, the scent of fear electric over prey. His eyes locked on the trembling figures huddled in the mess, and the struggle to process the tableau kept his mind occupied just enough not to lunge for his target on sight.

Camille was hunched against the far wall. Her body and face were plastered with deep acid burns and she was struggling to stay conscious, but Lux could hear the rapid shudder of her heart—and smell the twist of bile rising off her skin. Any questions he may have had were answered in the next moment when he found Benji, camouflaged beside a massive corpse. Both were absolutely soaked with blood, and indistinguishable viscera piled at Benji’s knees. Rattling breaths shook his tiny frame. Alive. Lux took a step closer and smelled Benji’s blood through the pred’s—hurt.

With a gasp, Benji twisted to face Lux, staring up at him in wide-eyed horror and brandishing a knife. Blood flicked off the blade and landed amongst the other blood. Benji kept his grip on the knife, extended arm shaking while the other hung awkwardly at his side. Lux dropped to his knees like he’d been shot.

“Benji,” he breathed. The scent of the Marottas, their blood and their house, washed over his tongue like smoke, fleeting and vibrant. The whites of Benji’s eyes were stark against the gore covering his face. Lux began to crawl forward, one arm outstretched. “Your shoulder…”

Benji scrambled back, dropping the knife immediately. His limbs tangled with the dead pred’s and Lux finally saw the face for the first time. Cecil. Even gutted like a fish he looked smug.

He shouldn’t think like that. The man was dead. He should...Felix didn’t know what he should do. He was confused, and hungry, and Benji—

“You.” Camille’s sharp hiss caught his attention. Lux glanced over to see that Benji had pushed himself fully away from Cecil and was rising to his feet.

Lux stayed on his knees, one hand planted firmly in the blood and the other curled against his stomach. They were alive. They were both alive, and here—and afraid. Camille was talking, babbling in shock, a scattered stream-of-consciousness that would have been difficult to follow even if Lux had been fully present. Something about the Facility—they’d come with cars, or Cecil’s car, but they’d left when they saw it was just her, just one scared prey and not an Epomis nest. Cecil had taken it from there.

Lux couldn’t take his eyes off the body. He could see flitting movement in his peripheral vision as Benji and Camille assessed the state of each other, nervous and quick in a way that gripped his stomach like a vise. Every second twisted further, tugging his rational mind deeper into the black hole of his gut. He snarled and the Marottas froze.

“They’ll come back. The Facility.” Lux winced as hunger shot through him. His fingers twitched against his will. The house was silent for a moment.

“Or McMullen,” Benji whispered.

Camille and Lux both looked toward him as he took a slow breath.

“I was thinking on the drive here. It had to have been- if he doubted your loyalty… it would be easy enough to tip them off.”

Camille paled, as much as she could under the burns. “He gave me a new mission. In front of everyone. I was supposed to hunt you down.” She stared at Lux. “I was supposed to disappear.”

The thought was too much. Lux shook his head and staggered to his feet. “No, no … you…” His thoughts kept dissolving into ugly instincts. “I have to do this. Keep you safe.”

Lux was far too distracted to see the horror on Camille’s face at his words, the way her fingernails gripped the ruined fabric of Benji’s shirt. He didn’t see Benji’s grim expression as he grabbed Cecil’s wrists and began dragging the limp form down the hall. They both stayed frozen in the kitchen for the few seconds it took to get Cecil into the bathroom.

By the time the spell broke, Lux had managed to wedge himself and the body into the tiny room. His hands were slick with tepid blood as he folded Cecil against the sink and braced himself against the door. Benji knocked on the wood, sending shockwaves through the muddle of Lux’s mind.

“Felix?”

Lux let his back slide down the door until he was seated on the tile, face-to-face with Cecil. He felt Benji turn the knob, but it was held fully shut by the weight of Lux’s body between them.

“Felix, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” His voice was still shaky, but growing firmer. Lux inhaled, sinking under the scent of the house, of the man behind the door. He could almost ignore the cloying smell of pred blood smeared across his body. He reached out and gripped Cecil’s hair.

“Let me in. Please.” Benji’s voice came from the base of Lux’s skull. He shook his head.

“I can’t.” Lux twisted his fingers in the pred’s hair and heaved his body onto his lap. “Go help Camille.” He waited for two of his own slow, ponderous heartbeats, but Benji stayed where he was. It didn’t matter. Lux had to do this now, before he came to his senses.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth.

It was repulsive. Every second he was confronted with the wrongness of his position, the stretch in his jaw and the taste on his tongue. At the same time, Benji’s nervous movements inches away made his mouth water. The towels beside him smelled of Camille, of life. The contrast with the limp thing in his throat was jarring, but the reminder—alongside his bullheadedness—were the only things keeping Lux from retching.

Each fraction of an inch was a struggle, but the pred remained unphased. He knew his body was capable of this. He felt Cecil’s form begin to curl as it entered his stomach and faltered, knocking his shoulder against the sink.

“Felix!” came a yelp from beyond the door.

Lux squeezed his eyes close. He could do this, he thought. For Benji.

For once, he wasn’t hurting anyone. Well, anyone else.

Even as the clumsy limbs of the dead pred strained against him, his stomach gripped and twisted around its new contents, growling inquisitively. Lux groaned as he passed Cecil’s hips, half in pain and half in relief. Benji rattled the knob, but he remained quiet. Now that the man had been mostly consumed, Lux had space to lean forward slightly, trying to get some leverage to hurry the process along. He was in for a god-awful next few days, and he’d rather get it over with.

His pants had already been pushed aside by the wretched stretch of his belly, but Lux took a moment to properly unbutton the waistband. In the same way, the loose t-shirt he was wearing had ridden up nearly to his chest, framing the painful skin beneath. Not that his clothes would have done anything to really hide a prey belly, but at least he wouldn’t feel so exposed, so lurid in that situation.

Finally, finally he reached the end, gripping the feet and ramming the limbs into his throat with as much force as he could muster. A sharp pain struck his side and he held back a gasp, biting into the fabric around the ankles. Lux was fully laying down now, curled on his side. He pulled and swallowed and prayed this nightmare would be over as the knob rattled again.

The body was gone. Lux felt the last awkward bend as his organs rearranged themselves around his stomach. A low burp startled him, bringing with it the beginnings of a heave. Lux grit his teeth and held it down. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he threw up right now, but he didn’t want to find out. Already, his stomach was whining as digestion kicked in. It wasn’t that Lux felt full. God, this was lightyears beyond the pleasant tightness of a prey curled up inside him. Lux felt inert. Neutralized.

The door opened, pushing Lux’s feet out of the way just enough that Benji could slide in.

“No, please…” Lux tried to curl away, but the distension of his middle forced his limbs into a cramped sprawl. He settled for turning his face toward the tile floor.

Benji approached slowly, deftly maneuvering around the tangle of Lux’s body. His stomach clenched as the prey kneeled down beside his head.

Lux became aware of his own heavy breathing, practically panting after the strain of the ordeal. Over the next minute, Benji’s breath went from shallow to consciously deep, each exhale a little victory over his fear. The weighty silence was broken by the snarl of Lux’s gut. He winced.

“I’m sorry, Benji.”

“Are you okay?”

Lux opened his eyes. From his position, he had to look up to see Benji’s face. He was still drenched in blood, but his eyes were familiar. Resolute.

“I’m-” Lux froze, unsure. Something shifted in his stomach and he whimpered. Desperate. Pathetic. Neutralized. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

“It hurts, Benji.” He looked up again, to see Benji’s slow nodding. “God, you don’t need to see this.”

“I’m not leaving.” There was no aggression, no sadness in his voice. Just a statement of fact. Benji sighed. “He consumed Camille. I thought she was gone. I…” Benji went still.

“You saved her.”

“I killed him.”

Lux frowned. “And I consumed him.”

After a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah. Yeah you did.”

“We’re going to figure this out. With Epomis, and Camille, and-” he paused as his stomach rolled, threatening him. “Ugh. The Facility.”

Benji laughed, short and bright. “Big talk coming from you, given-” he waved his hand in the general direction of Lux’s belly, “-this.”

“Mm.” Lux knew he was rapidly losing coherence as all his body’s energy went into breaking down its unexpected meal. The relief of earlier finally caught up with him, dragging down his eyelids; Benji was beside him and he could hear Camille moving about the living room. They were safe. Even if it was fleeting, they were safe.

It could have been a dream when Lux felt Benji curl up against his chest. He seemed unsure at first, wary of the warped skin, but relaxed when Lux hummed in approval. The writhing of his traitorous stomach was an afterthought as he felt the gentle rise and fall of Benji’s shoulders against his body.

This is a fanfic based on Heart Pangs by @mmmleckerlecker !

#heart pangs #heart pangs fanfic #go read heart pangs #so many of these characters elicit a deep oh honey response in me #truly a testament to mmmleckerlecker's craftsmanship

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jadequeen88 · 4 years ago

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Crimson Canopy

The last thing you thought you’d be doing that day was seducing a god-like, mythical creature...

PAIRING: Harpy!Hawks x Female!Reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: oral/penetrative sex, praise kink (if you squint), wing kink, (it’s all pretty vanilla)

AS WITH ALL MY WORK THIS IS NSFW. ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS PLS

This is an AU with no quirks. Humans live a long side mythical races and creatures that they abuse for the most part. You’re part of a secret organization that saves and protects them.

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

Sweat dripped into your eyes as you reached the top of the trail. Panting, you wiped it away with the back of your hand. Wishing (not for the first time today) you’d gotten your ass out of bed earlier so you’d be out of the afternoon heat, you take a long drink from your insulated water bottle. You knew you had patrol duty today, but you still thought it was a good idea to stay up trying to drown your depression with bourbon.

As your breathing slowed, you pull out your phone to see a new message.

Bre: “Done yet? It’s really hot out! Did you find anyone/thing that was injured?”

You: “Not done yet. Got a late start. No sign of any traps set off so far. I’ll text when I’m done.”

Bre: “Good news! Stay safe :)”

You slide your phone back into the pocket of your cargo pants and sit on a nearby stump. From this vantage point, you could use your binoculars to scan the wooded valley below for anyone who needed help.

As you scanned the area, a thought you’d had a million times before flirted through your brain. “I really am disgusted by my own species most days.” If humans weren’t so ruthless, greedy, and arrogant, you wouldn’t have to be out here in the first place.

You were part of a secret rescue agency that saved endangered mythical creatures and races of humanoids from poachers. Whether it was unicorns murdered for their horns and blood, wood elves captured for horrific genetic experiments, or griffins murdered just for existing, humans were relentless. Although, most of the human population grouped elves and other intelligent humanoids into basically being animals themselves. Despite the fact that these races had their own languages, customs, art, and social hierarchy just like humans. The lack of empathy on the part of your race made your stomach turn and your blood boil.

It didn’t take long to spot your first victim. But this seemed... different. The cries were not fully human, not fully animal, but completely full of rage. And the wind! It was as if a small cyclone had suddenly rose from the ground and threatened to swallow the small patch of forest in the valley. You had no idea what could be causing the commotion, but you did know it was caught and needed help. It needed help fast. A lot of poachers had cameras or alarm systems to alert them when a trap was set off. You knew you had a small window or time before things got dire.

You expertly navigated your way down the hillside, having made a crude path over time on your patrols. Within a couple of minutes, you approached the ring of trees that were being violently shaken by the forceful wind.

When you looked into the chaos, you could see enormous, crimson feathers beating wildly into the air. Your eyes widened in wonder and horror when realization washed over you.

“Holy shit.... A Harpy....”

They were so rare and so removed from human society that many believed them to be fairy tales. But what you saw in front of you was definitely real. The creature beat their wings so furiously you couldn’t even make out the rest of their body. The growls and cries of rage still pierced the air as the wretched creature thrashed against its metal wire trappings.

It never got easier seeing just how brutal these traps were. A simple bear trap would be a mercy in some cases.

Not knowing a better way to get the creature’s attention, you let out a loud, high whistle.

The massive wings froze and you were able to see flesh between them. The harpy’s skin was crisscrossed with thin, metal wires that began to dig angry, bleeding cuts all over. A pang of despair rang through your chest. You noticed a golden blonde head slowly turn to face you.

For the second time today, you were absolutely astounded by what you saw in front of you.

A MALE Harpy! You knew enough about the creatures to know that only about 1 in 20 babies born were male. You’d never in a million years expect to come face to face with a Harpy. Let alone a male.

Once the shock wore off, another realization fell over you. He was absolutely, drop dead, gorgeous.

His long golden tresses hung wild around his face and his amber colored eyes burned through you. He had the chiseled jaw line of a Greek god and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment.

You quickly snapped out of it when you realized why you were there. You had to save him.

You slowly circled around to face him, palms out showing you weren’t a threat to him. He wasn’t buying it, though. You knew if he wasn’t bound by metal wires, he’d be eating away at your throat right this second.

Once you were face to face with him, you were able to appreciate the full extent of his terrifying beauty.

His perfectly sculpted chest was bare and bleeding from struggling against the wires of the trap. His mouth was pulled into a snarl, baring sharp canines and you were absolutely sure they could slice through you in a second. The only article of clothing he wore were a pair of woven cropped pants. They were made in an intricate pattern. The anthropologist in you wanted to ask what the material was made of and how it was woven... until a half growl, half whimper brought you back to the reality of the situation.

Your eyes trailed back up to meet the Harpy’s honey-golden irises. The pain in them made your chest ache.

“H-help.... p-pl-please...”

You froze, shocked that this mythical creature was actually able to communicate with you. Most elves you came in contact didn’t speak English. How could a Harpy, an even rarer species, speak it?

You didn’t have time right now. Questions could wait until later. You quickly swung your bag off your shoulder and pulled out your wire cutters.

The closer you got to the creature, you could notice tremors through his body. Especially at the base of his large wings. His right one was bound in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

You held the wire cutters out in front of you and made eye contact with him.

“These will cut the wires. Okay? This will help.”

You made sure to use the word “help” since he seemed to understand that.

You received a curt nod, his golden, feathery hair flopping into his eyes a bit more.

After snapping ten of the vicious wires loose, he was able to remove himself from the rest. You noticed his hands had long, black nails that were reminiscent of talons. You looked curiously at his feet to see if he had talons. You always heard that Harpy’s had long, nasty talons for feet that they’d gut their prey with. You were slightly (pleasantly) surprised to see perfectly normal feet wearing plain, deerskin moccasins.

You heard a deep, rumbling chuckle and looked up to see him laughing at you while rubbing at his sore biceps.

“You expected horrible talons that I’d use to gut you with, no?” His eyes widened and he exposed his sharp canines when he said “gut you”. Something stirred in the pit of your stomach and you stiffened with surprise.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry! I’ve just... I’ve never met a Harpy, much less a MALE Harpy and you know, we hear so many rumors. I’m just fascinated by your species and culture and-“ you were silenced when he clasped one of his large hands over your mouth. He looked around, obviously sensing something you couldn’t.

He pulled you into a bear hug. You barely had time to register what was happening when the Harpy growled “Hold” into your ear.

With one thrust of his powerful, crimson wings, you were above the tree line. That’s when you heard a gunshot. The Harpy shot forward with incredible speed and didn’t slow down his speed until you were over the next mountain. When you were well away from the danger of the poachers, his wings flapped a little lazier and you were gliding along the air currents at a more relaxing speed.

After the initial shock wore off, you became more aware of your surroundings. You clung to the male like a koala hanging onto a tree. Your arms wrapped around his back tightly and legs around his waist, linking your ankles so you wouldn’t fall.

You immediately blushed as you noticed how hot the flesh of his arms were around you. One arm was positioned under you grabbing your outer right thigh. The other arm gripped your upper back, his strong fingers digging into your ribs right under your breast. You stiffened, embarrassed at the warmth growing between your legs. It’s not like you could really pull away.

You shift your hips nervously, hoping to make your position less awkward. The Harpy caught on to this subtle gesture and you felt his chest rumble against yours. Was he... laughing at you?!

“Excuse me... umm, Harpy... sir. Is something funny?” you ask, growing redder in the face by the second.

“Hawks” he purred in your ear. This did not help the growing heat your body was producing.

“What?”

“Name. Call me by Hawks. It is easier for a human to say than my birth name.” his voice was deep and he spoke with a musical lilt to his voice that was hypnotizing to you.

“Oh...” you trailed off, losing the train of thought you’d had.

There was a long pause before he continued speaking, as if he were pondering the right way to frame his thought.

“Amusing... it is.. amusing to me how easily a human female is....” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “Aroused” the last word was purred directly into your ear.

A shudder went through you and just as you were about to unleash a flurry of curses on him, you felt a jolt as his feet landed on wooden planks.

Hawks leaned forward and let you down gently. You could see you were on a balcony in the top of a massive tree. Branches concealed any evidence that there was a structure built into the tree. You followed the Harpy (or “Hawks” as you now knew him) into a small cabin like structure. Inside was one open room set up like a studio loft. You were amazed at how human everything felt. One wall was lined with bookshelves (guess that’s how he can speak English). There was a small kitchen area and on the opposite wall, a neatly made bed. You didn’t know what to expect a Harpy’s home to look like, but it wasn’t this.

You had so many questions to ask, but didn’t know where to start.

Any questions you had fell silent as the angelic Hawks turned to face you. Two slow steps forward and he was inches away from your face. You froze as his inquisitive eyes trailed your face. From your hairline down to your collarbone. He looked very serious; like he was studying a text book.

Hawks held up one of his hands and gently ran the tip of his index finger down the bridge of your nose. His soft touch ghosted over your lips causing you to involuntarily part them slightly. This caught his attention and his head cocked slightly to the right. He leaned in and you thought he would kiss you, but his face found the crook of your neck and he buried his nose into your warm flesh. You felt him breathe your scent in and your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“You do not stink, human.” Hawks spoke into your skin.

“Umm. Thank you?” You questioned, not knowing if you should be offended or not.

“As children... we learn that humans are vile and evil. But you...” hawks trailed off, nuzzling his nose into your neck. "You are my savior”

Warmth spread through your chest and without thinking, you tangled your hands into his golden mop of hair and massaged his scalp. You felt his hands gently touch your hips and his beautiful wings encircle you both.

“Most of us are vile and evil, Hawks,” you whisper into his hair, breathing in his woodsy scent. “But some of us try to do better.”

As you continued to massage his scalp, you could feel a humming against your neck and a slight vibration running through his chest. Was he... purring?

Now was your turn to giggle. His face met yours with an embarrassed expression this time. He pulled away and his wings drooped slightly.

You cupped his face in your hands and touched his forehead to yours to ease his discomfort.

“That was a beautiful sound...” you whisper against his lips.

His liquid gold eyes met yours and you froze wondering what would come next.

Slowly, Hawks nuzzled his cheek against yours in a tender gesture. The purring noise quietly started back up and you returned his soft nuzzling gesture.

The earthy, warm smell of his skin was hypnotic. You sighed, wondering what his lips would taste like under your tongue. As your thoughts started spiraling further into your fantasies, Hawks froze.

“Taste...” he whispered, “May I taste you, human?”

Your eyes met again.

“Yes...” you whispered, mere centimeters from his face.

Hawks planted his lips onto your collarbone. After a soft kiss, you felt a long, languid lick trail all the way up to your shoulder. You bit your lip to stifle a moan.

Hawks was obviously not concerned with you hearing his reactions, because a low growl/moan escaped his lips as contact broke and he licked up your neck just as slowly.

The second lick made you shudder and your voice escaped before you could bite it back.

The purring sound got louder and he nuzzled your ear with his nose. The grip he held on your hips tightened and he pulled you in to meet his body. You gasped as you felt the bulge rubbing against your thigh.

“CHRIST he’s huge...”

“Hawks...” you choked out his name in a whisper.

He met your gaze. He was smiling sweetly and his eyes were wide with excitement. You paused and looked from his bookshelf to his face. Then, your eyes traveled around his walls. They were littered with paintings of humans (mostly women) and a lightbulb clicked on.

You grinned slyly and he looked confused.

“You have a human fetish....” you growled seductively.

His eyes widened and his cheeks turned red. His embarrassment only turned you on more. Realizing you had an advantage over the god-like being gave you an abundance of confidence.

“Please sit,” you gesture towards his bed. Slightly confused, he follows your direction.

You walk over and stand in front of him. You hold his hands and look into his eyes.

“First thing’s first. My name is Y/N. You should probably know my name before we begin.” He returns your soft smile.

“Y/N.... I like it.” Hawks says softly.

You melt hearing your name on his lips. Still holding his hands, you place them at the hem of your shirt.

You tremble slightly, in complete disbelief. Seducing a rare, mythical being wasn’t even close to on your mind when you awoke this morning.

“You can undress me if you’d like” your voice cracks and he senses the nervousness in your voice.

Hawks grabs you around the waist and gives you a reassuring hug, burying his face in your stomach.

He pulls away and stands to face you. You raise your arms to make it easier for him to remove your shirt. First your shirt, then bra, then pants are removed. You’re standing face to face with Hawks in nothing but your panties.

He sits back on the bed studying you then kneels in front of you on the floor. Your heart does a somersault in your chest as he grabs your ass.

Hawks plunges his face between your thighs and breathes in deeply. You shudder and moan as you feel his sharp nails dig in to your flesh.

He looks up at you, pupils so dilated you barely see the gold irises.

“I will try to be gentle... human” he pauses and smiles showing canines “Y/N”

Hearing him growl your name causes your knees to weaken and Hawks is quick to hold you up in his firm grasp.

With speed and precision, he takes your panties in his mouth and rips them off, tossing them to the side. Before you register what happened, you’re tossed onto the bed and have you legs draped over Hawk’s broad shoulders.

The Harpy’s wings fly open blocking almost all the light in the small room then slowly descend to tuck behind his back. You watch, hypnotized by the beauty of them. He notices and sports a prideful smile.

“Maybe this is part of their mating ritual? Remember to ask him later...”

Your inquisitive thoughts were ripped from your mind as you felt Hawks’ tongue enter your sopping wet hole. Your hips bucked into his face as a guttural moan escaped your throat.

He begins lapping at you gently, drinking you in. Then he pulls away meeting your gaze.

He takes a finger and experimentally rubs your swollen clit. You throw your head back and nearly scream out with pleasure.

“This... is a human female’s pleasure point. Yes?” He smiles, knowing the answer by your reaction.

“Shit, FUCK, yes... ahh, yes it is. But it’s very sensitive and has to be handled gently” you try to talk while he’s still rubbing small circles around your clit.

“Mmmm...” he hums removing his finger. You feel his arms wrap around your thighs then his soft lips wrapping around the sensitive nub.

Your body rolls upward to meet his mouth. This causes Hawks to resume the involuntary purring from earlier. Feeling the vibrations from it nearly sends you over the edge. His speed gradually increases as you reach your climax.

“Hawks!” You scream out his name as you come, tightening your thighs around his face.

He looks up at you, your slick glistening all over the lower half of his face. A wide grin showing sharp canines spreads across his face.

“That was.. orgasm?” He asked, massaging your thighs.

“Yes. Oh fuck yes it was...” you pant.

Hawks licks his lips proudly then pounces on top of you enveloping you in a strong embrace. You bury your hands in his hair and giggle as he peppers your neck with kisses.

You gently grind your thigh into his his crotch eliciting an animalistic growl.

“When a human female orgasms,” you purr into his ear, “it means her body is ready to take the male,” another slow grind into his bulge, “inside her...”

This sent Hawks completely over the edge. His pants were off with lightning speed and you felt the head of his swollen member at your entrance. His wings flex out again in another impressive display. As he slowly enters you, his wings draped over your bodies forming a cocoon of crimson feathers.

You writhe and moan as he plunges into you, inch by delicious inch. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him into you. This awakens something in Hawks. He growls and plunges into you.

As he ruts into you mercilessly, you feel sharp canines begin to bite into your shoulder. The mixture of pleasure and pain causes you to cry out.

“OH FUCK, Hawks... yes!” You scream, clawing into his shoulders.

This causes him to bite hard enough to draw blood and his pace quickens. Without thinking, your hands trail inward to pet the downy feathers at the base of his wings. This set Hawks over the edge.

Throwing his head back, he growls and you notice a trickle of blood dripping down his chin. You take it as a good sign and begin massaging the base of his wings. A shudder runs through his body and his eyes roll back into his head.

Feathers trembling, Hawks cries out as he releases inside of you. Your hips roll into his as you ride the wave of your second orgasm. Your walls clamping around his cock causes him to whimper and sink into your chest.

Once you both even out your breath, you wrap your arms tenderly around his waist and massage his muscles.

“So...” you pant looking into Hawk’s golden gaze, “ your wings?”

He turns red and grins sheepishly.

“A Harpy’s pleasure point.” he whispers, gently touching his lips to yours. You realize this it the first time you actually kissed him and close your eyes relishing his velvety, plump lips.

“Mmm...” he hums before breaking the kiss, “Y/N... you are the most...” he stops to run his tongue along your lower lip, “delicious creature...”

Your smile widens as you kiss him again. This time, your mouths part and tongues touch gently.

“Hawks, you’re amazing,” you whisper, relishing the taste of him lingering on your lips.

Hawks nuzzles back into the crook of your neck and resumes his hypnotic purring.

“My... savior...” he breathes. Your hand strokes his golden locks as you feel him drift off to sleep.

A smile lingers on your lips as you drift into sleep under a canopy of crimson feathers

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks #hawks bnha #bnha smut #bnha au #no quirks au #jade writes smut

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mochibrokenheart · 3 years ago

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SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort.

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself.

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death.

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position.

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

#svsss #svsss fanfic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang

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theelvenhaven · 5 years ago

Text

Keep your hands to yourself

Caranthir x Reader

2.4k words

Wrote this in January and wanted to share now as a bonus since things are going so slow rn with requests.

Celegorm and Curufin know JUST how to get under their brothers skin! This time they decide to do it through you, but Caranthir has little to no tolerance when their little game involves you.

❊❊⚜❊❊

Caranthir kept his hand on your lower back standing close to you. A goblet of wine in both of your hands and both dressed exquisitely for tonight's event in Thargelion. His long black hair draped down his black clad back of his velvet robes. Rich silver embroidery on the hems of his robes, with a beautiful burgundy sateen tunic that framed his neck and jaw line beautifully.

His gray eyes intense but relaxed... gazing down at you. Admiring your beauty. Your long hair intricately put up in a bun, pins with gems of starlight on them were strew in your beautiful hair. A gown of crushed burgundy velvet hugged your figure alluringly... A v - cut neckline tastefully exposing your delicate collarbones and the starlight gem necklace resting there.

If Caranthir trailed his finger tips a little higher and over the beaded work he'd get a small taste of your perfect bare back exposed in the cut out. And Eru how he admired the way the gown he embroidered and beaded for you looked on you. He was hardly paying attention to the councilman before you both.

He hardly even heard a word he spoke, though he suspected what it was about. Though the councilman wasn't foolish enough to repeat what he said. Not wanting to sour the Lord's seemingly quiet mood. With Caranthir as your husband, you knew this was his pleasant mood. And in private, a slightly more cuddly Caranthir would come out.

Even if others thought him to be prickly. When it came to you, he was wrapped around your finger. Especially when it came to your affections. You said something in return to the Councilman who meekly and politely smiled to you, dismissing himself. After a moment you looked up at your handsome husband, a small smile pulling at your lips.

"Yes, mírë?" He asked softly in his deep velvety voice, using his affectionate name for you. It meant jewel, treasure or precious thing. And while you were by no means a physical object to obtain, he viewed you as the most precious thing to him even if he rarely voiced it. It was hard not to know how he felt about you, as Caranthir showed it in many different ways.

"Were you even paying attention?" You asked him, humored by his lack of diplomacy. A faint smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he stared down at your small and delicate form. Your voice drowning out the sounds of this banquet around him, for which he was more than grateful for.

As far as he was concerned these were held for the benefit of traders and perhaps even the morale of his people, the added benefit was seeing you so dressed up. Other than that he hated these, it was just another excuse to hound the already busy Lord on things he was trying to tend too.

"I'm afraid more beautiful sights had my attention..." His fingers on the small of your back began to draw soft circles. Caranthir had spoken to you genuinely, and since being married he was more attentive to complimenting you. Almost as if he was unable to help himself despite how gruff and grumpy he came off. It hadn't even been a year but he was undoubtedly obsessed and enamored with everything about you. Yet in the same breath, he was petrified of you leaving.

Or more importantly being snatched by an enemy be it an orc or an ellon much more charming and with no horrific temper and an oath tying you both to a horrible fate. Quietly he leaned forward, pressing his cold lips to your forehead in a rare public display. Your hand resting on his bicep as he pulled you a little closer, savoring his lingering affections. The surroundings melting away as you couldn't help but be absorbed into him.

Both of you craving every single bit of one another's affections. Soft kisses, warm hands gently caressing one another, arms wrapped around you and laying on is broad chest. The safest place in all of Thargelion for you to be. Before the two of you could descend further into each other- in perhaps making a get away- a voice made your husband tense.

"Brother!" You and Caranthir heard from behind him, a heavy huff leaving his lips and you could feel the glare already forming. You had yet to meet this sibling, very aware he had six brothers. You knew one had passed away, and had the pleasure of meeting Maedhros and Maglor when you two wed. Amrod keeping mostly to himself even when he visited his brother, so you'd seen him but hadn't met. But Celegorm and Curufin... Caranthir seemed determined to keep you hidden from the two of them.

Unceremoniously he pulled away, arm seemingly wrapping tighter around your hip as he faced an almost silver haired ellon and another ellon with black hair like Caranthir's. Even blue in tint in the light just like Cara's. A smirk pulling at their lips as their eyes immediately fell on you, almost making you feel like cornered prey and the sense they thought of you to be beneath them. But Caranthir's aura was undoubtedly protective, easing some of that helplessness you felt.

"Brothers..." He grumbled, hands tightening on his goblet as he brought it up tensely to his lips to drink. Eyes never leaving Celegorm and Curufin, watching them with great intensity even as they shifted to stand comfortably his eyes were trained on them. Celegorm finally brought his eyes from you and back to his brother, the smirk never leaving his lips.

"Shall you introduce us to your beautiful wife? Or shall we do it for you? Considering we weren't invited to the wedding it is the least you could do." Celegorm made sure to put emphasis on complimenting your beauty, and quick to throw out that they had been purposefully overlooked. You only heard another sigh come from Caranthir- who refused to loosen his grip on you.

"This is one of my eldest brothers Celegorm-" Caranthir began in a huffy voice, extending his free hand to the blond, bright eyed ellon. Celegorm nodded his head deeply to you before exchanging a wistful glance with Curufin.

"And this is my younger brother, Curufin." He continued in his same huffy annoyed voice, Curufin politely nodded his to you. Though their displayed respects didn't do anything to ease the ever growing aura of tension and danger.

"And dear brothers-" He hissed out, "this is MY wife." Caranthir hadn't told you much of Celegorm and Curufin. Other than the fact that they could be trouble, and more often than not he had explained they loved to tag team your poor husband. This prompted him to have warned you if this day ever came, that they knew JUST how to send him into a bought of rage.

"It is a pleasure." You said politely back to them with a smile of your own, mindful to stay respectful as you didn't know them, and almost everyone annoyed Cara- except for you. The two exchanged another glance, Celegorm's eyes narrowing in on you once more as Curufin turned his attention to his brother.

"Dear brother, please be a good host and fetch a drink for us. I'm afraid I don't know who to flag down." Curufin began out a glint of amusement finding his eye as he looked from you and back to their brother. You could almost hear his teeth beginning to grind together, your eyebrows raised in response to the way Curufin blatantly ordered him around.

"The wine table is just over there, forgive me but I'd prefer to stay in the company of my husband." You interjected on his behalf, sensing how his anger was winding up to be white hot. Caranthir said nothing drilling a hole into the two of them, Celegorm only looking to you with mirth at your attempt to placate and diffuse the situation.

"Curufin our dear brother lets a Lady speak for him now." If you had known the brothers better you'd have openly rolled your eyes in annoyance at Celegorm's ability to twist this situation around to irate Cara further. But your husband said nothing, not really wanting to show you his unstoppable rage. This whole year he had managed to keep a handle on his rage in front of you, now once you weren't around that didn't mean furniture and glass items were destroyed. Though that streak was certainly being put to the test now,

"Mm with an elf as lovely as she, I'd let her speak for me too... Amongst other things." Curufin said eyes oncing over your form as he stood stoically, a hint of interest finding his voice. This was clearly striking a nerve as Caranthir's hand squeezed your hip firmly, he had sensed your immediate discomfort. Spiking his need to protect you further from whatever else they might spout out in their need to pick on him.

"Leave her out of this." Caranthir hissed out, refusing you the very idea of them using you against him. You were his wife for Eru's sake! Not a silly little chess piece or trinket to be toyed with! Not a single elf seemed to pay this situation any mind, showing how regular this really was, and as much as Caranthir would hate it in this moment you couldn't help but sympathize with him...

"Come now Carnistir! We only mean it as a compliment!" Celegorm laughed out joyously, and if it wouldn't make the situation worse you'd absolutely put yourself protectively between him and Caranthir. You had siblings too, sisters though. So you didn't understand this need to distress their brother so badly and desperately did you want it to stop. You were sensing there was a tipping point and felt that perhaps now was your opportunity to escape so you could calm him.

"My love, let us retire hm?" You began moving to grab his and pulling gently to move past them. But in doing so it put you closer to Curufin, whose hand shot out to your back, resting against the exposed skin. Immediately you blushed bristling at his touch, feeling his hand slide around to grip your hip snugly.

“Come now, Lady Y/N, I insist that you stay and join us for a couple of drinks.” Celegorm urged in a smooth and charming voice leaning forward to be closer to you. The close interaction didn't last for very long as with ease your husband yanked you away.

Unintentionally jolting you forcefully making you stumble, Caranthir throwing the goblet off to the side as he grabbed his brothers wrist tightly, shoving Celegrom away in the process with his now free hand. His fury at its peak just from him touching your bare skin and gripping your hip the way he had so possessively. Curufin grimaced, jaw tensing as a glare crossed his features, easily rivaling their fathers.

But this was Curufin not their Atar. And there was nothing Curufin could do to put the fear of Eru in Caranthir. Especially when it came to you, Curufin was at a higher risk of physical ruin than Caranthir was. The tension hung heavy in the air, wound so tightly your fingernails could tear right through it.

"Keep your filthy hands off of MY wife do you understand me?" Caranthir standing so close their noses almost touched as now it was a battle of wills. Seeking his opportunity to perhaps check on you, not missing how you were slung away from the so called danger, Celegorm moving to step around Caranthir. You only watched with wide eyes as his other hand moved out to grab the collar of his green tunic.

"This is my only warning dear brother." His voice dripping with sarcastic venom and you couldn't help your body reacting with such fear from how feral he seemed to become in his quest to protect you. Every muscle in his body rigid and ready to strike them HOWEVER he had too. The four of you were silent, no one wanting to relent to the other but Celegorm and Curufin knew they'd be fools not too.

There was no Maedhros and Maglor to even attempt to pry him off them once Caranthir threw the first punch. And there was no way in all of Arda you could even attempt to calm that fire once it would be set ablaze. Not until the threat understood its place, only then would he relent.

"Are we understood?" He seethed through his gritted teeth, turning his attention to Celegorm who only scoffed out a chuckle, holding up his arms in surrender.

"Alright, we are understood Carnistir." Celegorm spoke with a grin, it was only then he released Celegorm who straightened out his tunic.

"Isn't that right Curufin?" Celegorm asked his brother sensing their fun was most certainly over... For now. The two were watching Curufin carefully who finally nodded though the stoic stance never wavering. Caranthir shoved his brother away from the two of you as you finally worked up your nerve to approach him,

"Cara?" You asked in a small voice with more emotion than you intended to convey, Caranthir felt angry guilt slam into him hearing you. You had only ever heard of his temper reaching to this extreme, always having the luxury at Caranthir's insistence to avoid this part of his anger. Even though you knew you'd be bound to witness this kind of violent fury it didn't make it any less scary.

You were now afraid of him and it was all because his brothers pushed him so hard, now he surely thought you'd see him as a monster. Slowly he turned to face you, red cheeks far more crimson than normal. Eyes fierce and you could almost see a literal fire blazing in them, his body standing tense and ready to attack but he made no move to attack you. He wouldn't dare.

His brothers were quiet as they watched you approach him, both mildly impressed that you still seemed to want to cozy up to the Prince despite how terrifying he was like this. Your small hand slipping into his big calloused one that gently squeezed as he breathed out shakily. Caranthir didn't miss the tears you were trying to fight...

"Let us retire now?" His voice shook with anger but Caranthir was trying desperately to calm himself for your sake. You nodded at his words, thumb rubbing against your soft hand before pulling you with calculated care into his side, and without missing another beat the two of you walked towards the exit of the banquet hall.

No one seemingly paying you two any mind, anyone who did quickly changed their mind once they caught a glimpse of their Lord. For now he'd leave Celegorm and Curufin to stew on their only warning before he'd even consider dealing with them tomorrow. His only concern now was soothing you and his anger, and was grateful his brothers had enough smarts between the two of them to allow you both time alone.

* * *

tags:

@saviorsong @oathandichor @fandom-hoe101 @lilmelily

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zodiyack · 5 years ago

Text

Temporary

Requested by anon: Can you please do one where Tommy had died years ago, and since then you’ve moved on and gotten remarried, your husband is convinced that Tommy’s spirit is haunting him because Tommy spirit is anger that another man is taking his place.

Pairing: Ghost!Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: Angst, mention of death, au, swearing, sad stuffs

Note: So I kinda strayed from your request, just a bit, and I apologize! Some content inspired by Pigeon by Cavetown! I listened to it on repeat while I wrote this, it just felt like the right mood, ya know? You should listen to it, it’s a good song :D

Taglist (it’s not tagging currently, so I apologize if you don’t get the notif!): @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stydia-4-ever @matth1w @redspaceace

masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist

Her husband, 6 feet under, was still in her heart. She cried for days, mourned the man she loved ever so much, and couldn’t bear the thought of loving another. Her heart belonged to Thomas Shelby, and that’s how she intended to keep it, but the other Shelbys, still mourning as well, couldn’t stand the sight of a puffy eyed Y/n.

They were hurting as well, but none of them were romantically involved with Tommy, thank goodness, so they didn’t fully understand her pain. Although, having lovers of their own helped quite a bit.

On a mission of healing the broken heart of their brother’s widowed wife, they spent hours upon hours at the Garrison. While drinking down their sorrows and sadness of the passing, they hunted down someone they thought Tommy would approve of.

They weren’t Tommy, nor were they geniuses. The first time they brought a man home to introduce to Y/n... well that didn’t go well.

“Is this a bloody joke?”

“What’re you talking about Y/n? We’re helping.”

“No! You’re not! None of this is fucking ‘helping’ John! And you!” Her head whipped around to Arthur. The oldest brother gulped in fear for the first time in a long while. “You’re the eldest! You should be the most responsible and smartest! Instead, you’re trying to replace your brother! What the bloody hell is wrong with you!”

The ruckus was so much- so intense, it had awoken the rest of the house and was enough to bring Polly Gray out of her room. She walked in, her eyes scanning for reasoning behind the interruption of her sleep schedule. First she spotted a pair of red faced Shelby brothers, she assumed they got a well deserved earful, but then she saw a red faced man she’d never seen before.

“Who the fuck are you? What’re you doing here?”

“M-ma’am, my apologies...” Y/n cleared her throat, causing Pol’s attention to dart to her for the first time since she stepped out. She quickly noticed the fury and hurt coming from her, and it all clicked into place.

“You boys are fucking idiots! He was- no, he still fuckin’ is your goddamn brother! You just intend to rid of his place in her poor heart so quickly? Come on dear.”

Before she could reach Y/n, the younger woman grabbed the lapels of the stranger’s coat and shoved him out the front door before flipping him off and slamming it shut. No. She wasn’t going to... oh no she was really going to. Within a few quiet minutes after the door slammed, she broke into tears and ran into Polly’s arms.

Ada walked out of her room a few moments prior to Y/n ridding the house of her unwanted guest. She gave her older brothers a dirty, almost disappointed with a hint of disgusted, look. Their younger sister walked in front of them and crossed her arms over her chest. Polly had already started walking Y/n to her room, whispering kind and reassuring words along the way.

A slur of obscenities left Ada’s mouth. Daggers of rage, sadness, displeasure from their actions, directed towards her older, and in her opinion, dumber, brothers. The action was soon interrupted by Polly. Her face read emotions of sympathy and annoyance, just wanting to end the argument and comfort her niece-in-law. Ada nodded, following after her aunt and pulling Y/n into a bone-crushing hug while she mumbled something cruel about her brothers.

Now however, she was finally where the boys tried to get her. Remarried. With another human being. In love. Happy. Or at least, to the boys. When she settled with Jacob Walter, they assumed rather quickly. They assumed she was “happy” and had “moved on”.

They weren’t the only ones.

Deep in the Shelby household, lied an aggressive and jealous energy. Though Y/n never noticed it, Jacob surely did. Each night, noises- creaks, groans, snarls- woke him from a peaceful sleep. He moved from spooning his wife, and wrapped his arms around his body.

Since when did it get so cold?

He turned on his side, suddenly calmed by the sight of a sleeping, and smiling Y/n. This had been the first time she let him sleep in the same bed as her. He thought it was odd, seeing as they were married, but he respected her wishes and remained on the sofa. He kept his mouth shut; allowing the Shelbys to believe Y/n had fully moved on.

One specific Shelby didn’t like that as much.

Finally, morning came around. Jacob had moved to the living room overnight. It had never gotten this...scary. Sure there were spooks in the night, but never scary enough to send him to another room. It only occurred when he was in the bed with his beloved. Such a peculiar and abnormal situation.

Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled, feeling well rested and comforted. Like there was someone behind her, holding her close, just as Tommy did. But... Tommy was gone. And there was no way she was gonna let another man hold her the same. She turned, ready to start yelling at Jacob to let go of her.

However, when she faced the other half of her bed that she previously shared with Thomas, there was no one there. Y/n blinked a couple times. Was she just imagining things?

It didn’t matter. Her dream was pleasant, and it was one of the things that kept her in that house. A dream of Tommy. The dreams often changed, but they were always of Tommy. She was sure as hell not over him. In fact, she was sure she would never be.

“Y/n! Thank god you’re up, Y/n! I need to talk to you”

Her cheerful thoughts of the husband from her past faded upon a new voice that had entered the room. It was not Tommy’s voice. Not the one she wished to hear. “Yes, Jacob?”

“Did- did your um... did your previous husband have some kinda possessive hold over you or somethin’?” He nervously chuckled as he scratched the back of his head.

“What? Possessive as in a bad way?” He nodded. “No. Thomas was...” euphoria filled her mind. A fuzzy feeling hit her gut, a flash of memories struck her brain. Did she miss him that much and she just never realized?

“Thomas was caring. Calm. Patient. Never rushed me, never pushed me out of my comfort zone. He was protective, I’ll admit, but he only delt with it when it came to someone threatening me, touching me, anything like that. If it were a situation like a person being near me, he’d just be watchful. Not initiating any actions unless he either felt the need or want to, or he absolutely had to.”

Jacob’s eyebrows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his mouth. He was deep in thought, attempting to connect to this new information and last night’s activities. Paranormal, possibly.

“May I ask why?”

“I just... Things have been..weird. I get this odd sense at night, like as if someone..angry is watching me. Like as if someone is watching me like they’re a predator and I’m the prey.”

“Jacob.” Her jaw clenched. “If you’re saying you think my h- Tommy, is haunting you or something, you’re childish. Ridiculous. He’s dead. And this type of humor is nowhere near funny.”

“Please darling-”

“Don’t. Fucking. Darling. Me. Get out. Get out!”

Unto her knowledge, cold, dead, eyes snapped open. Though they belonged to a body that was only physically there, but spiritually absent. It woke from the feeling of despair and frustrated unsteadiness coming from it’s link. It’s reason. The only thing that kept it in the house willingly.

Tommy walked along the halls slowly. He was cursed, as a ghost, to stay in his home. But he finally showed himself, for the first time, with anger in his heart. The anger that had been there for the time Y/n was married. He didn’t know the status of their relationship, nor the status of their last names or really anything. Just that he despised Jacob.

Sobs sounded from the kitchen. Tommy walked as far as the door frame and leaned his head into the room. His beloved cried, no, wept with her face down on the table. He couldn’t help it. He needed to show her he was there.

“...Y/n?”

No answer.

“Y/n.”

Her head moved up and she looked around before turning to the door frame, the place she had yet to look. Her eyes widened at the sight of Tommy.

“N-no. I’m hallucinating...Y-you’re dead. Tommy..this can’t be real.”

“Y/n, my love. It’s real. I am...dead. But I’m here. I don’t know how, but I’m here.”

She touched her lips in shock, “so... so Jacob wasn’t kidding.”

Tommy grunted at the mention of Y/n’s current lover. Her replacement of him. “Yeah. So?”

“Oh Tommy...” Even when he was dead, she could tell when something was wrong and what. “It’s not like that-”

“Then tell me. Why was he in the fucking bed with you! Moved on from me? Forgot about me? Let him move into my home?! Let him sleep in my bed?!”

“No, Tommy! Let me explain before you start making assumptions!” The ghost inhaled heavily, but leaned against the wall, gesturing with his fingers for her to continue. “Your brothers set us up. I refused to move on, for many years, and trust me, my love, I still have yet to do so.”

He opened his mouth to interject, but she hushed him again. “I allowed our love life to continue, convincing your family that I really had moved on. Ever now and then I felt tempted to break the act, to tell them to fuck off, but they used you as an excuse, told me you’d want me to move and and be happy. But the thing is...I was never happy. The only time in my bloody life that I felt happy with you.”

She got up from her seat and walked closer to him. Tommy opened his arms, confused, but accepting of her actions. She buried her face in his chest, listening to his nonexistent heartbeat. “You never gave me enough time to say goodbye... you never gave me time to say goodbye in the way I wished I could.”

“Darling...you didn’t know I’d pass.”

“To be honest... I don’t think I can live without..without y-” He quieted her with a kiss. Her soft, pink lips moved with his cold, but still perfect ones. He missed this, more than anyone could ever imagine.

They went up to his old room, the one she currently slept in. There, they lied on the bed and cuddled, just like old times. Her head was on his chest again, and his arm was tracing shapes on her arm.

“Can we just close our eyes and...stay? Stay with me...like I was supposed to do for you. After all...this is only temporary.”

“Tommy.”

A soft “mhm” left his throat as he pondered to himself, mumbling doubts and what ifs.

“What the hell is temporary? Never heard of it. All I know is that I need to stay with the man I love. So make me a deal.”

The words left his brain faster than he could process the ones she spoke. “Anything.”

“I’ll stay strong for you, no matter how hard it is to live this life, but only as long as you stay. Just like you’re supposed to.” With the finishing touch, she curled her head into his chest and smiled, drifting back into the dream world. Happy with her true love by her side, dead or alive.

what even is this ending??? I’m sorry

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themidnightfarmer · 4 years ago

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Babes in Mimeland || Nora & Jared

Timing: This past week sometime.

Location: The common.

Tagging: @fearfordinner

Description:

Triggers: Mimes?

Jared wasn’t completely comfortable to be away from the farm that day, but he’d given his word, and he wasn’t going to go back on it. Surely everything would be fine for an hour or two while he did this. So there he stood, in a t-shirt that implored passing customers to support the performers behind him. He was holding flyers and smiling as wide as he could whilst flagging down passers-by to take them. A mime he’d started to consider a friend had mimed that he should come and help them out that day, the mime in question part of an air-band as a side hustle for working at Yours, mime, and ours (where Jared was a frequent customer). “Don’t forget to support your local mime performers! They’re good at what they do and they have mouths to feed at home whilst working on their passions!”

A music box was an odd reward Nora decided twisting the box around in her hands. The eyeball, a necklace that she’d taken to wearing frequently, was a much more satisfactory prize. Nora was about to flip open the prize she’d come to winterfest to claim when her eye was caught by the mime band. Oh great! They were performing. Music box forgotten and shoved into her pocket, Nora trudged through the crowd to admire the artists at work. There were no hard feelings on her part that her last encounter with a mime had left her rainbow colored for a week. There were hard feelings to deal with on her part with the idea that her favorite mime had died right in front of her. Ideas that she refused to acknowledge. A shout about helping mimes made her ears perk up. Nora snatched a flyer from a giant, glancing over it. “I want to help.” She announced. “The mimes are great.”

Most people passing Jared by were trying their very best to ignore him, he watched many fliers find their way into the trash. It was a little disheartening but overall expected, you didn’t have shirts like the one he was wearing unless there was some serious stigma going on. His head tilted down and a more genuine smile bloomed on his face as someone actively approached to take a flier. “They are! One of my friends is in the band, they’re honestly great at what they do and everything helps, people in town aren’t so forgiving for being different…” he trailed off before he could add just how strange he found that considering the variety of species that you could find in all corners. Jared blinked away the thought and returned to focus on the person showing interest. “So-” He was cut off by an obnoxious laugh off to the left towards the gingerbread house. He couldn’t quite hear what was said but the way the group of people mock mimed along with the band rubbed him the wrong way. His face soured.

Friends? With a mime? Was that legal? Wouldn’t that be like being friends with mythical legends who are way cooler than you? Like the real babadook or maybe the boogyman? Even goatman. They were all famous figures Nora admired but wouldn’t know how to befriend if they were before her. It was a sudden moment of awe as her blank gaze passed between the giant and the band. If she helped could she be friends too? Nora dug in her pocket and pulled out her beaten up old wallet. She was ready to pay a large sum of money before laughter met her ears and she could see a group of adults, probably in their late to mid thirties, making fun of the mimes. A different way to help crossed her mind as she watched them enter the gingerbread house. “What if we scared them?” Nora asked, her monotone making it sound like a serious and reasonable suggestion. “Make a point that people can’t keep mocking mimes because they are quiet.”

He’d forgotten what he’d planned on saying next to the other when she piped up with an idea. Jared looked after the group as they laughed and joked at the expense of his mime friends before heading into the gingerbread house. He nodded slowly before deciding it was a perfect idea, no amount of money fixed hurt feelings, but a little bit of revenge might. “Yeah, yeah that’s a good idea. People are always doing stuff like that.” Jared frowned and tucked the fliers into his back pocket, ready to so what it took to have those meanies regret their choices. “Let’s do it.” he said only pausing a split second before moving towards the gingerbread house (that had already closed its door on the group, trapping them) to ask “What’s your name anyway? Since you’re leading the charge, what’s the name of the commander? I’m Jared.” he offered preemptively.

Commander? Nora liked being called a commander. She could see it now, a field of dead bodies around her as she stood tall, proud on a rock, wearing a military jacket. There’d be some life in the people somewhere, and they would be full of fear. Life changing fear. The kind of fear that made for a meal instead of just a snack. She’d paint that picture later. “Nora.” Nora answered, her affect betraying nothing of the mental spiral she’d just followed. “Are you good at scaring people?” Nora hadn’t noticed the door close behind the other group. She pushed through the crowd and to the door, pushing it open and holding it for the giant - er - Jared. She wondered if he’d hit his head on the door frame. This Jared, friend of mime, was about to see things. She hoped he’d enjoy them as a fellow lover of mimes.

“I’m not sure, Usually it’s by accident, but I could try and make something work.” He wondered briefly if he could get away with using his glamour to help spook the group, without his partner in crime noticing. It would be far easier to do some scarring in the name of the mimes if he could make himself look like he had stripes like some sort of angry chameleon. Jared ducked in the door that was held open for him, and it pulled shut behind him. The inside was dark, the windows were as they tended to be on small gingerbread house kits that you could buy at the store, the windows were painted on in icing rather than cut out. It was pitch black aside from the gaps around the edges where the icing hadn’t fully sealed the walls in place. The group were in the next room of the house whispering now that it was dark as humans tended to do, as if the dark was suppressing any noise. Using the quiet he mimicked one of his kids' cries as loud as he could just to start them off. The angry call of a bies sounded from his lungs abruptly and clearly for a singular second before cutting off to return to silence again.

The noise that came out of the giant’s mouth was absolutely brilliant. Loud. Jarring. Inhuman. No animal Nora could recognize. She gave one slight nod of approval. Maybe this stork, now nicknamed for being a giant bird and not just a giant, accidentally scared people more often than naught. Reaching inside herself, Nora lit the string of her magic. Her fingertip traced across the gingerbread walls as she walked. Icing started to coat her finger but she ignored it. Instead she concentrated on making the screeching noise of steel on steel. She’d seen it cause the hairs on people’s neck to rise. She hoped her cover of dragging her finger would be enough to fool new friend Jared. She’d claim it was a party trick or something. Damn, she really hated frosting.

Jared extended his glamour past his usual skin cover to also alter his clothes just that little bit, the mime shirt was a little too telling after all. Instead he added stripes subtly in the darkness, only really put in place for his own peace of mind rather than for any impact. He hoped it was too dark for anyone to notice, so that he didn’t have to explain to Nora either. The noise she was making sent a chill up his spine as well for a half a second before he settled into it, it was easier knowing where it was coming from...sort of. He had no idea how she was doing it, but he was certain it was Nora doing it at the very least, no other way a gingerbread house could make that noise. The group were muttering to each other, clearly unsettled as they headed into the next room trying to find the backdoor to escape. Jared spotted a runner rug down the hallway, so he stooped to tug on it and send the last straggling person flying into the rest, holding back a snicker as they toppled like bowling pins.

Was the stork looking a little stripy or was it the shadows of the gingerbread house? It wasn’t very well lit. Probably because it was made out of ginger and not wood. Nora found herself wishing she bore the strips of those they came to protect. An illusion manifested itself across small patches of her clothes; black and white alliance patches. The group they’d followed in were becoming less of a snack and more of a meal. Nora took a deep inhalation in, enjoying the rewards of Jared’s carpet tug. They piled to the ground obviously scared of what was going to happen. “Where’s the exit?” One shouted. “I-I don’t know, I don’t see any. How can this place be this big?” Panic made their voice high pitched and frantic as they shouted over Nora’s noise. She let the noise fall, leaving them and their prey in a sudden silence. “Boo.” Her monotone was briefly followed by an illusion monster appearing behind them. Black and white stripes mime meets masked monster with a giant maw and sharp rows of teeth. It gurgled towards the fallen group. Slowly. Leaving a trail of stripes behind it as it went.

Jared was unaware that it was Nora that had created the mime monster, he himself had seen the mimes do some incredible stuff so he wasn’t put off at all. It was a mask of only a slight surprise, thinking that they might have stopped performing to aid in this situation for themselves. This is why when a striped goo seemed to seep in the cracks of the gingerbread house (to form into another more ‘traditional’ looking mime on the ceiling) he didn’t even flinch. This mime turned it’s head like it was an owl to look down at the monster curiously for a split second before scuttling down the wall towards the now scrambling pile of humans. Jared flattened himself against the wall of the gingerbread house and increased his glamor in the moment to look more like the mime that had appeared on the ceiling, although not able to move his head like it had. He didn’t have quite the same energy, but he tried his best. The group screamed and swore and scrambled past Nora and Jared being chased by both Nora's creation as well as the mime who had come to see what was happening, only to be delighted with its findings.

This scene was beautiful. Perfect. Picturesque. The gaggle of bullies trying to run away. The mime manifesting. The illusion chasing, gurgling, gnashing its giant teeth. Nora was almost satisfied with the scene and the meal but it was missing something. A soundtrack maybe? Oh. She had the music box. Maybe that would add some ambiance to the whole shindig. It took a minute to windup the old box. It popped open displaying a couple wrapped in each other's arms dancing an eternal waltz. The music began, gentle, haunting, almost mournfully and her eyes fixated on the waltzing couple. She was met with an absolute need to waltz. Carefully she placed down the music box and held her hand out to Jared’s, the silent question to dance. A question that only had one answer as everyone around them started waltzing together. The gaggle were screaming in terror now, practically drowning out the beautiful music. “Why are we dancing?” Why can’t we stop dancing?” “Why am I dancing with a mime?”

The screaming had drowned out the ticking of the small music box winding up, so when the tune started Jared almost didn’t notice his body was moving towards music. Taking Nora’s hand they began to dance through no action of free will. The screaming did not die down, it seems the music was taking their movement alone, their voices would remain their own. Spinning around the room he was sort of delighted to have noticed that one of the group of humans had paired with a mime, who had turned its head all the way around again to watch the scene unfold in full rather than focus on it’s partner. “What kind of music box is that?” Jared asked Nora, his voice only faltering when her platform boots came down on his toes, yelling over the screams and panic of the humans with as wide a smile on his face as he could muster. Acting as is if the extra noise was only part of the song. He suspected magic, but he didn’t want to outright ask.

“I do-” Nora had never been good at dancing, and despite the dance being magically pre-choreographed for them, that didn’t go away. “Oh sorry.” She mumbled. “I don’t know anything about the box.” Nora nodded at the mime as they twirled past the beautiful friend. “It was the reward I got for getting second place.” First place shouldn’t have won. Her art was masterful. Oh well. Beggars couldn’t be winners. But apparently second place could be dancers. “I wonder how long it lasts.”

The screams and music could be heard by passing townsfolk for a while and they all ignored it, as was usual in white crest.

#P: Chatzy #C: Nora #fearfordinner

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (eventual Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

chapter 5 - professional secrets

SFW, we finally meet our new friend. there's some slightly spicy language and blood but nothing much. around 3.2K words.

The sudden realization that he was not alone made his skin crawl.

Heisenberg instinctively reached for his hammer, scouted his surroundings for any piece of metal he could find. The pots rattled and he heard the cauldron swing violently, the stranger protesting with a sigh of frustration as she tried to steady the cooking pot. He made a sharp turn to watch her, eyes trained on her every move as he prepared to defend himself. “I am sorry to disappoint - even the nails of this house are made of wood.” She snickered, not seeming to mind him at all, having gone back to stirring the stew, humming what he recognized as a lullaby. “Take a seat, make yourself at home.”

There was something familiar about her, perhaps the way she held herself, or the tone of her voice. She looked nothing like the hag, was taller and much younger, too, but something told him they were one and the same.

She turned around and stared openly at him with a small smile, far too friendly towards a rugged stranger who had just invaded her home and knocked together all of her cast iron pans with a slight flick of his hand. Her clothes were simple, a long linen skirt the color of moss, white buttoned shirt with gathered sleeves and embroidered flowers. A colorful apron was tied around her waist, its pockets stuffed with dried herbs and wooden utensils. Her raven hair was pulled back to keep it away from her face, though a few unruly curls insisted on framing it ever so gently. She was the very picture of a peasant villager, while looking nothing of the sort. She had the garments and sheepish expression, but none of the devotion and fear. There were calluses on her hands from working the land, freckles on her face from being under the sun day after day, and despite it all her skin looked warm, soft to the touch, promised delights he had never experienced.

Eerily beautiful, mysterious, sinister. Voice of velvet with a hint of malice. If he were ever to be lured into the embrace of a mythical creature only to be eaten alive not long after, she would be the one to do it. The prospect of such a gruesome death, for some reason, only served to pique his interest.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit? How can I be of service, Lord Heisenberg?” There was absolute certainty in her voice, like they had spoken many a time before. It was no surprise that she knew him, of course. After all, one had but to step inside the village church to see a picture of his handsome face alongside his adorable little family. He had never seen her, however, not in the fields nor the church, not in the masses nor the harvest festivals. Surely he would remember, such striking beauty and poised demeanor that would rival any noblewoman. She far surpassed the fabled Dimitrescu daughters, and that she was still alive was evidence enough to tell him she was not seen very often. Alcina did not suffer competition.

“In need of a curative or ointment?” There was homeliness in her grace, somehow, a simplicity one would not find among finery and expensive wine. She poured herself a cup of tea as she spoke, motioned in his direction as if to offer him some. The cup was neatly stacked upon others in the cabinet when he did not take it, and she shrugged her shoulders as if disappointed. The table set for two, the second teacup put away when he refused the offer. Had she been expecting him?

Like she had heard his very thoughts, the woman pulled a chair and gestured for him to sit, moving about with little discomfort for his presence. It felt as if he was no esteemed visitor, no frightening intruder, but a frequent houseguest, someone who had visited a thousand times over and needed no coaxing or guidance to make themselves comfortable. It was strangely heartwarming, the way he felt like he could kick off his boots and sit beside her on the couch to chitchat, open the cabinets to find himself a snack. He could sit cross-legged on the woven rug and pet the dog in front of the fireplace, sit by the table to study his plans with only the crackling of the fire as background noise.

She pat his shoulder reassuringly as she crossed the room to check on the stew, her touch lingering just a second too long, hips swaying to a tune only playing inside her head. The domesticity of it all was soothing, but also infuriating. He had not come for pleasantries, to sip on tea while they laughed over the latest village gossip. He had come to bind and gag her, to drag her all the way back to a castle that would become her final resting place. Somehow, he was sure the idea of being tied and manhandled would actually please her.

“Seeking a nice massage to alleviate the pressure on those shoulders?” She continued when his silence persisted, the teacup left behind on the kitchen counter as she reached up to a shelf littered with glass bottles. Crimson painted fingernails ran along the labels to pull a flask that looked harmless enough, though his knowledge of toxins was too limited to be sure. He recognized the liquid inside it as a fragrant oil, a drop hitting the skin on the back of her hand before she gave it a good rub as if to test it.

A massage would be nice, he had to admit, decades of sibling rivalry and impending doom for being part of a cult that worshiped a gross looking blob of mold taking a toll on his soul. He could picture it, his trench coat finally sliding off his shoulders after such a stressful day, her nails scratching against his skin as she pulled his shirt over his head. She would tell him to make himself comfortable on the bed or the couch, but he’d refuse it; he hadn’t laid in a bed in years, and at this point he was afraid of trying. Instead he would hold his head in his hands as he sat forward on the dining chair, for once trying to push away the thoughts that always raced through his mind. He knew he would lose his composure as soon as her hands touched the tender spots on his shoulders, a groan and his worries escaping his lips. He figured she would listen and hum appropriate responses as he wove the tales of his woes. It was hard to picture how it would all go, what relaxation truly felt like after so many decades of stress. Maybe he could stay a little longer, take her offer, and-

What the fuck was he thinking? His own inner contradictions were driving him up the wall; her friendliness was wearing on him more than Alcina’s rudeness ever did.

Once again she shrugged when he rejected her offer, made her way to the chair he hadn’t taken and sat down with her steaming cup of tea in her hand once more. They are dangerously close now, he is still frozen in place between the dining table and the fireplace - like an idiot. He could touch her from here. He could kill her from here. She scrunches her nose when again he says nothing, smells the air before saying: “Are you sure you do not wish me to draw you that bath?”

That is just about enough to set him off. The stunt with the horse, the illusions with the creature and the hag, the tricks with the lycan heads, and now this. Heisenberg saluted her fearlessness in the face of near certain death, could appreciate the confidence that exuded from her despite being in the presence of the most powerful lord of the village. Enough, however, is enough. He closes the distance between them in a flash, footsteps too loud in the silence of the cabin, and finds that his hand fits perfectly around her pretty little neck. He can hear the teacup in her hand fall and shatter somewhere beneath them, the chair comes along for a few steps as he drags her before it falls to the ground, but she wouldn’t live long enough to clean up the mess. He has her off the floor and slams her hard against the nearest wall, satisfied with the sound her body makes as the surprise knocks the wind right out of her. Teach her to shut her fucking mouth.

He watches closely for the terror in her eyes, waits for her strained voice to beg, please, Lord Heisenberg. It always made him feel dirty when they begged, made him feel like he was no better than any of his siblings, but just this once, he will allow himself to enjoy it. He seeks terror, yet all he finds is wickedness. Even so close to her demise, with his fingers tightening against her wind pipe, she does not fear him. He opens his mouth to speak, to yell, to tell her to shut it and announce that she is dying tonight, not because he wanted to, but because she had done away with his patience. Her hand snakes its way up his chest and arm to reach his own, holding it almost lovingly, nails scratching the skin ever so softly just like he had imagined, but somehow better, so much better.

“I was expecting something more romantic over dinner,” she finds the strength to speak, her voice almost a purr. “But I do like the eagerness.” His fingers clutch her neck a little tighter. In any other situation, this would have been enough to convince him to fuck her senseless. He liked himself a feisty partner, someone who didn’t bow their head to him, a challenge at last. But not now, not when he was pissed off and tired and sweating as if it was summer outside.

“Oh, you’re not going to like it when I’m done with you,” he pauses to pull her and force her back against the wall, the boards shaking with the impact. “Sweetheart.”

“Is that a promise, my lord?” Her eyes burn with something not quite like desire, contradict the deep turquoise and calmness of her irises. The hand around her neck is bloody, glove and flesh torn where the lycan had bit him, and her tongue darts out of her mouth to get a taste. The smile she gives him makes a delicious heat pool at the bottom of his stomach, sliding down dangerously close to his navel. He is deciding between choking her to death, biting a piece of her face off or bashing her skull in, lips contorted in a wicked smile, when he feels his fingers grasp at nothing, balance lost as he topples over and hits the wall with full force. There is a hollow thud when his nose hits the wooden boards, blood dripping down onto his chin. It takes him a moment to register that she has, somehow, slipped away from him, ducked under his arm to make her way back to the bubbling pot on the fireplace. She continues to hum the stupid lullaby and treat him like a harmless peasant.

“Are you staying for dinner, my lord?” She speaks as if nothing has transpired in the past few minutes. Like he hadn’t gone through the painfully embarrassing experience of threatening her with a very noticeable and contradicting bulge in his pants, right before he lost his balance - and dignity - and broke his nose against her living room wall.

He hadn’t felt this humiliated in decades. There are no words to describe the rage that courses through his body, although the snarl he pushes through gritted teeth might be good enough indication. Heisenberg braces himself against the wall, wipes the blood off his face on the sleeve of his coat. Plan B: shove her head into the fire and then choke her.

“Oh, let me take a look at that,” is all she says when he turns around, a piece of cloth in hand as she guides him to a dining chair. There is no time for his explosiveness, for his plans to be put into motion; for reasons not at all clear to him, he can do nothing but play along. She lifts his chin with such grace that he is unsure how to feel. The beast in the forest held him with the same care. He could deal with quite a range of emotions: anger, hatred, disgust, some more anger. This nobody had ever done to him - shown him kindness, cared for him. Miranda had tried, in her own awkward way, but never again after she had deemed him a failure.

It feels good to be at a loss for words, he notices, to have choice and violence taken away from him for just a few minutes. To let himself waddle in the silence of his empty mind, a tender touch to ground him and nothing else. It feels good, but awkward, and he shuffles to find something, anything, to talk about.

“You’re the monster in the woods then?” He asks as he looks away, too busy trying to justify to himself the absurdity of the situation. Here he is, sitting in a chair that is about to give under his weight, in the middle of the woods after petting a dead horse and almost being swallowed whole by a goat-human hybrid. The woman he was sent to kill is now gently caressing his jaw with the hand that holds his chin up as if to comfort him, the other busy soaking up the blood coming out of his broken nose. The embarrassment far outweighs the pain, but there is no sign of judgment in her features. It helps.

“Yes, sir.” She answers with a proud smile. “I am a healer by trade, you see. A little knowledge of plants can go a long way, especially in such a quaint, isolated little village like yours.” she smushed his nose in as if to prove a point. “Is that the reason you have come to me, my lord?”

“Funny thing,” he begins with a chuckle and ends with a whimper as she wiggles the cartilage on his nose. “I was sent to take you back to the village as a prize to the one and only Lady Dimitrescu. That, or kill you. Although she would prefer you alive.” Heisenberg observed her closely, hoping to catch a glimpse of something other than friendliness. If she had heard of him, surely she had heard of Alcina, and the horrible things she put women like her through. “Monsters don’t usually get a reputation for mixing poultices.”

She nods calmly, too busy with her ministrations to care. “Must preserve some professional secrets, now, mustn’t we? What is that you would prefer? Alive, dead? What can I help you with?” Her question is a simple one, although it feels as if it weighs far more than it was supposed to.

“Unless you can kill a century-old monster, my darling, there is little you can do for me.” His answer is pure sarcasm, and she does not seem to care. Her head tilts slightly to the side as if she is considering her options, as if, you know, maybe she can do that. “The fog in the forest - that you?” There is no hesitation when she nods. “Overgrown stallion?” Another nod. “Eldritch abomination? Sickly hag?” A throaty hum of approval. “Not bad.”

“Would you be so kind as to let me live, my lord?” She has her back turned as she speaks, perusing a tall shelf over the couch. The bleeding in his nose has stopped, and he realizes she has slipped the torn glove off his hand without him noticing. “I would be most interested in such a prospect.” There was a touch of drama in her words that he appreciated. When she turns back around, she looks and sounds more like a person than a character out of an old romance. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” The woman returns with clean linens in her hand, a bottle of antiseptic and a pincushion in the shape of a pumpkin. He is unsure whether the needle and thread is meant to sew his glove or him back together.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he makes to rise from the chair but never does, a firm hand placed on his shoulder.

“Allow me to fix that at least.” He sighed in defeat as he sat back down. It crossed his mind that he had no reason to comply, but did regardless. “And I insist you take a bowl of stew.” Her hands were back on his face before the could muster a response, more determination behind her movements this time. “This will only take a moment,” she explains, two fingers pinching the sides of his nose. A wiggle and suspicious crack later, and it was like the pain had never been there. Her hands were clean, as was his face, not a trace of blood anywhere. Quite the miracle worker, wasn’t she?

They remained quiet as she worked, his injured hand splayed against the wooden table. The burn of the antiseptic was good to keep him alert, to pull him away from his embarrassment. She expertly dabs onto the wound to cleanse it, her touches featherlight. The dog awakens from its nap with a stretch and a yawn, bounds up to him with a happy tail wag. Heisenberg pets its head with his free hand, the dog’s tongue peeking out in glee as it settled down at his feet. The shaggy yet adorable fleabag manages to distract him long enough for her to finish dressing his wound. “All good.” She announces, and he turns over to stare at his hand, expecting to see vestiges of blood and a nasty bite mark. He peeks under the bandage to find that it is merely aesthetic at this point, for there is nothing but perfectly healed, clear skin under it, a very faint half-moon scar where the infection should be. He looks at her in confusion and all she offers is a charming wink. Professional secrets.

Heisenberg spotted his hat placed neatly on the couch, and his hammer right beside it, though he did not recall how they had come to be there. He once again began to feel like himself with the weight of the hammer in his hands and the raggedy hat in its rightful place atop his head. Charismatic, glib Heisenberg, confident as all hell and twice as clever. Cold, calculating Heisenberg, who had been given an opportunity and bargaining chip and wouldn’t let his anger get the best of him. His fingers had reached for the doorknob when she poked him, a small lidded pot fastened with fabric in her hands.

“Take a left at the crossroads and I trust you will have no issues finding your way back.” She handed him the bowl with a smile, as did he in return. “I hope to see you again soon. Godspeed, Lord Heisenberg!” Were her last words as she pushed the door closed, and just like that, he found himself once again in the foggy forest, nothing behind him but trees and the sound of critters roaming the night.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #virgil writes #yeeee

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itsclydebitches · 5 years ago

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Why do you like Lore Olympus? I'm genuinely curious because I've seen a lot of harsh criticisms toward the comic, from its inaccuracies regarding its use of Greek Mythology to the plethora of harmful queer stereotypes. I tried reading it myself but honestly, if you took out all the Greek Mythology references and naming, it just seems like another "far older man courts a barely adult woman" love story with bad queer rep thrown it.

Happy to explain! Let’s tackle what’s perhaps the most complicated aspect first.

As a former Classics major I can tell you that there is no “Greek Mythology.” Meaning, there is no singular Greek Mythology that can be referenced and consulted in any uniform way. Which is a really difficult thing to conceptualize in an age of print publications and careful record keeping. Unsure about whether Harry ever cursed Draco with such-and-such hex? Re-read the Harry Potter books to find out. Want to claim that Sherlock was horrible to Watson and frequently insulted him? We can comb through Doyle’s shorts stories and novels, tally every insult, and find out. These are canons and, as messy as the term “canonical” has become with more adaptations and transmedia storytelling, most characters have a set, fixed existence that we can return to and use as evidence. Not so with Greek Mythology. Born of oral storytelling, there are a hundred different versions of every myth, some changes more stark than others. Some of those versions were written down. Then written down again (differently). Then written down again (differently still). Then we realized they were almost all being written down by men and huh, I wonder if that has any impact on how they framed the story (spoiler: it absolutely does). And all of this doesn’t even take into account the issue of translation. Regardless of what Ovid may have put down on the page, you’re going to get a different experience depending on whether you read Melville or Gregory. There’s a reason why everyone was so excited over Emily Wilson being the first woman to translate The Odyssey into English. Her perspective and her experience as a woman by default changes the way she approaches the text. Even something as simple as a single description can have a HUGE impact depending on how it is translated. Take this excerpt from a NYT article:

“The prefix poly,” Wilson said, laughing, “means ‘many’ or ‘multiple.’ Tropos means ‘turn.’ ‘Many’ or ‘multiple’ could suggest that he [Odysseus] is much turned, as if he is the one who has been put in the situation of having been to Troy, and back, and all around, gods and goddesses and monsters turning him off the straight course that, ideally, he’d like to be on. Or, it could be that he’s this untrustworthy kind of guy who is always going to get out of any situation by turning it to his advantage. It could be that he’s the turner.”

Is Odysseus a poor victim turned around by monsters and fate, or is he a schemer capable of turning it all to his advantage? It all depends on how it’s translated and whoever wants to make a case for Odysseus being a “good” or “bad” guy can point to this translation as evidence… or another. Or another. There are just too many versions for anyone to definitely say what these gods and others are “really” like.

I put so much emphasis on this because the biggest criticism I’ve seen leveled against the comic is the characterization of Apollo. He would never rape Persephone! How dare you twist his character like that! Except Apollo isn’t a character that exists in a fixed canon. He belongs to an overwhelming corpus of complicated, contrary, contrasting myths… and yes, in some of those he raped. Arguably. It, again, comes down to translation and interpretation. Take this excerpt from Nancy Rabinowitz’s paper “Greek Tragedy: A Rape Culture?”

Creusa, raped by Apollo years ago, conceived a child and abandoned him… For the purposes of this paper, I have to address the question of whether Creusa was in fact raped by the god. Hermes mixes the terminology in the prologue; he asserts that the god Apollo “yoked the daughter of Erechtheus in marriage (γάμοις)”, but he also says “by force (βίᾳ)” (10-11). Ion later (1524-25; cf. 341, 325) wonders whether Creusa was really raped, or whether she was just alleging that the god took her by violence to cover up an indiscretion of her own – a similar situation could be imagined in our own day, where false allegations may arise from young girls’ fear of confessing consensual relations to their parents. Lefkowitz argues that women tend to cooperate in their seduction by a god. While it might seem obvious that Ion is simply wrong, there is the further implication that though Apollo raped Creusa, she also desired him” (11-12).

So if we’re looking for evidence that Smythe’s interpretation of Apollo is the “correct” one, it exists… depending on what you read and how you choose to interpret it: whether a mortal woman can ever truly give consent due to the power difference between her and a god, whether it was safe to say no, whether she might have lied to protect herself, whether it was something a part of her desired but perhaps didn’t entirely want, etc. It’s that last bit in particular—those difficult questions—that Smythe explores in her comic. Persephone wants to explore her sexuality. She wants a way out of her virgin obligations. But she’s also pressured into sex by Apollo. He doesn’t stop when she expresses discomfort. She doesn’t feel safe asserting herself and telling him to stop. It’s rape, but it’s a far more complicated situation than the rape scenario of “Evil man forces himself on woman in the back of an alleyway” and Smythe treats the tragedy with nuance and respect, even in a comic filled with so much humor.

The people I see most upset about Lore Olympus are those who talk about the gods and their associated mortals as if they’re characters out of a book. They read one version once—or maybe two—and, as is natural in the 21st century, decided that This Is How The Story Goes. Even though every academic would be losing their mind over such definitive statements as, “Such-and-Such would never do this.” That’s simply not how records this ancient, sporadic, political, and downright messy work. So as someone with some knowledge of how Greek Mythology functions, I’m not at all put off by the comics’ “inaccuracies.” Because they’re simply not inaccuracies, just interpretations. Not liking those interpretations is fine, but that doesn’t mean Smythe was wrong for providing them.

As for the rest, I’ll try to limit myself to bullet points:

The age difference between Persephone and Hades is definitely A Thing and I admittedly didn’t realize that was the case when I started reading. I assumed that Persephone, like most of the cast, was hundreds/thousands of years old and just had a child-like personality. I basically realized around the time Hades did that she’s so young. That being said, the issue of age differences changes for me once you reach such insane ages. That’s why I still ship Ozqrow: Ozpin is hundreds of years older than him but at that point he’s going to be older than everyone. Always. Limiting his ships to only those who are close to Ozpin’s age means you can’t ship him at all (unless you ship him with Salem post-grimm pool and… no). It’s a similar situation with Hades. Yes, there are plenty of gods his age that he could date (and indeed he does) but he is always going to be thousands of years older than Persephone. She can literally never catch up to him, so if someone has an issue with the age gap then they have to accept that it will simply never go away. They can never be a couple in which case yeah, then the comic just isn’t your thing.

Really, I think the bigger issue is not the gap itself but Persephone’s age, period. Again though, I appreciate that Smythe treats the situation with a great deal of respect. This isn’t a story of a much older man hunting a younger woman. It’s the story of a much older god who, like me the reader, assumed he had fallen for a slightly younger goddess… and then freaked out when he found out he was wrong. He’s called out for his ignorance. Others are incredibly protective of Persephone. They both try to stay away from one another and find themselves struggling. Which, to be frank, is an interesting dilemma to me. And it’s one I’m more interested in with gods as characters as opposed to humans. Because it feels less predatory to me. A man going after a much younger woman is threatening in part because we’re mortals who have so much to lose, including our youth. If you enter an abusive relationship that alone is horrible enough, but it also means you’ve lost all those years and all that experience to toxicity. When a god goes after a much younger goddess… they’re kind of static. They have eternity stretching out before them. Persephone potentially “losing” ten years to a relationship with Hades just isn’t the same thing as a mortal losing ten years to a relationship of their own. Gods, though they seem quite human, simply aren’t and thus for me questions of morality and what’s ethical in any given situation changes. We have a cast who, when Eros gets upset and murders a whole bunch of humans, Zeus shrugs and says they’ll just make more. Their concept of right and wrong differs from ours and it invites the reader to apply that to every situation: is it as wrong for an older god to go after a 19yo goddess as it would be for an older man to go after a 19yo woman? Many readers may decide it is—to some extent the text decides it is—but the story still possesses ambiguity and invites the reader to grapple with it. That’s compelling.

Connected to this, I like how much agency Persephone has throughout the series. She’s very much a character who defies expectations, particularly when it comes to her sexuality. Far from being a meek, vulnerable woman who is preyed on by Hades, she is making constant, active decisions about her own romantic and sexual encounters. Even if that decision is just acknowledging how unsure she still is: does she want to remain a virgin? Does she want Apollo? Does she want Hades? Is it okay to make out with Ares? Wear this very short dress? Get drunk? Explore a city? Invite this person over? Have feelings for your boss? Persephone is grappling with a lot of questions that don’t have easy answers and the fact that the story gives her the room to do that grappling is fantastic. I’ve spoken before about my dislike of the Strong Female Character—someone who is not just physically intimidating but who also never, EVER hesitates. She knows precisely what she wants and she’s going to take it! Which is a great portrayal of one kind of woman… but I’m not that kind. I hem and haw and am anxious like Persephone. So for me it’s refreshing to see a story that paints uncertainty as strength. She’s allowed the space to be unsure and confused and is never belittled for that.

Honestly I’m not sure what the issue with the queer rep is? Beyond the fact that Lore Olympus doesn’t seem to have any (unless I’m forgetting some. Very possible). Which, admittedly, is far from great, but if I dismissed every story due solely to a lack of queer characters I would limit a lot of my potential media. So for me, personally, that’s not a deal breaker. Taking a stab in the dark, I’ll make an assumption that people are upset about certain characterizations like Eros? Which, fair. But we also have the flip side that effeminate, flamboyant men do exist. It’s another complicated, touchy subject, but there’s a fine line between enforcing stereotypes and acknowledging that those stereotypes often do arise out of something. Some people hate the media image of the queer kid decked out in rainbows. Other people look at their own wardrobe and backpack and go, “Actually… yeah. That can be accurate.” For me stereotypes are primarily an issue given their prevalence. It’s an issue when that’s the only way queer characters are portrayed, but Lore Olympus doesn’t have that problem because, again, it’s focused on het relationships. Eros might potentially be a (non-confirmed?) queer stereotype… or he’s a battle-hardened warrior who also likes to gush about gossip while baking, the sort of complex gender portrayal that people claim to want. It depend on how you approach it. So no, Lore Olympus isn’t breaking any ground with queer rep but, as said, I do appreciate how it treats sexual assault—among other sensitive, relevant issues. It’s a trade-off. No piece of media is going to be perfect. I could say the same thing about so many great stories. The Mandalorian doesn’t have any queer rep! No, it doesn’t, but it is giving us a fantastic story about a bounty-hunter turned dad that challenges a number of Western gender assumptions so… trade-off.

I likewise enjoy that characters call one another out on shitty, toxic behavior without completely losing who those characters are. (Again, supposedly who they are based on the lecture I gave at the start lol). Meaning, it would be kind of weird if Zeus wasn’t a womanizer. That’s what we expect of him, so changing that would likewise change one of the most fundamental aspects of what makes Zeus-Zeus in the general public’s perception of him. But we still have scenes of Hera and others calling him out on that shit, so it’s a balance between modern sensibilities and character expectations.

The characters overall are just wonderfully complex. Persephone doesn’t seem so at first glance, but that’s partly the point: she’s nothing like what everyone assumes she is and it’s those assumptions that she’s learning to push back against. But overall Smythe has a real knack for emphasizing the human (or god) complexity. We hate Eros for helping Aphrodite punish Persephone. Then we feel bad for him because of his sob story. Then we pull back because he’s called out for being a dick and making himself look like the victim. Then we come to the realization that his side of the story was still accurate in many ways and finally end on… he’s flawed. He’s just a flawed person. He’s not a saint. He’s not the devil. He’s a guy who screwed up one moment and did something good the next. Perhaps it’s just me coming out of the nonsense that was Volume 7 of RWBY, but it’s refreshing to read a story where that complexity is emphasized and (most) flaws are forgiven while still being acknowledged.

Overall I just find it to be a fun, entertaining story! lol. The artwork is beautiful. The humor is great. There’s a nice balance between plot and introspection. There are issues with the series, sure, but none thus far have kept me from enjoying the experience of reading it. I fully support anyone’s right to go, “Nope. Not for me.” For any reason. But I also feel like Lore Olympus is a good example of Tumblr’s recent emphasis on pure media: it must be PERFECT. Otherwise chuck it in the bin. Lore Olympus does a lot of the things that people on this site call for. Respectful depictions of assault. Emphasis on mental health. Storytelling from a woman’s perspective. Numerous types of woman characters. Being careful about who engages with sensitive material and how (each chapter that contains such issues has a trigger warning at the start, impossible to miss). Lore Olympus does a lot right… and some things wrong. Which is what we would expect of any good story. So it feels disingenuous of me—if not outright dangerous—to paint it as worse than I actually think it is. I want media to continue to improve, but I also don’t want to scare off authors from even trying because they were raked across the coals for not creating perfection. Smythe, to my mind, is definitely trying and that should be acknowledged.

#Anonymous #rape tw #lore olympus #greek mythology #mymetas

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the-odd-job · 4 years ago

Text

Up in Flames chapter 20 - Rain (Ashes Part 2)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron, Sideswipe, Flatline, Nova Storm Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 6728

( Previous )

“I’m sending you to Cybertron.”

Just like that. There was no warning, no ‘would you like to’ (hah, as if there was ever going to be that), just the announcement that hey, they’d be doing this now, congrats!

Sideswipe’s optics snapped open from where he had been basking in the pleasant afterglow of—for once—getting some of Megatron’s attention on himself. The tyrant’s frame was all but scorching to the touch where Sideswipe was stretched along his side and partly on top of him, but damn, the mech had stamina.

“What?!” Sunstreaker snarled from Megatron’s other side, and Sideswipe could feel his desire to push himself upright to glare at the warlord all proper like.

But after a testing twitch, the languid heaviness in his limbs made him think better of it. See, first Megatron had fragged Sunstreaker absolutely strutless in some… Whatever reunion thing this was.

And then, like he hadn’t just exerted himself to the pits and back and then again, Megatron had decided to fuck Sideswipe too.

Sideswipe had no complaints about that. Neither did Sunstreaker for that matter, because his brother had been really unsure if he could’ve survived any more of Megatron’s attentions. It probably wasn’t an unexpected spell of kindness or mercy on Megatron’s part, but likely more something along the lines of not wanting to completely burn out the carrier of his sparkling.

While apparently still having some frustrations of his own left, because man, Megatron had gone hard on him. Again, Sideswipe didn’t have a single complaint about that and it was some spectacular interfacing–

But he was a little dented and sore right now.

At least it looked like Megatron had finally worked through whatever aimless aggression he’d had left after beating some Autobots. That had only taken all of two days, too.

Of course, then they got to the end, and suddenly they were being told they were going to get sent to another planet, where there definitely wouldn’t be interfacing like this because it didn’t exactly sound like Megatron intended to come along. He was kind of needed on Earth, anyway.

“You’re sending us to that dead chunk of metal?” Sunstreaker continued in a furious hiss.

It wasn’t about the deadness of the planet to him, though. “The slag are we supposed to be doing there anyway?”

It wasn’t about lack of things to do either, really.

“You will pay Shockwave’s compound a visit,” Megatron growled right back. It didn’t take a genius to surmise what had prompted this, based on that.

“This is about the Autobots, right?” Sideswipe asked, and although tired, he was nowhere near the shape Sunstreaker was in, so he leveraged himself partly up to look at the warlord. Megatron’s optics were as baleful as ever, but Sideswipe wasn’t a coward any more than his brother was. “You don’t want them to get their hands on the sparklet?”

Megatron inclined his helm at him. “There is a far lower threat of Autobots on Cybertron.” And the Prime wasn’t there. Who was, at this point? Wreckers were probably off-world. Ultra Magnus? Elita and his troops? Maybe a few others.

And who in their right mind would try to bring down Shockwave in his lair with soldiers that limited? The rumored security Shockwave maintained was enough to dent even the strongest of optimists.

For the safety of the sparkling, Megatron seemed intent on sending them into the middle of that. Which… Well, it would at least remove the sparkling from the Autobots’ reach pretty effectively. Even if they tried to follow, they’d still need to go toe to toe with Shockwave and his drones and countless automatic defenses, not to mention the Seekers and other Decepticons stationed with him, before they could get to Sunstreaker and the sparkling. That was practically suicide.

So, if the goal was to keep the sparkling from falling prey to the Autobots’ ill intent, it was a solid plan.

Didn’t make a certain someone any more happy with it.

At the same time… Sunstreaker’s engine was revving like mad, and not from nice things like arousal or the like, but even he couldn’t deny Earth wasn’t the safest place. The Autobots had gotten into the Victory before. Jazz had already paid them a visit. They were just lucky the Autobots hadn’t seemed so hell bent on ‘freeing’ Sunstreaker at the time as they had become in further practice—after Ratchet’s visit, really. Them and their pissing need to confirm for themselves what influence Sunstreaker was under, when Ratchet refused to share.

And then thinking Sunstreaker was under enough influence to warrant killing the sparkling if nothing else worked. Or, slag, would they have tried to bring the protocols offline anyway, and then just reprogrammed him if that fucked him up beyond the point of no return?

No point thinking about all that now, though. It hadn’t come to pass.

But it could, still.

Unless they were on Cybertron, under Shockwave’s ever so loving care.

That was a bit of an issue though. “You think he won’t put us on a dissection table for being split-spark?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, engine still snarling and his vocalizer not much better.

Megatron glared at him. “Shockwave knows better than to go against my orders. You’re free to consent to his research, but he’s not permitted to touch you without your permission—nor is he allowed to harm the sparkling in any way, indirectly or not.”

Seemed… Reasonable enough, considering this was Megatron they were talking about. Shockwave was one of the most dangerous Cybertronians currently in existence, and not just because he was an amoral and emotion free intellectual, but because he was just as formidable physically.

Except there wasn’t much question that Megatron could and would kick his aft if Shockwave stepped out of line. It was only logical to obey, lest you bring harm and potential death upon yourself. Right?

Frag, he had no idea what went around in Shockwave’s helm. Could they trust this situation, or would they end up getting their spark all cut up in the name of Shockwave’s hunt for ever increasing knowledge?

Did they have any choice in taking the risk?

They didn’t, not really. Megatron wanted it, and what Megatron wanted, Megatron got.

Sunstreaker was still growling. “What happened to contributing to the sparkling, anyway?”

Megatron barely missed a beat before growling back an entirely aggravated, “I think I have contributed an adequate amount, wouldn’t you say?”

That… Yeah. Sunstreaker took a moment to consider the fact there was a very sizable pool under his aft, and more still leaking right out of him, and that probably wasn’t going to change anytime if you took into account the amount of transfluid Megatron had pumped into him.

Sunstreaker grumbled something under his breath. Sideswipe snickered before pushing himself fully to sitting–

Only to flop across Megatron’s chassis, folding his arms in front himself and resting his chin on them.

As casual as Sideswipe made the act, he was prepared for painful retaliation. This had to be testing some boundaries.

Nothing ever came, though. Megatron’s look of surprise quickly melted into a single raised optical ridge that only earned a grin from the red twin.

Boundaries successfully pushed!

Sunstreaker had dedicated himself to sulking and didn’t even look their way. He was an ass like that.

“When?” Sideswipe asked, tilting his helm a bit. Megatron didn’t need to ask what he was referring to, of course. He wasn’t an idiot.

“As soon as your brother gathers the strength to move.”

Sunstreaker quieted for a second, and Sideswipe’s laughter rang at the same moment as his twin broke his silence to the tune of some very angry cussing.

Way to offend a mech there, Megs.

But after a bit more rest and some much needed fueling, Sunstreaker managed to drag himself from the berth. He was still a barely contained ball of violence, but equipped with far too great awareness of his shaking limbs that completely robbed him of any honest chance at expressing his feelings through anything except waspish words.

Sideswipe ignored that. The ire wasn’t really aimed at him anyway. Megatron got most of it, but anyone else they happened across wasn’t really spared either.

Megatron mostly ignored it too. Sometimes Sunstreaker got growled responses, a few times he got claws, but really there wasn’t near as much reaction as there could have been. That only seemed to make Sunstreaker even more annoyed, the hissy fit he was busy throwing spiraling to rival anything they’d seen Starscream dish out.

That fact wasn’t lost to the Decepticons, either. There were muted snickers, whispered words comparing Megatron’s two (apparently primary) flings, and talk about how he had to have a type right there.

But all of it was spoken where Megatron couldn’t fully hear it, lest he be given a reason to administer some punishment for lack of respect or whatever.

After they’d fetched their few possessions from their quarters, it was honestly an excessive amount of Decepticons that were ordered to accompany them to the space bridge. There was no question that Megatron was very serious about not giving the Autobots a chance to successfully do a damn thing, even assuming they’d had the time to recover even somewhat.

Which they probably hadn’t, if Sideswipe’s assessment of how many injuries they’d all acquired was even close to the truth. They had held their own fine outside the Ark last he’d seen, but of course then the Seekers had basically carpet bombed the lot of them, and if that didn’t hurt he didn’t know what did.

But so they made it to the site of the space bridge without an incident, and the twins unboarded the best space taxi, Astrotrain. “How did you even have everything set up so quick?” Sideswipe asked from Megatron as he trotted up to the big mech overseeing the space bridge’s activation.

Megatron glanced at him. “Soundwave arranged everything. On my order.”

Ah. So while they were busy having the lights fragged out of them by Megatron, he’d apparently had the time to let his third know about his plans.

And of course Soundwave would get things done. What had he even gotten up to? Informed Shockwave, arranged the Decepticons on this end to escort duty, set up the activation of the bridge itself, and made sure the Decepticons on Cybertron’s end were prepared to receive them and bring them to Shockwave’s compound? Something like that, probably.

There were no Autobots to be seen even by the time the bridge portal opened. “Enter,” Megatron ordered them with a careless gesture in the direction of the portal as it whirled to life.

Sunstreaker growled. “I hate you.” A digit was jabbed at Megatron’s chassis, but despite that, his brother marched towards the bridge. Sideswipe followed after throwing a quick, “See ya!” at the warlord.

“Have a safe trip!” Skywarp wished them with a wave. Sideswipe waved back with a grin.

Meanwhile Starscream hissed, “Good riddance,” right where Sunstreaker was sure to hear it. The SIC became the target of one intense glower, but Sunstreaker didn’t do more than flip the bird at him before stopping at that last step that would have taken him into the portal, waiting until Sideswipe was next to him.

Then they took it together, the scenery of the Earth changing into the green and blue vortex of the bridge’s interior. “Wonder if we’ll get to see any of Shockwave’s experiments,” Sideswipe mused as they walked along the tunnel.

“Just as long as we don’t become those experiments,” Sunstreaker grunted back at him.

Sideswipe laughed. “Come on, have a little faith! I don’t think Shockwave’s dumb enough to go against Megs.”

His brother didn’t have time to make more than a noncommittal noise before they cleared the bridge and appeared on the other side. The dead, dark, cold landscape of Cybertron greeted them—familiar metal beneath their pedes, but no light beyond that the stars cast from the sky that had by now cleared of its old pollution that had once covered nearly all of the planet.

Their home, now nearly inhabitable.

More Decepticons were waiting for them, all of them Seekers. One of them stepped forward to greet them, and that was one they could recognize—if only because his trine had rained acid across Cybertron, much to the chagrin of the Autobots. “I’m Nova Storm,” he introduced himself. One of the Rainmakers, no doubt about that. “Are you okay to drive the way to the compound? It’s not far and the roads should be in passable condition.”

After being carted everywhere via a shuttle, driving sounded pretty nice. Plus they could enjoy the scenery a bit more.

What there was to enjoy. Broken landscape, old marks of explosions, jutting, torn structures as far as the eye could see.

But it was Cybertron.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Sideswipe confirmed. “Just show the way.”

They got a nod in return before all of the Seekers transformed and took to the air on one gesture from Nova Storm. The twins transformed as well and raced after the fliers as they zipped forward, following each other in pairs of two. Even had the roads not been in bad enough condition that they couldn’t go full speed and had to swerve around obstacles on irregular intervals, they would never have kept up with Seekers, but the fliers took that into account. They flew slower than they could, and although still considerably faster than the twins, the pair at the front would loop back around to become the last pair, and repeat so there was always a line of Seekers right ahead of them, pointing the way.

The roads, while far from perfect, were indeed in passable condition the whole way. They didn’t need to transform again before they’d already reached the doors of the compound—and that after driving by all manner of defenses for a considerable time already—the Seekers transforming as well and dropping down around them.

The doors opened to the fliers and the brothers followed them inside. Things were… Honestly you couldn’t even call it lit with how dim everything was, but not like lights were strictly necessary for their species anyway.

It was clear, though, that the fact Cybertron hadn’t orbited a star in a long time was severely affecting life on it. There weren’t many ways to generate energy anymore, especially with the core of the planet almost as dead as the surface.

Sideswipe wondered if the planet would eventually cool enough to make life for their species upon it completely impossible, at least on the surface. The lower decks had always gotten progressively hotter the lower you went. Maybe that still held true to an extent and the few mecha left on the planet could escape beneath the surface even if the temperature dropped too much.

“How many mecha are left on Cybertron, anyway?” Sideswipe asked as they walked the dark but spacious hallways deeper and deeper into the compound—and lower by a level or two, too.

“There are a few more Decepticon bases scattered around,” Nova Storm responded, just vague enough that their question was answered without providing any important intel to them. “Some Autobots are still holed up in Iacon, too, but we don’t have the resources to smoke them out. Same holds true for them too, though.”

“So a stalemate, like on Earth?”

“The whole war everywhere is that right now, I’m pretty sure.”

Something needed to give on one side or the other for things to change.

...Something had given. They’d left the Autobots and stripped their forces on Earth of some of their strongest frontliners.

But was that a change big enough?

What about if they officially changed sides? Sunstreaker wanted to fight the Autobots after what they’d done to him, and Sideswipe couldn’t say he had much against the idea either, not after that whole disaster.

Would that be enough to tip the scales? Could he give their spark and its two frames that much credit?

But that was a moot point right now. They weren’t even on Earth anymore, and wouldn’t be for who knew how long, and it didn’t sound like there was much fighting going on on Cybertron. So, no battles for them to participate in, for either side.

Just a war neither side could win.

“These will be your quarters,” Nova Storm said as they came to one door along a corridor of doors that Sideswipe assumed held other rooms for other occupants. He physically opened the one he pointed out. Most of the Seekers that had accompanied them dispersed at that—only Nova Storm and one other stayed. “I hope you’ll find them adequate. We left a few datapads with some entertainment on them for you, but with how long on energy we are, you probably had more to do on Earth. Sorry about that.”

“Can we spar? With each other, I mean,” Sideswipe asked as he looked inside the room right after Sunstreaker. It was furnished as sparsely as the quarters they’d had on the Victory, but these were over twice as big.

But obviously space wasn’t such an issue on planetside as it was on a spaceship.

“Yeah, sure. Hold on…” Nova Storm went quiet for a moment before they were pinged with a map of the compound—or that of a part of it, anyway. Many portions were clearly omitted, so Sideswipe suspected what they’d gotten was just the area they were allowed to explore, and the rest was off limits.

Shockwave was the secretive sort, anyway.

“You should find your way around with that. We have pretty strict ratios so I can’t suggest burning through too much fuel, though.”

“We’ll be careful,” Sideswipe promised. So… Cybertron might’ve been the safer location for the sparkling, but it looked like life was pretty difficult on it. Not that that should’ve come as much of a surprise. Even the Autobots had known that the Decepticons sent most of the energon they acquired back to Cybertron for a reason.

“Also,” their Seeker friend continued, his optics glowing in the dark as he looked between them, “Flatline has offered to edit your armors to be a little more… Well, no offense, but you look pretty Autobot. He thought it might be a good welcome present.”

That was… Awful nice and thoughtful. Sideswipe blinked in surprise. “Really? He could do that?”

“Yeah, sure. We have the raw materials for it. If you want to?”

Did they want to? Sideswipe locked optics with Sunstreaker and they… Considered the offer. The suggestion was pretty clear: make them look more Decepticon.

It was weird how almost everyone already treated them like they belonged to the faction, despite the fact they had never officially switched sides, only ditched the Autobots. Technically, then, they were Neutrals right now, and that was a dirty word.

But maybe it being a dirty word was why no one called them that. Plus the fact Sunstreaker was, you know, carrying Megatron’s offspring, which in the optics of most probably tied them to the warlord rather effectively.

Not that that was untrue, it was just that… Would it last after the sparkling’s separation? It was like everyone assumed it would.

And in all honesty they were slowly leaning towards the it would themselves.

And they knew they looked the part of an Autobot, had for a long time. They had almost no sharp edges on them, no claws, no fangs. None of the things they’d used to have before joining the ‘Bots, just on account of being Kaonite, and Kaonite gladiators at that.

If they could have that back…

It was tempting. No, not just tempting. They wanted it.

Here they had an opportunity for it.

So why not take it?

Sideswipe nodded at Sunstreaker, then turned his attention to Nova Storm and nodded again. “Honestly, that would be great. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not. He’s itching to have something to do, anyway,” Nova Storm said with a lopsided grin. “There’s not too much of a need for a medic right now.” And Shockwave probably didn’t involve him in all of his research and experiments, if any at all. He wasn’t sure about that, but hey, if they could give the poor mech something to do, while benefiting from it themselves?

Hell yeah.

“Then we’d love to,” Sideswipe confirmed again, nodding more firmly this time. Nova Storm nodded back at him, before pinging them again, this time with a location on the maps they’d just gotten. “His repair bay is there. Go see him whenever you’re ready and he’ll set you up with everything he needs from you.”

“Sweet. I think we’ll go do that right now.” Not like they had anything better to do. Besides, it’d be nice to have it done ASAP, and just… Get to enjoy their frames again, instead of feeling like they were missing something.

Because they were missing something. They were missing quite a few things, actually.

“Sure. And here’s my comm. Give me a call if you need anything,” Nova Storm said in parting before he took his leave down the corridor with just a wave at them, the other Seeker leaving with him—but also after giving them a wave.

Seriously. They were getting treated like they were already Decepticons in all kinds of ways.

He couldn’t really object to it, though. It was honestly pretty nice.

They closed the door to their room and set down the hallway into the opposite direction, following the map they had until they reached a set of double doors. There wasn’t any more light here than anywhere else, and these doors didn’t just slide out of the way automatically either.

Could they just walk in? Sideswipe wasn’t sure about that, so he gave the door a knock instead.

They only waited for some seconds before the door was opened by a mech from the other side. “Flatline?” Sideswipe asked for confirmation’s sake.

“Ah, you must be Sideswipe and Sunstreaker,” the mech said, looking between them. “Here about your frame edits?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Yeah. We’d kinda like to take you up on that offer.”

“Stellar! Come on in and let’s talk.”

They did. The repair bay was near pitch black like the rest of the place, but that continued to not be a hindrance with all of the other sensors and scanners in their race’s use, that didn’t require one speck of light to work.

Flatline led them to the back of the room with a desk and some chairs. “Alright, what I’ll obviously need from you are designs for what you’d like to look like. I challenge you to come up with something I couldn’t do.”

Sideswipe laughed in good humor at that. “I think we’d just like to return to our pre-Autobot builds, and I don’t think those designs are too out there. Sorry.”

The medic and whatever frame editor he was on the side sighed in a totally exaggerated manner. “Oh well, I’ll just have to live with that. Do you have any pictures of your old designs I could build schematics based on?”

Sunstreaker nodded and fetched his drawing pad from his subspace. Its screen came to life as about the only source of light in the room aside from their optics, and his brother quickly navigated to his drawings of them, as they’d been.

Could they really be that again..?

“Oh, that’s thorough,” Flatline noted, his optics brightening in what looked like excitement. “Did you draw these yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Impressive! And these are what you want? No changes?”

Sideswipe considered it for a moment, looking at the images Sunstreaker had drawn, and his brother was doing the same. Now was their chance to change whatever they wanted to, huh? But had they ever really had complaints about their old looks? As much as they had been slaves at the time they’d gotten their final upgrades, they had still had some word in what they wanted to look like, as long as it fit the right aesthetic—and standards of attractiveness, but who was going to complain about that?

They’d liked their looks before the Autobots had edited them to look less dangerous, less Kaonite, less Decepticon.

“No changes,” Sunstreaker answered after they’d come to their decision, pushing the drawing pad a little closer to Flatline, who nodded and pulled out a large datapad of his own. He plugged it into Sunstreaker’s pad and deftly downloaded all of the pictures of their old frames as references for himself, as well as the schematics of their frames that Sunstreaker pointed out to him. There wasn’t much to do without those… But maybe Sunstreaker had kept them with his other images in hopes of something like this happening.

Even if they’d never before had any actual hope of it.

“Alright then. Now, if you’d take your armor off,” the medic instructed when he unplugged his datapad and inspected its newly acquired contents, “Hmm… All of it off, it looks like. Your downgrade really was thorough…”

“You don’t say,” Sunstreaker snorted.

Flatline shook his helm in disapproval, probably at whoever had stripped them of all of their edges, and not at Sunstreaker. “There’s a private room behind that door if you don’t want to go walk through the halls on your protoforms back to your quarters. It’s safe within the compound, but understandably that can feel a bit disconcerting.”

You don’t say. Sideswipe made a face. This was the downside of complete edits, you had to be all… Defenseless while they were done. Protoforms just weren’t meant to be uncovered for anything else except planetary entries in its alt-mode. Nothing else. And yeah, for gladiators and warriors that was especially going to have every single instinct screaming at them.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

But the results? Those would be worth it.

“If it’s cool we’d like to stay out of sight,” Sideswipe said as he began to unlock his armor and remove it.

All of it. Literally all of it. Flatline nodded at him, but was courteous enough to not watch the process that Sunstreaker joined in on after just a small delay. Off came their chestplates, their collars, their pauldrons, rerebraces, gauntlets, gloves, waist cinches, groin pieces, cuisses, poleyns, greaves, sabatons...

Helmets and faceplates.

Everything.

They didn’t stop before every piece of armor was stripped off of their frames and nothing but bare protoform was left on every inch of them, their patchy exoskeletons the only thing left to protect their internals.

But then they were done. “I’ll take good care of your armors, fear not,” Flatline promised, then gestured at the door he’d pointed out, “This should take me a few groons. The door’s open, but you can lock it behind yourselves.”

“‘Kay,” was all Sideswipe said before they scurried off to the private room, their protoforms still in the middle of returning to their armorless configurations. That was always a weird feeling, to kind of just… Deflate, when there wasn’t armor to fit into.

They did lock the door behind themselves. There was a berth in the small room, some surfaces for medical equipment that wasn’t there right now, a few chairs. About as bare as their quarters, but that just meant they couldn’t mess with anything they weren’t supposed to mess with.

How disappointing.

They both hopped onto the berth, though neither laid down. Sideswipe poked at some of the exposed machinery in his thigh; Sunstreak inspected his digits and the little joints left to open air.

Pits, their protoforms weren’t fragile, they knew that much, but they still felt mighty fragile right now.

At least there wasn’t anyone to see them. Thank Primus for small mercies.

But after the novelty of seeing all of their protoform died off, in settled the boredom. Sunstreaker merely pulled out his drawing pad again and set to sketching, but he was always better equipped to handle not having anything to do. Sideswipe watched for a while as the shape of Megatron slowly materialized onto the canvas, but that wasn’t going to entertain him forever. In the end he pulled out a datapad he had some Earth games on, plugged into it, and set to virtually shoot things.

Considerably safer than the real thing, but nowhere near as exciting, either. But eh, beggars couldn’t be choosers. It’d do.

The image of Megatron was almost done and Sideswipe was just about bored of his game when there was a knock on the door a moment before Flatline peeked in. Sideswipe checked his chronometer, and for as many groons as it had taken, it still felt like Flatline had been pretty quick about it.

Not that he was entirely sure how long stuff like this usually took. “I’m done. If you’d come to fit everything on so I can see if anything needs any tweaking.”

“That was fast,” Sideswipe commented despite how much he wasn’t sure if it was fast. They both dropped off the berth and followed after the medic as he retreated from the door back to the repair bay.

“Thank you,” Flatline said, so maybe it really was faster than the average since he wasn’t corrected on the point. Huh.

The lights of the room brightened enough to grant some color vision on top of other sensor readings. Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled in pleasure the moment they set their optics on their retrofitted armor pieces. Everything was missing paint on so many spots, but that was their problem to fix and didn’t come as a surprise.

What was more important was that nothing looked anything like the shape they’d left it to Flatline’s care in. They could still recognize it as theirs, but now it really… It really was theirs. Gone were the rounded edges on everything, replaced by sharp corners and wicked spines and spikes.

And in the midst of it all, Sideswipe could spy the armor of his servos, and the claws that now decorated the tip of every digit—long, sturdy, sharp, dangerous, with not only a menacing point made to pierce, but also a long cutting edge at the bottom.

Just as they were in the Pits. They were made to hurt, rend, damage.

His spark felt fit to vibrate straight out of its chamber and the sparkling sharing the space in Sunstreaker’s core was paying very close attention to the excitement that was bouncing between their two halves. Sunstreaker tried not to show anything on the outside, but his optics were still too bright for normalcy.

Sideswipe didn’t even try to hide it and rushed straight for the armor bits that belonged to him, hovering his servos over them in awe.

Frag.

“This is so awesome,” he breathed as he began to pick the pieces up in reverse order from what he’d removed them in, fitting them in place one by one. They locked in place and merged with his systems, and he could feel the paintless extensions integrate with him—all the edges he barely remembered the feeling of.

Now he could re-experience all of it, and pits, it felt good. He couldn’t get the pieces on fast enough, and Sunstreaker was little better as he fit his own armor over his protoform. The sparkling didn’t understand yet. It had never had a physical body. It didn’t know what it felt like to love your body.

But it would, eventually. For now Sunstreaker could only soothe its confusion, make it focus on just the emotion, and not so much on the source of it.

They weren’t sure if they’d ever redressed themselves this fast, and Flatline took clear pleasure in their eagerness. He directed them to a mirror as soon as they were done, and Sideswipe drank in the sight just as hungrily as Sunstreaker, even if he was the less vain half of them.

They looked like they were supposed to look. That was the root of it—the rightness. They looked every bit as savage as they had once upon a time, like they could go to the Pits right now and fit right in.

Well, aside from the fact they were missing a good portion of their paint jobs.

“Does anything feel off?” Flatline asked as he stared at the both of them critically. They turned in front of the mirror, staring at themselves, staring at each other, drinking in the sight—feeling it.

“My right shoulder feels kinda funny?” Sideswipe eventually said, rotating said shoulder.

“Let me have a look.” The medic wasted no time poking, prodding and tugging at the area, humming to himself. “It’s a bit loose. If you’d take that off so I can tighten it a bit.”

Sideswipe did so, handing the armor back to Flatline and watching as he returned to his workbench.

It barely took any time at all before he was back already. “Try now.”

Now they were talking. Sideswipe grinned at the mirror. “Fits perfect. You’ve got some mad skills on you, mech.”

Flatline huffed. “Thank you,” he said again, turning to Sunstreaker and asking about the fit of his armor too.

Sunstreaker pointed out his thigh and knee, and those came off for some tweaking as well—and again, once they were returned, they fit just like they were supposed to.

Sideswipe still couldn’t stop looking at himself, looking at Sunstreaker, looking at them… He would’ve said there were no traces of Autobot on them anymore, but that wasn’t true.

Flatline had preserved their insignias—scratched out insignias. They still stood on in the middle of their chestplates, a reminder of what they had been—what they weren’t anymore. Megatron’s work right there for everyone to see.

But they didn’t have Decepticon insignias on them either.

Sideswipe mused about that silently for a moment before deciding to just bite the bullet and ask about it.

“Lord Megatron hasn’t said anything about giving you your insignias,” came Flatline’s answer, provided with a shrug. And again there was that, talking as if they already were Decepticons—although maybe in a bit more unofficial capacity than most, if they weren’t given ‘their’ insignias.

Yet. Would that happen at some point too, if they opted to fight for Megatron? Would they become officially Decepticons? Officially enemies of their former faction, instead of just being suspended between the two sides, nominally Neutrals?

Except there wasn’t really being true Neutral when carrying the sparkling of one side’s fragging leader.

And… There was one other Autobot thing about them. “I have your fangs and other dental pieces too,” Flatline, and Sideswipe couldn’t contain his squee.

“Those too?” His voice was way too high, wasn’t it? But slaggit, his fangs.

Flatline just grinned at him. “Of course. They were part of your designs. Would you lay down for me so I can fit them in?”

That wasn’t even a thing worth asking. Sideswipe all but flew to the nearest berth and laid down on it, the medic only fetching the pieces of denta before coming to him. He didn’t need to ask Sideswipe to open his mouth, or for him to unlock his denta. Flatline’s field was amused, but he didn’t say anything as he simply removed the denta that had been fitted in to replace his rightful ones too long ago.

Flatline did the opposite, slotting in the flat razors first, and then, four fangs far too long and sharp—just how Sideswipe liked them. He was way too eager to lock those in once the medic said he was ready, and barely waited for permission to get up before he had already returned to the mirror, this time to inspect his mouth.

Most of his denta didn’t look dangerous, never had, and weren’t meant to. You couldn’t see the cutting edges they were.

But his canines. Pits, those looked menacing in all kinds of ways, and sank into the slots in his mouth always made just for them, except for the longest time there had been nothing to fit into those spaces.

Now there was.

He almost missed it when Sunstreaker laid down too. “And four triple-canines for you,” Flatline said, brandishing those dental pieces before repeating the process on Sunstreaker’s mouth—sans the razor bits. Sunstreaker had never had those, nor did he want them.

He enjoyed chewing a bit too much.

Sideswipe would happily give up his ability to chew a damn thing if it meant his bite was absolutely devastating. Maybe he’d even remember how to not snip his own glossa clean off!

And just like that, they both had their fangs back. Sunstreaker joined him in admiring their new-old dental configurations.

Slag. This was almost too good to be true. They were so un-Autobot, again.

It felt damn good.

Flatline watched them take everything in for a while before he spoke up, kind of but not really interrupting them. “If everything fits as it should, Sunstreaker, I’d like to check you and the sparkling.”

Sunstreaker didn’t put up a fight about that, just nodded and laid down on the berth Flatline pointed out. The medic plugged in and Sideswipe stood to the side—still sorta maybe admiring every bit of himself—as he worked through Sunstreaker’s systems, inspecting things, running tests, taking readings. Predictably Sunstreaker was asked to bare his spark sooner rather than later, too, which he did without complaint, though a little tensely.

But Flatline didn’t do anything untoward, just scanned the sparkling and performed a visual inspection on the little thing that honestly wasn’t so little anymore. “It looks to be growing healthy and strong. Congratulations for that. Nothing seems off; the frame’s coding is progressing as it should, too. You’ll have a hearty sparkling in your hands soon enough.”

“How soon?” Sunstreaker asked, closing his chestplates back up when Flatline signaled he had no more interest in his spark or internals.

Flatline paused for a moment, presumably looking at the readings he’d just taken before answering, “Three deca-cycles, I’d say.”

That was… Not the longest time, but still pretty long to spend in a base that had barely any energy in its use. Even now the lights were dimming back down, making optics next to useless. Sunstreaker nodded all the same. Not like they had much of a choice, and really, if they wanted the sparkling to stay safe, then this… Was the best option.

They’d just have to deal.

“How do we know it’s starting to separate?” Sideswipe asked as Sunstreaker sat back up and swung his legs to the floor.

Flatline laughed lightly. “Oh, trust me, you’ll know. It’ll hurt like the pit. Spark pain, you know how intense that can be.”

“...Nice,” Sideswipe commented. Sunstreaker dragged a servo down his face, not really… Looking forward to that. As familiar as they were with pain, physical pain couldn’t even hold a candle to spark pain. And sure, they suffered from chronic spark pain—yaaaay split-spark—but somehow they doubted even that was going to compare to having the sparkling sever the bond to its carrier. Bondmates didn’t have a habit of surviving their partner’s death.

And they were going to experience the breaking of a bond, even if it wasn’t that of mates.

So, that couldn’t be fun!

“Right,” Sunstreaker sighed all the same, already resigning himself to that future, what with it being completely inevitable.

“Just let me know once it starts,” Flatline instructed them. “I’d prefer to supervise the process, especially considering you’re only half-spark. One of split-spark twins getting ignited isn’t very well documented.”

“Will do,” Sideswipe promised.

There was a beat of silence before the medic nodded. “You’re free to go, if you have no other questions. If something comes up at any point, you know who to call. I hope.”

Sideswipe snickered. “You, I’m guessing. Thanks. And extra thanks for the retrofits, they’re slagging fantastic.”

“You’re very welcome. Now go enjoy them and add some paint on there. If you need more light, you can request a room to be brightened a bit for a limited duration.”

“Noted,” Sunstreaker said, pushing himself off the berth entirely and leading the way to the repair bay’s doors. Sideswipe followed, giving Flatline a wave and another quick, “Thanks!” before they headed back for their quarters.

Time to do some painting, and then figure out how the pit they were going to kill time while staying here.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #sideswipe #megatron #nova storm #flatline #fic #2021 #ashes #up in flames

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notgonnarememberthis · 4 years ago

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find your way (back to me) - chapter two

The reception for this fic was so fucking sweet, this really went beyond what I expected I honestly just thought this would be a self service fic but it hit off so well. Honestly, wrote the next chapter to cope with the anxiety of being home and general holiday stress so I hope y’all enjoy it. And thank y’all for all the sweet comments they mean the fucking world to me.

Jessica tries not to let the sigh escape her throat, she really does. But when Gil comes in arms loaded with gifts it probably took him weeks to save for she can’t help it.

She can afford literally anything he wanted to buy for her or the kids and then some, but she resisted.

If not to see the proud little grin on his face when he knows he absolutely nailed the gift that the recipient never even knew they wanted.

He’s quite good at knowing what people never knew they needed.

She invites him in, nonetheless, taking some of the load off, only with a little chiding that he still shouldn’t carry so much. It has only been a few months since his injury. He needs to give his body time to heal.

Malcolm and Ainsley would arrive soon, hopefully carrying something that wasn’t a twist-on. But for now she would enjoy Gil’s company. His warmth wards off the cold that always seemed to linger in the hollow rooms. His smile lights up even the darkest corners as she leans into his embrace. He pulls out old records that collected dust for years, grabbing her hand and swinging her around the room with more grace than anyone would expect.

They don’t even notice when the children arrive. Only when Gil spins her and she nearly runs straight into Malcolm do they realize they are no longer alone. The laughter catches the air like a flame, spreading across the room with an infectious glee that most of them had not known for far too long. Gil pulls Ainsley in next, taking her as his next partner.

She almost bursts with joy when Malcolm takes her hand to dance without hesitation. His movements are still but he is letting go, allowing himself to enjoy the small moments in life that don’t revolve around homicide.

She’s so proud that she feels tears building behind her eyes.

The music fades and the silence takes over, no longer as deafening but rather content.

Jessica startles awake to a loud crash. Immediately she regrets opening her eyes as pain rips through her head. She reaches up to feel where it hurts but something is holding her down.

It takes a few seconds for the world to come into focus, once it does she wishes desperately for the peace of the dream. Her hands are zip tied to the chair she’s sitting in, her neck and head both ache like nobody’s business. She shuffles through her mind to try to remember what the hell happened. There was a crash, then her world was spinning, she checked on Adolpho… Oh god, Adolpho.

A soft sob of realization takes over her. What happened between the crash and now? How the hell did she get here? She was on her way to a meeting for becoming the head of Eve’s charity in her honor.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Fake sincerity drips from a figure previously hidden by the shadows. She stiffens, suddenly all too aware of her situation. She holds still, as if that would help, if she wouldn’t move they wouldn’t see her. If she closes her eyes she can open them again to the warmth and happiness radiating from her family. “Sorry for the mess, had to improvise.” The shadow gestures absentmindedly.

“Who are you?” Her voice rasps painfully. She wonders how long exactly she was out for.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. I’m much more interested in you.” He comes closer, enough for her to recognize that he’s wearing a mask. “Jessica Whitly, my you are a sob story if there ever was one.” He walks across the room, footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. “Disgraced daughter of the Miltons, married to a serial killer, and dated another socialite exposed to be heading a dubious business,” he sighs. “Truly Shakespearian, have you thought about selling the rights to your story?”

“Are you done?” She tries not to let her voice waver, her fear shakes just beneath the surface, but she’s not running or hiding now. Malcolm and Gil will find her. She just needs to stall as long as she possibly can.

“Hardly.” The venomous glee sends a chill down her spine. He tilts his head in a way that flashes her back as if she were in Claremont all this time. “Just killing time until our guest arrives.”

“I can give you all the money you want, just let me go.” The bark of a laugh makes her jump, immediately regretting the sudden movement as pain pierces her skull yet again.

“I don’t want your money. It can all burn for all I give a shit.”

“What do you want then?” She pleads.

Even with the mask she can feel his deadly grin, like a cat taunting it’s prey just before it pounces. “You.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gil checks his phone yet again, waiting for Malcolm’s text. He told JT to get Ainsley and get both of them back to the precinct immediately. He almost wishes he’d done it for himself, having them in his sight would be a hell of a lot more comforting right now especially as he stares at the lieu of pictures scattered across his desk.

He trusts JT, though. He’s getting them here as fast as he possibly can with two out of three of the most stubborn people he’s ever met in the back of his car. No doubt they have hundreds of questions that poor JT doesn’t even know the answer to, he’s simply following orders and right now they’re on a strict need to know basis.

Colette will lock Malcolm down as soon as he arrives. He’ll be able to loosen the reigns, but only a little. He’ll be lucky to leave without Dani or JT personally handcuffed to him. Hell, Gil will be lucky if she doesn’t choose him to be handcuffed to Malcolm.

He hears the door to his office open and he feels the lump in his throat develop once again.

“Why are the FBI here?” “Why did I just get pulled out of work and rushed here?” “Why isn’t mom answering my calls?” “Why did we get escorted here by two more cop cars?”

The two siblings speak simultaneously and he sighs raising a hand to stop them. He braces himself delivering the news as impersonally as he could to the two people he basically watched grow up. “You’re both familiar with the kidnappings and murders in Boston?” They nodded, going to talk again but he stopped them with a pointed stare. “This morning there was an accident, one of the cars matched the plates of the car Agent Swanson has been tracking for that case.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Ainsley asks, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve, it’s a nervous tick he’s known since she was 12. Her mother tried to break the habit but was never really successful.

“The other driver was Adolpho.” Ainsley’s eyes widen, she looks to Malcolm who only nods solemnly. “He died on impact.”

“Oh my god.” Malcolm reaches over, squeezing her hand. He watches the younger man straighten, preparing himself for the next blow. He’s all too familiar with the practices and knows that Gil has more to deliver to them. He nods, silently telling him to continue.

“We found this in the backseat of the car.” He turns the photo of Jessica’s phone to them and watches as the dots connect in both of their heads. “We also found blood on the back window that we believe is your mother’s.”

“You believe?” Ainsley’s voice cracks for the first time that he’s heard in years. Even after Paul Lazar, even after Endicott Ainsley didn’t waver. “What do you mean you believe is hers? Where is she?”

“You think the killer took her.” Malcolm whispers. Almost as if he says it too loud, it will make it true. His hands fly to his eyes sucking in a breath when Gil nods in confirmation. He knows it’s his way of trying to keep tears back, just long enough to keep his head from going into full meltdown and instead switching to investigator. “Dani found CCTV footage of the wreck. The suspect’s car redlight, crashing into Adolpho without even slowing down. The man climbs out of the car and goes out of frame. A couple minutes later an ambulance shows up, another man helps your mother into the back and they drive off.”

“Shouldn’t she be fine then? We just need to find out want hospital they took her to. She’s probably logged as a Jane Doe if she doesn’t have her purse either. She probably hit her head and she’s confused or unconscious and we need to-”

“Ainsley.” Malcolm’s tone stops her. He’s already read Gil’s expression, knowing what’s coming next.

“The ambulance on the scene was reported stolen just an hour before the wreck.” He watches as Ainsley’s face crumples, despite her best attempts to hold it together. Malcolm pulls her into a loose hug, rubbing her back in comfort. He can tell only by the slightly uneven breaths that Malcolm is crying as well.

His eyes sting and every fatherly instinct wants him to go to them and hug them. Tell them everything will be fine just like he did 20 years ago. He gives them time to settle again, determination overpowering their shock and grief. “What can we do?”

“Right now, stay in sight. I’ve already got the FBI pressing hard enough on this pushing for a clean end but I don’t think that’ll be the case. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m assigning each of you an officer and if either of you tries to shake them or go off on your own I’m putting you in a holding cell.” He raises a brow at the two of them. “Understand?”

“Yes.” They answer in unison. Gil tries not to think about the two kids, hardened too young. With only each other and their mother to hold onto in the storm that raged around them. Now with one less thing anchoring them to this earth.

“Let’s get to work.” XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The clanging of metal pulls Jessica’s attention from the deep abyss she allowed herself to sink into. The man had long left with the promise of the “guest” lingering over her head. She busied herself praying to every deity that she could think of that Malcolm, Ainsley, Gil, all of them were safe. She stopped believing in God long ago but her desperation outweighs her beliefs right now.

Different, slower footsteps shamble in front of her. This man looks younger, his physique, at least. He places something down against the wall before dragging a chair in front of her. She feels bile rise in the back of her throat when the something against the wall groans in pain. The man shuffles back over to the body, lifting it with ease yet again and placing it in the chair across from her. He secures the wrists individually to the chair before standing behind it. She stares at him for a moment, she swears his movements almost seem hesitant.

The static of a radio starting up breaks the relative silence. “Take off his hood.” She recognizes the voice of the man who was taunting her earlier. The other figure does as he says, removing the bag from over the tied up man’s head. Fearful bloodshot eyes meet hers. “This is Tommy Moore. He is a resident at Montgomery and from what I hear? He will make a promising young surgeon one day.” She swallows hard trying to calm the nerves building up in her stomach. “Do you know who she is Tommy?” The poor boy can only get out a whimper. Her heart sinks when she hears the sound of a gun cocking from behind him. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes.” He chokes out. “I saw her on the news. She was looking for a missing girl o-on Christmas.”

“Do you think she would choose your life over her own?” Tommy bows his head sobbing openly. “Please don’t do this.”

“Let him go.” She begs.

“Well would you Mrs. Whitly?” The sentence cuts deep. “Would you choose your life over his?” She closes her eyes, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. She thinks of Malcolm and Ainsley, no idea of where she was. She thinks of Gil, pouring everything he has into finding her. She even thinks of Martin, the horrid man who no doubt has caused this somehow in some way.

And then she thinks of her dream. She holds onto the smell of Gil’s cologne surrounding her as they spin around her living room, the sound of Ainsley’s laugh bouncing off of the walls as Gil dips her, Malcolm’s smile brighter than she remembers it being in so very long. And she hopes they forgive her. “No.”

The silence feels as if it stretches for hours. She waits for the gunshots. She waits for the pain and then the utter nothingness of death. “Perhaps you didn’t understand my question. Would you die so that Tommy here can live?”

“Yes, I would.” The boy cries only get louder, mixed with tragedy and relief. She almost wants to cry with him.

“No!” The voice roars and they hear something from the other room crash. “You’re doing this wrong!” Another stretch of silence, this one even longer than the last. “You would rather die, so that he can live?!” Tommy looks at her, finally, and the realization strikes her. His eyes looked familiar, the same shade as Martin’s. His curly, unkempt hair even the shade so similar she’d assume he was a relative had she not known Martin had no other family. Everything was a subconscious push so that she’d choose her own life over his. This was a losing game.

“I choose his life over mine.” She says with more anger than before. She wouldn’t fall for this game. Even if it meant her own she wouldn’t put an innocent life on the line. She hopes for her children’s sake that they find her eventually. She hopes that they find peace.

“Shoot him.”

“What?” The man with a gun asks before either of them could.

“Shoot him!” The shot makes her ears pop. She never knew a gun could be that loud. Blood hits her face causing her to flinch, watching in horror as the boy slumps forwards. A cry rips through her throat as she struggles against the bonds tying her down.

“Why?!” She screams. “Why did you do that?!” She folds over on herself trying to contain the panic threatening to swallow her whole. Every fiber of her wants to fight back, to fight her way back to her family. Her head screeches in pain, spots flashing in front of her eyes. It only seems to get more intense though as her world tilts and spins with an effort to stay awake.

“You chose wrong.”

#gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #gilssica #gil arroyo #jessica whitly #malcolm bright #Ainsley Whitly #prodigal son #prodigal son au #kidnapping au #find your way (back to me)#find your way (back to me) chapter two #fanfic #notgonnarememberthis fics

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vinylhazza · 5 years ago

Text

A Helping Hand (E.D)

Summary: He wants her, she wants him, but neither are willing to make the first move...that is until y/n stumbles upon Ethan pleasuring himself and screaming her name, who's gonna be the first to break?

Word Count: 10.1k

Warning: smut, some fluff

Ethan knew she was watching, his beautiful best friend, tucked behind the doorframe so quiet and innocent, listening to his desperate throaty moans of her name roll so sweet off of his tongue and into the dim yellow light of his bedroom. His hand wrapped tight around his hard cock - jerking off hungrily, and of course she was already dripping through her swim bottoms, arousal threatening to run down her legs.

She's a shivering horny mess against the cool wooden frame. He was dead drunk on the thought of her body and thriving on the fact that she hadn't walked away yet.

After a long hot day of watching his best friend y/n lounging in the pool in her tiny red bikini, long hair floating like a halo in the water, breasts somehow perkier than ever, nipples hard, water droplets sitting pretty against her golden tanned skin, he couldn't take it any longer. He continued to stare while her lips continued to wrap around a red straw even as she felt his burning sultry gaze, sucking up sweet peach tea that Grayson had made minutes prior to taking a dip into their pool. It was mind blowing how bad she got to Ethan. It was mind blowing how hard she got him with a simple glance.

He'd seen her damn near naked so many times and they had effected him, yes, but not like today. Today was different. He had to have her even if he only let himself have her in his mind. He used to be able to control himself better, but he can feel his self control dwindling fast on days like today when she looked so good under the golden LA sunlight, water dripping off her angelic body. The very thought makes him throw his head back with a grunt, head hitting the mattress with force.

They had gotten out of their pool after countless hours of stolen glances from both parties (Ethan's being more direct, hers being more shy and discrete). The sun had started to sink below the horizon - a mixture of blazing reds and oranges cast across their blushing cheeks making Grayson internally gag by the sexual tension floating around them: utterly impossible to ignore and very uncomfortable for the younger twin.

Grayson had gotten used to seeing the teasing stares, tender yet longing touches, and wandering lust-filled eyes, but that didn't necessarily mean he enjoyed it. Today he settled for a subtle gesture - elbowing Ethan when he was caught staring at her stretched out body for too long. Grayson wasn't stupid. He knew that his twin and their best friend were bound to be together and bound to inevitably fuck. And the look on Ethan's face said it all. The fucking bikini only hid so much from his preying eyes. But the nudge was just enough to snap him out of his trance for about three seconds before he caught her rolling over to ensure she could get an even tan on both sides. He stared for a good 15 minutes more before she decided it was far too hot to remain in the direct sunlight. But then he saw the water running off of her sun kissed body, rising up from the pool by the stairs in a wet sexy mess, that had done it for him. Ethan had made up a lame excuse that he was tired and needed a nap, ignoring the dabbing of her towel across her body - avoiding all eye contact and walking briskly into the house and to his bedroom, leaving Grayson and y/n to do what they will until he was finished busting a load to the thought of the sinfully naughty things he would do to her if she'd let him.

He had "forgotten" to close the door, far too desperate to get rid of him embarrassing situation to remember the simple task. But he was glad he didn't now. He enjoyed her preying eyes far too much to want to go back and fix his blessing in disguise. The universe had a funny way of making things happen. He's never wanted anyone as bad as he wants her and it both scares the shit out of him and excites him at the same time. To want someone so much he can't stop thinking about it is possibly the craziest thing he's ever gone through. Not just a want that's physical but emotional as well. It's a mental cycle he's not sure he wants out of. All he wants is clarity. Does she want him? does she not? Make a move? Keep it simple? Go all the way? Fuck her on the table? Fuck her in the shower? See if she opposes to him finger fucking her in the car for scientific purposes? It was all in the grey area.

But it was also a line they were both afraid to cross. Being together was what y/n and Ethan were good at - as friends. But fuck did they both want more. More in more ways than one. They deserved more. Physical and emotional. They deserved to receive the love they both possessed for one another. They were too afraid to want each other in the way they longed for. Too afraid to cross the line. To afraid to let themselves have what they both deserved. It was almost torturous for the people they were around, acting like a couple but ignoring what stared them right in the face.

So this was the explanation. The result of being denied her body for too long. If she was going to be a stubborn ass and look that damn good in that skimpy red bikini then he was going to scream her fucking name out while he fucked himself at the thought of her.

He thought it would be less creepy if he searched up a porno of someone that simply looked like her instead of looking at a picture - needing a little shove in the right direction. He wouldn't be able to control himself if he looked at her pretty doe eyes anymore than he already had today. But as the video started playing, he simply closed his eyes and pictured her in his mind - her soft silky legs, her delicate arms, her tiny fragile hands, her round peachy ass, her long eyelashes, and those fucking plump lips he'd imagined around his cock more times than he would care to admit. He'd even dreamt about it, often times waking up to a bed full of cum from his hips grinding into the sheets for friction - dead convinced he had been sinking into her wet warmth the whole time. He'd always woken up disappointed.

He imagined the way she said his name and grew confident that she would be begging him with the same fucked out tone he'd dreamt about for so long all while he dicked her down into his mattress, ass up, face down in the pillow, hand gripping into her wavy locks. He would absolutely ruin her.

The moans started playing along with the flashing images he had in his head was enough to have him begging into the empty bedroom and it was driving him to pump faster faster faster, tightening his fist, pre-cum leaking from the tip of his reddened cock. The moans were drawn out and desperate, exactly how he thinks she would sound. He swiped it with his thumb, circling the swollen tip before slicking his tight fist back down - dreaming and fantasizing it was y/n's sweet pretty pussy.

He almost felt bad, he really did - but that quickly slipped away when he started to remember how he noticed the hard clenching of her thighs when they would sit next to each other while watching a movie - y/n all cozied up in his big sweatshirt and leaning into his cozy turtleneck against his chest, him wearing it because he knows it's her favorite of hers - the smell of strawberry's and peach tea overtaking him, breathing deeply when his hand slowly moved higher up her thigh. Her hands were trembling, her thigh slipping tentatively over his lap, nearly grinding down onto his growing bulge, wanting more. They were sadly cut short when Grayson's loud snore cut through the air from the opposite end of the couch, ruining the moment. They never mentioned it again.

There had been many nights of the same sexual tension between the two since she moved in from Jersey at their request: so much so even, that Grayson caught on and had started bitching at Ethan to shoot his shot with her (having heard from a wine drunk y/n that she felt the same). He always refused, convinced that although they had sexual tension, he wouldn't be worthy of her beautiful mind he's come to love. But her moving in had been a dream for him. It had given him a sense of hope. His best friend for so many years that he was desperately head over heels for was following him across the country to finally give herself the life she deserved away from her controlling parents...and maybe get the guy she deserved even if she didn't intend on it at first.

Even if she did stay in the spare bedroom most of the time, she would often find herself curled into her best friend Ethan - snuggling herself into the warmth of his chest and listening to his rapid heartbeat that would make his cheeks flare with embarrassment when he looked down at her wide eyes gleaming back. It was unlike anything she's ever felt before...to be wrapped up into the man she loves and be completely uncertain of what it meant and if he felt it to. She'd always been in the dark. But they both would admit to anyone that asked that they both slept better the nights they were tangled together in his bed.

Judging by what she is seeing before her and hearing right at this very moment - he does. All of her senses itched to walk into the room and slap his hands way to take control herself, knowing that all the built up sexual tension inside her for him would come out to play. She knew she could work him to a mind-blowing orgasm - even better than he's probably imagining in his mind at this moment. She closed her eyes and thought about how good she would suck his dick. How she would make it a point to keep squeezing his balls and slurping until he came at least three times. She thought about how proud she wanted to make him. She thought about being on top and bouncing down onto his massive cock. The urge to make him proud was almost euphoric for her, never really feeling it before. But fear was keeping her planted behind the doorframe, inching closer inside of the room just to hear and see him a little bit better.

Her red swimsuit still clung to her body in a wet mess, now soaked with her arousal from hearing her best friend fuck himself while screaming her name. She had left her clean clothes in the bathroom before she had heard him, now thankful she had dropped them off. Her nipples were hard, the breeze drifting in the hallway from the AC in contrast to her wet bathing suit not making it any better for.

He looked so good, laying back against the creamy white colored comforter; bare body glimmering in the soft yellow light of the lamp, large hand wrapped tightly around himself - ring gleaming on his finger, metal necklace resting against his chest, laptop open beside him playing a porno with a girl that looked suspiciously like her, his eyes closed, hair a dark mess atop his head, breathing heavy, fucking breathtaking. A smile makes its way onto her lips at the fact that he looked up someone that looked like her, but wished he had just looked at a picture of her instead.

That's when she see's his eyes land on a picture of the two of them smiling on his computer desk, Ethan's arms swung around her shoulders, her lips softly pressing into his cheek, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She remembers this picture, and remembers even more the day he sat his on his desk, looking at it for far too long until he turned away to join her in his bed. It is a picture that meant the world to him, a snapshot of the true love-drunk smile on his face that seemed to pop up whenever she was around. He stares at the picture now, hand rubbing his shaft while he takes in her long hair and small smirk in the picture, trying to remember the feeling of her lips on his skin - only making his head dizzier.

She thanks the gods that Grayson decided to go to the store for a last minute bbq run, on his dad shit once again, because she gets to see Ethan spread out and begging for her without any interruptions. It was a sight she never wanted to forget, watching him horny as ever. She knows the feeling, doing the same thing to herself on days that were too much to handle.

His hand twists and works at himself hard, smacking against his balls and yelling her name into the air with a neck vein popping out. She rubbed her thighs together for friction, afraid if she kept watching she would drip down her legs and onto the floor. That would be embarrassing to clean up. It was all she would give herself right now, not sure if she wanted to go to far and have him catch her...but maybe she did want that. She's vocal, so there is no doubt in her mind she would make noise.

"F-fuckkk y/n yes bounce on me like that...yes baby," he moans, looking down at the hand that works on him masterfully "tight pussy so good for me."

He makes sure that she can hear every word, every syllable and the way he says her name, wanting her to break and show him that she wants him just as much. This may be his moment, at least he's hoping it is. This may be the moment she breaks and shows his what she's always thinking in that beautiful brain of hers.

His fist speeds up just as she snaps, reaching down hastily for the edge of her own swim bottoms, pushing a shaking hand underneath, being met with her own wetness. She slicks her fingers through her drenched folds, breathless already by hearing his moans and yells bouncing against her ears. She was almost ashamed of how wet she was over her bestfriend but she just couldn't resist. She stared into the bedroom still - glaring at him for playing with her head and body. She rests a hand against the doorframe - grip like a vice, her face falling against her forearm as she works herself, rubbing hard circles against her little clit wishing it was him. He starts to groan louder, wanting her to come in already before he breaks apart.

And then he hears her whimper desperately from her hiding spot behind the wall that leads to the hallway and he decides she's not gonna break until he makes her. She's far too gone to notice the moans in the video pause, a pen drop silence falling over the house. This is what she assumed would happen, she just wasn't sure what exactly would happen if he did in fact catch her.

She rubs harder, fingers working fast against her dripping core as she practically rides her own hand, hips bucking and grinding down - imagining herself bouncing and grinding on his dick was an image that made her heat up and accidentally whimper into the quiet of her hiding spot. If only she noticed that Ethan had gotten up from his spot on the bed to come and get her, done with the secretive shit and wanting to fuck her sexy ass into the sheets far too much to let her pleasure herself while spying on him - wanting to have her screaming his name so loud the entire city of LA would be able to hear.

Little y/n didn't even know what was coming for her as she feels long fingers grab her wrist lightly, causing her head to shoot up and lust filled eyes fall on Ethan's hazel ones that looked at her so dark that she caught herself whimpering again. She tried wiggling her fingers to continue, so close to cumming from his desperate sounds and warm hand on her wrist that she couldn't possibly stop. She should have been embarrassed to have been caught, but she couldn't care less. She needed him. Right now even if he looked at her differently after. She actually loved being caught, knowing this might be the end of their little denial game.

"Need help Princess?" he steps up behind her, hot chest pressing close against her back, dick pressing against her ass as he removes her hand to stop herself from coming undone before he was done with her. At this point, she didn't get the right to make herself cum- that was all his job now.

His smirk was devilish behind her back, breath fanning over her neck in gentle puffs. She felt tiny, being pressed against the doorframe by his large body - never noticed how big he truly was until now.

Her answer was simple, music to his ears.

"P-please."

That was all it took.

Her chest was heaving, streams of tears were running down her scrunched up face with desperation. At the sound of her whimper Ethan's hand snakes down from her stomach and lower to cover her clothed stimulated clit, exactly where she needed him, slowly rubbing to drive her crazy. She forgets that this is her best friend and finally lets herself have what she wants, what she's always wanted. Ethan. Fuck the control she's always wanted to have. Fuck her worries about ruining the friendship. Although she hoped it wouldn't. She hoped for something more after this - prayed he wanted the same. But right now she wanted him to treat her like his personal little fuckdoll - let out all of that sexual frustration on her.

"I got her sweetheart," he mutters once more, cute Jersey accent jumping out. She swallows the thick lump in her throat, not believing her luck that this is actually happening - something that's long overdue. Ethan is actually here, touching her where she wanted him most, whispering sweet sensual nothings into her ear. It was enough to force her to take a deep breath and calm herself, not wanting to rush the moment.

His dick rests long and heavy against her ass, twitching with every subtle movement she makes. She shakes by feeling the length against her skin, not surprised by his size by just seeing him jerking off in front of her - but still needy as ever. In a desperate move to feel him she rocks back, moaning loudly throughout the dark empty hallway.

"Ethan please I need more I need more!" she moans out desperately, delicate hand against his wrist while he works her faster, rubbing and pinching her clit in between two of his skilled fingers. He works her in figure eights, wanting to laugh at how she jumps. One hand clings to her bare waist while he rubs her pussy fast - her wetness making his cock twitch against her ass once more. How easy it would be to slick himself down and sink into her, but he's holding himself back - wanting to taste her first.

"Think you can just watch me and not help me huh? Think you're gonna fuck yourself while watching me and not put yourself to work on this dick? Fuck you're so in for it" he laughs menacingly, chin in the crook of her neck to suck a lovebite into the skin boldly. He knew what he was doing and he wasn't afraid to show her what he thinks about day in and day out. He rocks against her for some kind of relief.

"Hearing me moan for you must have gotten you this drenched right mama?" he urges on, twisting her around in his hands only to snake his fingers under her small swim bottoms, yanking them down her velvety legs to pool on the cold wooden floor. "Wanna see your face baby."

Her head is nodding all while his mind was reeling on the turn of events. the girl he had dreamed about for as long as he can remember was touching herself while watching him, now finally under his very own fingers desperate for him. It was enough for him to groan against the side of her neck, holding her closer.

His fingers work against her still, touching her bare pussy - he takes in her features: scrunched up nose, parted lips, the ones he's fantasized about kissing since he began to understand the appeal of girls, wavy hair, eyelashes fluttering against her heated cheekbones, hand clutching his straining wrist. She's thinking about the hand touching her and whines when she notices it's the same one that was tugging at his length moments prior.

His hesitation only lasted for a moment until he finally pressed his lips against hers. It was delicate in spite of the dirty actions he was committing, moving slow and patiently, not wanting to overwhelm her even if that was long completed. She sinks into him, blown away by the softness of the lips she's longed for for so long, feeling something more in the kiss. the passion took their breath away, his wrist coming to a stop to focus on her lips. The kiss deepened into a hot heavy mess of tongue and a fight for dominance. It wasn't their first kiss - it was their second. Their first had been in a moment of weakness in the Jeep, his hand had been resting on her thigh the whole night and she couldn't take it anymore, shocking him with a surprisingly passionate kiss. What was really the shock was the fact that he'd kissed her back just as hard, hand coming to rest on the back of her head to keep her there. She's wanted a repeat since that night.

A little noise comes from her throat when he removes his hand from her wet core, taking his lips away from hers for a split second to fumble with the tie at the back of her swim top - tugging the flimsy red string between his fingers. It finds its resting place on the floor along with her long forgotten swim bottoms, a red puddle to worry about later.

With one final heated kiss against her soft lips he lifts her body with a squeak so her legs rest on his broad shoulders, shaky thighs wrapped around his head while he grins up at her sinfully, ready to fucking destroy her little cunt with his mouth. She's mistaken if she thinks he's not going all the way, putting all the cards on the table. That includes his little secret kink.

"Who got you this wet?" he demands, licking his lips - staring at her dripping center that begs for him to destroy it. That's exactly what he intends to do. He intends to make her remember what is waiting for her if she'll have him. He intends to make her admit she wants him - more than just this one night - but always like he does her. He intends to make her what he wants.

"Y-you did E," she stutters out through her tears of pleasure, desperate for him to touch her again in any way. She's been waiting so long for this, she just wants it to happen in case it's a dream and she wakes up. Her hips jive upwards towards his face, needing friction and hoping her answer was enough for him to give it to her.

"No," he kisses her thigh with a hiss, causing a shiver to run down her back all the way to her toes, "who got you this fucking wet baby?"

her heart hammers in her chest as a lightbulb goes off, pumping faster than it ever has. She finally knows what he means. Fuck he's a sexy mess. Her sexy mess. She is surprised by her own possessive thought.

"You did D-Daddy," she whispers, knowing what he wants to hear and shuddering as she says it - loving the word rolling off her tongue more than she should. She's never called anyone that name, but it fits him so well in her mind. Her eyes are hooded, looking down at him right as he blows a gust of cool air against her pussy, licking a hard stripe right up her middle and tucking the tip of his wet tongue into her tight little fuckhole.

"That's right mama I did, now tell Daddy how good he's doing, tell me if I'm doin it right," he mumbles into her, giving her smooth ass a rough smack, the clap reverberating off of the walls, causing her to jump against his slick lips. Her tiny hands tug on his fluffy strands of hair to grind her cunt into his face harder, reveling in the control she has even if it's for a moment. Although he's holding her in the air, she feels almost powerful swiveling her hips against his face and forcing him to keep tongue fucking her.

His tongue is fucking into her cunt at a rapid pace. He brings an arm up to reach around her silky thigh to rest his thumb flat against her throbbing clit to rub roughly against the nub in figure eight motions.

"Feels so good Daddy keep-keep doing that please," she praises her man, the warmth of his thumb against her clit has her legs twitching and head rolling back against the wood.

"Please and what baby?" he grins, taking his tongue out of her hole to raise an eyebrow at her, "use your manners kitten."

"Thank you..." with a nod he's back licking into her, his cupid's bow wet with her juices and lips warm against her.

He moaned once more at the sight of her rapidly moving chest, and suddenly he felt arrogant that he finally had her here under his very own mouth calling him Daddy and begging for him. He had begun to think she liked Grayson for a while - they always spent so much time together when he would get a bit distant from her, noticing he was being noticeably loving and worrying he would scare her, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

He wanted to show her what he was really made of. His cocky nature comes flying out of him, the one every teases him about. He dug his nails into her thighs, crescent shaped marks appearing in her milky skin and hands flying out of his hair to cover her open mouth when his tongue comes up to flatten against her clit once more, slurping up the addicting taste against his tongue. The look she gave him drove him wild, precum dripping from his tip at the desperation in her eyes. he returned her look with a lustful darkness.

When he dipped his tongue back into her, her core squeezed and pulsed around his tongue, her legs threatened to close around his head from the sensation of his tongue darting in and out - occasionally slipping out to lick from her asshole and back up. He laughed into her and tsk'd her for a moment before yanking her legs back open to dive in deeper, drowning in her wetness. Finally, he stuck a finger in - only about knuckle deep when she rolled her head back against the doorframe again, so overwhelmed with pleasure and he's just begun. He chuckled at her flustered reaction and moved up to place a quick kiss against her clit.

"y/n," he whispered against her skin "look at me."

"Can't," she whimpered, afraid if she looked down at him she'd cum on the spot. She wanted it to last forever, so caught up in him. But she had to admit, she would like to see him staring up at her just so she could have the image stored in her mind forever.

"Baby look at me," his tone is stern, letting her know she wouldn't like the orgasm denial he was sure to give her if she continued to ignore him. She lowered her head and peaked at him below her, finger buried deep inside her core, just then he decides to add another long digit - curling upwards right to her g-spot when he sees her pretty eyes looking at him. She grins at his tinted cheeks, rose colored lips, puckered and swollen from sucking at her.

"D-Daddy you look-look so..." she's breathlessly praising him.

"Look so what mama? Hold my hair, hold it back for Daddy," he grunts.

She drops her hands from her lips once again to to run her fingers through his curled fringe, swallowing when she sees his eyes close in relief. Adoring hands against his scalp, she couldn't be more whipped. Her nails scratch lightly against his scalp, making him suck and finger her even harder. He then noticed that she was a load moaner, not the annoying kind that desired attention much like a pornstar, but her pants and whimpered were loud and sang against his eardrums. Music to his ears.

"So pretty E-fuck keep doing that-harder pleaseeee," she pants through her parted lips.

He pushed his fingers in and out of her, waving them inside of her to push them against her upper wall. The pads of his fingers tickled her sensitive spot in a way that had her immediately whine- the moan that it turned into made his head dizzy. He was thriving off of the strength he felt holding her up against the doorframe and finger fucking her like this- she might think she has control, but he is going to prove her wrong. He sped up, shaking his tongue against her swollen clit.

"Oh shit," she whispered into the dark chilly hallway, not believe how skilled he was at this. He hummed against her pussy, pulling her closer by her thighs, squeezing slightly in appreciation of her praising.

She felt that familiar feeling in her stomach, warm and wild, twisting and turning as is headed down to her aching core. He felt her seize up and relax, repeated after a few seconds and new she was close.

"Cum for me baby, cum all over my fingers," his voice was raspy.

That's when she felt it, falling and flying all at once, body alight with heat. This time was different, something much more than her regular highs. Her body was shaking under his hands, bucking hips, thighs quivering, hands yanking harder on his hair and she let go all over his fingers and face - slightly squirting - the wetness dripping down his wrist. She didn't know she could achieve such a thing, admiring Ethan even further for brining her to that point.

He waited until her eyes fluttered back open to remove his fingers and suck them clean - groaning at the taste of her.

"You taste good," he groans, popping the digits from his mouth.

He lowered her to her feet, legs a bit shaky from the intense orgasm she just had. Their eyes stayed locked on one another, faces close, lips ghosting, smirking at each other, ready for more. His thumb rises to glide across her lips, tracing the outline with a slow finger. His tongue darts from his own lips to wet them, staring her down.

"You have no idea how long I've thought about these lips," he admits with a soft voice, floating on cloud 9. A sweet innocent smile spread across her lips before she hooked a finger in the chain around his neck to bring his lips down to meet her own, tasting her arousal, "how much I've thought about them wrapped around my dick," he mutters against her skin.

His words set something off in her - the urge to make him proud even stronger now. She didn't want him thinking she was someone he had to go easy on. She wanted him to know she wouldn't break and she could be just as wild. she wanted to make him see she could make him feel just as good.

With that thought and an evil grin she pushed his chest backward, breaking away from his lips, and grabbed his hand, yanking him into the dimly lit bedroom from the hallway. He was dumbstruck by her sudden movement, excited to see what she had in store. She had a look on her face he'd seen many times before; determination. Excitement coursed through his veins.

He was dragged over to the bed in a stunned state and shoved roughly onto the mattress, his back making contact with a thud only to stare up at an awaiting y/n that didn't give him a second glance before dropping to her knees in front of him, hard stare on his awaiting girth. He runs a quick hand through his hair, dizzy with actually seeing her kneeling before him after all his time dreaming about it. When she batted her pretty long eyelashes up at him he rolled his eyes with a gentle "shit", anticipating her lips around him more than he'd care to admit. They were red and swollen from their kissing, he could only imagine what they must look like wrapped around him. A giggle erupted from her at the mind-blowing sight and she proceeded to grab lightly at the base of his shaft and stroked slowly, torturing him a little more.

With a low groan from his throat she sped up to a fast tug and pull, leaning in to swirl her tongue around his pink tip, kissing up and down the side and back up, working around her slicked hand that pumps him with purpose. He jumps in shock at the feeling of her tongue gliding across his slit. He had to admit, his hand wouldn't never be able to top this.

"Gonna make you so proud" she muttered lowly, not meaning to say it aloud to him but the determination too strong not to. She wanted him to brace himself because even if she's only given head a few times in the past, this means more to her than ever. This is the first time she's giving head to someone she loves, and this tops the chart any day.

"You already fucking do oh my God-" he's cut short when her mouth envelopes him whole, sinking lower and lower on him until she has his entirety in her mouth, her chin is pressed right against his balls. She gagged a bit, throat squeezing slightly to make him buck up surprised. His eyebrows scrunched down into an endearing pout that happened to be her favorite sight, lip between his teeth, totally under her finger. With this she slips her mouth back up, tongue wiggling back and forth all the way up, bringing out tongue tricks to really get him going. She's folding it at unfolding on the way down, curling it around him, kissing messy on the vein on the underside of him.

A hand flies up to rest within her hair, clenching with a gentle force, letting her know to keep going, keep taking him all like a good girl. And a good girl she is. So that's exactly what she did, only faster, hallowing her cheeks more and more. Her eyes were tearing up, a tear or two slipping out of the corner of her eye to wet her cheeks, his dick twitching knowing that she is trying so hard for him.

"I knew you would deepthroat like a pro, just how I imag-ahhhh" he's pushing his hips up into her mouth, face fucking her to make her gag more, already addicted to the feeling of her throat tightly closing around him every time his tip rubbed the back, gagging time and time again.

"Mhmmm," she hummed around him, knowing she's getting to him but wanting to be in control while she still can. Her hands slap hard against his thighs, slamming them back down into the mattress to assert whatever type of dominance she had in this moment.

"You like being in control babydoll?" he taps her cheek, wiping a tear off and grinning down at her.

"Love it Daddy," she admits to him when she comes up for air, lightheaded from lack of oxygen. She stares him down while she slicks her tongue across his slit, making him jump in her mouth once more. She knows that drives him nuts.

"B-Baby stop looking at me l-like that," he cries out, tightening his fist in her hair, worried that he won't get to finish inside her if she keeps going. He tugs at her hair, trying to get her to stop bopping on him. But she doesn't stop, in fact, she just keeps sucking harder and faster, bopping her head up down all the way to the hilt and back up. She even goes as far and reaching a hand down to roll his balls within her hands, dropping down and sucking them into her mouth one after the other - hand taking over pumping him until her lips return and he is deep within her throat once again. She wants him to finish, knowing that she is going to get what she wants either way.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck y/n stop stop I'm gonna cum" he's cut off by his own scream, fist gripping the comforter beside him, head thrown back, neck vein prominent, teeth bared, eyes rolled back, rocking into her mouth through his orgasm. Hot spurts spill into her mouth against her tongue, and she makes sure to swallow it all, licking him up and down to make sure she gets it all. She notices that his cum is sweeter than any she's ever tasted, the thought alone making her smile up at him while licking her lips clean of him.

"Mmm you taste good E," it's a quiet statement into the dimly lit room, almost inaudible.

He's a panting wreck, mind racing, the thought of her refusing to stop and sucking him dry almost pissed him off. He glares at her, tugging her hair so hard she shoots up to his face with a surprised gasp, hovering right over his lips, hand keeping her steady against his abs.

"Think you can pull off a stunt like that? Ride daddy now. Show me what you can do," he mutters, every time he says a word his lips graze hers, goosebumps raising prominent against her soft skin. He knows he's in control no matter if she's on top, she might feel like a badass now, but has no idea who she's messing with. This is someone that's lusted after her for years - praying one day she'll see him and give in and he would have her right where he does right now. He's not taking it easy. He's going to fuck the shit out of her until she sees stars. She's frozen, liking the pulling he's doing on her hair so much so that she doesn't even register what he said. Usually it pisses her off when someone pulls on her hair, the pain making her angry. But it's a complete 180 when it comes to Ethan Dolan - she thrives from the tugging he's doing, his fingers gently massaging as he does so. He pulls her down for a hard kiss, sloppy and dirty, tongues rolling against each other. It's passionate but he makes it a point to tell her something within their kiss, something he wants to admit, makes it feel like he's admitting a secret between their lips.

"Did I fucking stutter?" he's growling when they pull apart, still keeping her close to him until he grabs her waist, hauling her up so her legs rest on either side of his hips, pussy hovering right over his already rock hard length. Once isn't enough. She's putting both hands on his stomach for leverage, one right over the tattoo on his side, drenched from his rough actions and demanding tone. She's shaking her head, letting him know she heard him and understands what he wants. Her palms are warm as can be, feathery touches hot on his skin. He's always loved how gentle she is with everything she does, innocent as can be. A sinful angel.

She took a moment to drink him in before she got started: all his smooth sun-kissed skin on display with his cock resting perfectly against his navel line. His slight happy trail stretched down, baby hairs tickling her fingers.

She finally took him in her hand, teasing her body down only for her to slick his head up and down her cunt, slipping him in her folds and rolling her hips along his length, just rubbing lightly to tease and drive him wild. With a stern look from her horny man she decided to be nice - but not before she saw pre-cum drip from his dip and down onto his stomach, his eyes wide when she spread her lips up him, her warm tongue suckling up all that he let out. She hums at the taste on her taste buds, licking her lips soon after.

He's trained on her face, almost uncertain where to look when she took his hand in hers and stuck two of his fingers into her mouth to have something to suck on. She makes sure she achieved her goal, staring at him with dark eyes, whining around his fingers as she continued to flick her hips back and forth to rub herself on his dick. She's teasing her hole before continuing again. She's a bit sensitive from how good he ate her out only moments before, but excited to feel him and all of his glory up inside her. It had him tumbling out words before thinking.

"You're beautiful angel," the way he says it makes her heart flutter, butterflies erupting deep in her tummy. It was a sentence that sounded to endearing, so loving coming from his mouth, a look of awe cast over his features. Almost as if he couldn't believe his eyes. And in a way, he couldn't. All it did was make her crave his cock more.

He sits up on his elbows when she squeezes him her hand, circling his tip at her opening. His tongue darts out to wet his lip while staring her down. It distracted her for a split second - she leans down to press her lips against his and swivels her hips down after a long pause. He exhaled hard against her lips, relishing in her tight pussy sinking lower on him second by second. It's a feeling he won't forget.

"Daddy," she whines when she sits all the way down against him to bottom out, "fuck you feel so good...so big," only boosting his ego further. He was getting a big head faster than he could imagine.

"That's right baby keep bouncing on me keep going," he urges her on, wanting to pick up the pace but being patient. Patience has always been key with y/n, he's never rushed her - that's something she's always loved about him. He drags his lips up her slacked jaw to her ear, saying the words quietly when she began to dip and rock on him, "so tight and wet for me aren't ya?"

"Only for you," she promises quickly, noticing only then that's it's true. No one has ever gotten her as wet as Ethan does on a damn near every day basis. Whether he's standing in the kitchen, working out hard in their gym, lounging on the couch watching a movie, driving the Jeep, or taking a dip in the pool, she was always thinking about the things she'd do, always dripping. It'd been a constant battle in her head. Too many nights rubbing it out to the thought of him. She had a feeling those nights would be less frequent, or at least she hoped so. She snaps her hips faster, arching her back to give him more access to her neck, lips kissing up and down, over the purple bruises and causing new ones. She throws her head back with fluttering eyes, feeling him so deep. He kisses the spot just under her chin, such an odd place to kiss but somehow making her smile at the feeling, his hands dropping to her hips to splay his long fingers against her ribs, feeling the heavy up and down motion due to her shallowed breathing. The tingle sends her sitting up straight and changing her position. Ethan watched her with heavy eyelids, lip caught between his teeth while he watched her hips swirl down on him in fluid movements, twisting and snapping in all different directions.

Her hips dip and churn on his cock, slowing down at times just to grin at him sinfully, wanting it to last longer. She's edging him like a bitch and he thrives on that energy, planning to use it against her later. She's teasing herself on his cock, edging herself as well. It's not enough. With the thought in mind she keeps half of him inside to rest her palms flat on his chest, leaning forward so her long hair tickles his pecks, hips starting to bounce with an urgency that has his head falling back. He closes his eyes at the sensation of her quicker movements, hands lowering to rest on her ass, shaking up and down as she bounces. He smacks a hand down hard, a large red mark being left behind on her skin. She knows it's going to sting in the morning, maybe even later in the evening - but it's going to hold as a reminder of what happened and she can't complain about that.

The other hand rested against his dark brow, across his forehead while his eyes stayed glued to his dick disappearing up into her repeatedly. It was almost too much to handle - seeing her so fucked out on top of him.

He decides he needs it harder, clasping onto the sides of her waist - holding her still before lifting his hips to slam up into her, causing her to cry out a loud "fuck". She's screaming out his name over and over while he rams into her without a pause, using her body as his own fucktoy, just how she wanted.

His fingers grip her tight and a grunt oozes through his clenched teeth, "Jesus fuck this pussy is so good, who's pussy is this?" his question is possessive, wanting her to say she belongs to him.

"Yours, all yours I p-promise baby..." it comes out in a long breath, head lobbing to the side.

He nods up at his, approving of her answer, knowing this is going to change things. Her moans are crescendoing into the room, her body heat rising, his hands slamming her down harder against him, taking full control of her euphoric body.

"I'm gonna cum E I'm gonna cum," she warns, wanting to warn him and maybe get him there faster, not knowing he's been holding back for her for a while now. Watching her tits bounce while he slams into her is too much for his horny mind.

"Cum on me princess, all over, give me a show," his thumbs comes to her clit, rubbing fast circles.

She can feel that same pressure, an intense burn that's waiting to burst into flames. The contrast of his cock fucking her and the fingers of his hands squeezing on her skin felt like a small piece of heaven. Her eyes squeeze shut as it happens once more. Ethan is coating the inside of her cunt in long spurts, continuing to ram into her to milk himself.

Her body is lifted involuntarily off of his dick when she squirts again, loving the warmth of his cum inside her to much she's painting his abdomen with her juices, spraying out of her cunt hard. It lasted longer than the time before, the feeling of his cock fucking up inside her so overwhelming her body couldn't handle it. Nails are digging in to his chest while she's looking down, noticing more spray out and his cock leak just a bit more. She's tired, gazing at him - her doe eyes wanting some comfort. But he's not done.

Her eyes are widening in shock watching his cock grow once more, her pussy clenching around nothing. Just seeing him hard again has her aching.

"Fuck need more," he urges absentmindedly, completely exhausted but needed more of her sweet pussy.

He grabs her hands within his own, placing them both on the headboard above his head.

"Hold onto the headboard for me," it is a simple instruction, one that has her clutching onto the headboard with a tight grasp, tired out from two intense squirting orgasms. She can't refuse him, knowing she's wrapped around his pretty ring clad finger.

His hands grab at her ass to pull the flesh apart, smacking and squeezing it in his massive palms. She finds his cock slipping into her easier than before from being so spread and wet for him at that point. She's surrendering her body to him, letting him use her in whatever way he pleases, under his spell.

Before she can blink he's back at it again, holding her hips tight and slamming up into her once again, determined to have a repeat of her pussy gushing just one more time. He knows he can get her there, confident of his will to please her.

She reaches a hand down to his throat, squeezing lightly enough just so that he can feel the pressure, a strand of hair falling onto his forehead from the shaking and force of his thrusts. He's moaning at the sensation of her hand around his throat constricting his airway, never thinking he would like it as much as he did, but it gets him pumping faster.

Her mouth drops open in a cry, tears slipping out of her eyes at the depth he's hitting, hitting the spot that makes her see stars. She's reeling at how vocal Ethan is, grunted and groaning and growling into the air, lips attaching to her nipples to twist at the buds and suckle hard, pulling out all the tricks. His eyes are rolling in the back of his head when she clenches her walls repeatedly on him every few seconds, almost as if her pussy was fluttering.

"C'mon just one more time for Daddy E," he shouts, hitting into her fuckhole harder, "I know you can baby give me one more."

She couldn't wrap her mind around his thought process, how he thought she could possibly cum one more time. He sounded like he was begging for him, ramming faster and harder than before. Eyes pleading with her to give it to him one more time. It was like he refused to cum until she was already there, keeping in tune with every shake of her thigh and every shallow breath she took. She pressed her hand against her clit, rubbing herself into another mind blowing orgasm, surprising herself with the force it brought through her body.

His begging took her to a place she'd never been, white light shooting through her mind, eyes squeezed shut, hips bucking up to let herself go again, toes curling, leaning forward, hand going still. He's yelling as he cums harder than he ever has before, ramming harder and drilling into her fucked out center, watching her entrance as she started to burst, pushing against his chest to raise her hips off him, his own cum spraying out as she squirted for the third time.

She's begging him to stop, stop looking at her like that, stop thrusting, just stop, so overstimulated she can't stop the orgasm rolling over and and over. But he wasn't done watching her gush out, clear liquid spraying all over his face and chest once more, he stuck his tongue out while he pressed him thumb to her nub and took over the rubbing, noticing the clenching of her whole and the way streams continued to roll out of her cunt.

The feeling of being empty continues to surprised her, realizing she loves the feeling of him pressed inside of her, knowing she'll slip him in later to make herself feel better, cockwarming never really being her thing but knowing it would be now when it came to him.

Ethan gathers some of her wetness mixed with his own cum, her eyes latched onto his fingers that raise to his mouth, dipping in and sucking them off. He moans at the taste of her, staring straight into her teary eyes. She loves the sight of him relishing in her glory, tongue sticking around his fingers to get it all. Her body is shaking on top of him, collapsing against his chest, his arms circling around her to hold her close. She's pressing her lips across his chest, pecking him lovingly again and again. She trails her lips up to his mouth, embarking in a kiss that sends her heart dropping into her stomach, long and soft and meaningful.

"Fuck why haven't we done that before," she breathes, giggling at the grin that spreads over his face, leaning in to kiss the dimple that she adores so much.

"You tell me," he jokes.

They both stare long and hard at one another, just taking each other in. She notices the brown of his eyes, how they always change shades but right at the moment they are a golden brown, soaking in her beautiful blushing cheeks. His fingers caress her cheekbones, heart hammering in his chest. They are laying in their own messes, but neither of them care so much, wanting to savor the moment and cherish it - even if they both know it'll happen again.

Both are surprised by the events, but neither regret it a single bit. They'd longed for it for so long. They deserved to be wrapped up in each other and enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressed together - her tits smushed against his abdomen. She was still shocked at his language, but the thought of calling him Daddy makes her shiver.

She's thankful to Grayson in her mind at this moment, so thankful he loves to cook and wanted groceries so bad he just had to go to the grocery store. She did notice the look on his face as she walked back with a purpose to change into some clothes in the bathroom, and noticed his small wink he sent her way before he told her goodbye and shut the foot. she didn't think anything of it at the time, but now looking back, she thinks he might have known something would happen. She's glad he was right.

The thought makes her shudder while they lay with each other in silence, her cheek lowering to his chest and breathing out a sigh. She feels like she could cry, so overwhelmed with happiness that she finally got the man of her dreams even if it's for a moment it's taking over her senses.

That's when she hears him speak for the first time.

"I have a confession " he whispers, staring up at the ceiling, scared shitless to admit his feelings.

"Me too...but you first" her voice is cautious, feelings matching his own.

"I've wanted that for so fucking long...and I'm hoping and even praying a little that it isn't the last time and...maybe...if you'd like, I-I could take you out on a date? I mean seriously you moving in here has really been something y/n you drive me fucking crazy but I would like nothing more than to show you what it could be like with me for real not just as friends but like...for you to be with me - I mean I know it isn't the best time and it looks like I'm doing this because we just had sex but like hearing you say you're mine almost made me pass out and I want that and you've always been my girl and you know I would never do you wrong and I've just wanted you for so fucking long and you're so-" he's rambling on like a lovestruck fool, her addicting peach smell clouding his mind.

She raises up to kiss him, the sudden pressure on his lips makes him smile, adoring the small gesture, thanking her for stopping him before he got too embarrassed.

"Shhh my love, I know you would never ever do that to me and...well...I feel the same way," she finally answers when she breaks away.

His cheeks are turning crimson at her soft nickname, loving the way it sounded and loving even more that it was directed at him. My love. If he was never called anything else, he would be okay with it.

"Really?" his tone surprised at her confession, pulse ramming against her lips while she kisses sweetly along his neck. She leans back to look at him in the eye.

"Yes really, I've wanted this too and this means just as much to me if not more. You've always been it for me for so fucking long Ethan and I'm...so scared right now I don't know what to do and that kind of scares me because I always know what to do," she sounds small, knowing things will change but not knowing how or what to do, never really wanting anyone but him and not knowing how to deal with having the opportunity finally fall into her hands. Not knowing how to express her affections makes her blush once more.

Ethan kisses away her cute rambling, one peck after another until her cheeks are back to their milky color. He's nodding in understanding, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I know that baby, you don't always have to know what to do in every situation, but you're not alone in it," his promise is quiet and sure. y/n shivers at his pet name, leaning her cheek against his chest to hide her returning blush.

"You always have my back E, thank you," and she means it, he's always been there. Through every tear, every laugh, every frustrating rant, he's been there for her, showing his dedication and affections even when she was blind to it all.

"Yeknow...Grayson has been pushing me to tell you how I felt for so long and I never thought you felt the same and I really never thought this would be how this conversation would happen..." Ethan admits with a gentle chuckle.

y/n joins him with a giggle of her own, continuing to trace her fingers over his skin, glistening with slight sweat.

"That dickwad pesters me too but it's okay, he means well, imagine what he's gonna think when he figures out we are..." she's rolling her eyes at the mention of Grayson being the middle man of the two, rooting for them in the background. She doesn't really know what to say, unsure of where to go.

"Going out on a very fabulous date tomorrow," his suggestive tone is what gets her to smile wide.

"Yes, yes imagine when he figures that out" y/n nods, leaning down to kiss his chest softly where his heart hammers within loudly, terrified of the conversation and loving how it's going.

"Wait so - we are really doing this?" Ethan questions her, wanting a confirmation.

y/n nods lightly, smiling dreamily up at him, hooking her leg over his own. She wants this more than anything and she takes note of the relieved breath he releases from his mouth, eyes closed with a smile.

"So where are ya takin me dolan?"

714 notes · View notes

justjessame · 4 years ago

Text

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 32

Life as a human guinea pig is a strange thing. First of all, there's the questions. The same questions over and over, to the point where the machines and medical doodads and the noise that became almost normal for me, but the questions became the irritant of the day.

"How are you feeling today, Dr. Taylor?" As I'd squint into the bright light being forced into my marrow it seemed. A muttered reply from me, and honestly the same answer in varying degrees of annoyance or acceptance depending upon the day and how many times I'd been asked it so far. "Uh huh, and are you feeling warm? Is there tenderness in your abdomen?" While they poked and prodded, testing skin, muscle, bone and eventually blood.

Did you know the average human adult has around 1.2-1.5 gallons of blood which equals roughly 10 units? I know this because I wanted to be certain that I'd have enough after all the blood testing. Research would either be the way I kept sane or what finally pushed me over the ledge into complete madness, mark my words.

Billy visited, as often as he could, and every single time he'd greet the head poker in residence with his own version of the repeated question game. "How is she? What's the bloody progress?" At which I would inevitably check the arm that seemed to be their favorite vessel for bloodletting. "How much longer?" And then he'd meet my gaze and focus his attention on ME, rather than on my medical condition.

Yes, I was calling it a condition. If I let the reality of my situation fully grip me, then I'd scream. And I had moments of it, trust me.

How would you feel if every single time the man you loved walked in and spoke about your person as though you were a petri dish experiment before reminding himself, through sheer force of finally SEEING you, that you were in fact the woman he loved?

Now take that feeling you just got from that scenario and add the annoyingly taunting voice of the caped asshole who caused this whole fucking irritating bullshit situation reminding you that you fell in love with a man for whom hatred of supes is as natural as inhaling. Feeling just a hint of discomfort? Just add the sound of beeping, buzzing, and dripping to remind yourself of the fact that this was all happening while I was being held hostage as a "let's see what happens if we try this mixture to counteract the demon juice flowing through her veins" was tried over and over.

Strained. My nerves, body, and brain felt strained. Even after the feeding tube was gone and Billy could kiss me. Even after I was given the go ahead to work from my hospital bed. Frayed would be a kind way to say how absolutely on edge I felt.

And the worse part? I felt like I was missing something. Something important. Something paramount. Just out of reach and as though, even surrounded by my laptop and notes, something that was keeping me out of an important loop.

The longer that I stayed in the 'undisclosed medical' location, the more that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Literally anywhere. I started to yearn for Bolivia and the Black Ops team that had gotten caught up in the web of a rogue agent and 'died' implicated in a massive fuck up of epic proportions.

When a rational woman who knows how the inner workings of other people's brains and behavior follow reliable patterns starts thinking fondly of the heat of a tropical place where she had to wade through more red tape than most people would assume humanly possible to unravel the truth, all while hearing the type of rumors about the men she was trying to clear and resurrect from faked death, then shit has hit epic levels of horrible. It did remind me to contact that team to see how their return to their former lives had worked out, and wonder if their leader had gotten over his own tragic ability to attract murderous women.

I wanted to go further than the small courtyard deemed safe enough for me to explore, and near enough to make them taking me off the dialysis machine after another fun round of 'clean her blood again' reasonable. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and watch television at my discretion without interruptions for another round of the questions and poking I wanted, in short, to be back to normal already.

I might have been empathizing with Billy's urge for the Vought wankers (his word, I swear) to find the magic solution so life could go back to the routine we both wanted a return to. Or I might have been trying to only see the positive outcome, since there was a creeping feeling that maybe, just maybe there wasn't an easy fix or a fix at all.

A month passed, with my cabin fever slowly increasing by the day, and with it my internal and external temperatures. Oh yeah, that's right, I might have forgotten to mention that while the steaming was at bay, now it was just my actual body temperature that would fluctuate and freak every single fucking person all the way out. When Billy said I nearly went "nuclear" he hadn't been joking, apparently I could have fucking exploded like a goddamn human time bomb and I didn't want to consider just how fucking messy that would have been for the janitorial staff.

Finally, maybe because I wanted some type of control about the questioning, I started asking some probing ones of my own. And what I found, when they would meet my eyes and answer me as fully as I wanted, was that that creeping feeling was growing more likely.

The issue wasn't simply that they didn't know which variation of Compound V that Homelander had me infected with, it was that as they broke down the components and addressed each one, my body didn't simply fight their attempts, it attacked itself. The asshole, it would appear, had basically chosen the self destruct version, and it was trickier than any puzzle these 'real doctors' had ever come across. I was truly feeling the confidence of having a toddler performing my brain surgery with this knowledge.

Oh and that wasn't all, even IF they figured out how to 'neutralize' the formula inside of my bloodstrain, then there was a probability that I could pass it on to any future children. Isn't that some kind of amazingly poetic bullshit to hear after you chose to evict a foreign invader from your uterus? That the one stabilizing agent I'd had scraped and dumped was the ONLY one that I would ever get to actually be allowed to experience. Remind me to send Homelander a HUGE fucking thank you card, would you?

Early into my first true consciousness, before I found out just how fucked the pompous dick had made my entire existence, Billy had told me that my parents had visited while I was knocked out. Apparently near death experiences make even the weirdest of families reunite. And mine was no different.

Mom became a regular visitor and I was shocked by how much I started looking forward to her visits. She was strangely comforting, and tried to keep my spirits up, she even made peace with Billy. Dad was less frequent in his contact, but Mom told me it was difficult for him to see me look like a shell of myself.

And I did. I looked like a ghost that's haunting what was left of my body. The feeding tube had kept me nourished, but my muscle mass had suffered from the amount of time I was forced to spend in bed. I was constantly tired, my work hours going from nine to six to an hour here, a few minutes there, and the amount of napping I did would make most house cats jealous. The gowns that I wore hung from my frame, my appetite was scarce and I felt like this was the LONGEST goodbye letter ever to be written.

As the days passed, one merging into the next without me taking stock of how much I missed, how much that puzzle of what I was missing had bothered me early on, the negative ideas started creeping in. Homelander's voice grew louder. His smug question about Billy and me and what my condition would mean for the two of us in the end kept pushing through my attempts to distract myself.

I was sitting in the soft chair they'd brought in for me by the window, staring out and thinking of my options when Billy came in for his visit. I heard him, in the background noise of beeps and whirls, ask his questions. I felt him when he was nearer to me, but my eyes stayed on the 'view'.

He started to greet me, but my mouth opened and the question came out without me thinking about it. "How will you do it?" I watched a leaf, one missed by the obsessive groundskeepers, dance in a breeze I wish I could feel. He was confused, his reflection showed that much. "When you kill me, how will you do it?"

"Veronica," I could hear the pain in his voice, the fear hiding behind it. "I wouldn't-"

"Frenchie then?" I tilted my head considering. "MM? Hughie barely managed to make the choice with-" I stopped and took a breath. "Kimiko?" I sighed and pulled my legs up onto the chair, hugging my knees. "I hear she makes quite a mess of her prey." My voice wasn't loud and it didn't sound anything more than resigned, and I was a little curious. "If you can get Starlight to do it, you could make it seem like self defense? Or," I sighed, and bit my lip, "it would finally give you a reason to take her out too."

"Ronnie, love, that's not gonna-" I turned and he flinched when he saw that I was serious and not the least bit upset. "Ronnie?"

"Billy Butcher, I wrote the book on you." My smile felt wrong to me, but right at the same time. "I know you inside and out, or at least I think I do." I had the research on the flash drive that was hooked into my laptop on the bed. "You are single minded in your focus and your focus has been on eliminating supes from the world for a very long time." I turned back to the window, staring past the view and at the reflection of the room behind me. "It was one of the things I found the most attractive about you, I think. That you could see a goal and pound away until you master it." He sat in the chair close to me, but at a distance far enough that he'd have to work to touch me. "So, how will I die, Billy?"

"You'll die safe and sound, of old age in our bed, Veronica." I smiled sadly at this pipe dream of a fairy tale he wanted so badly to believe. "When you're sick of me, remember?" I could hear how badly he wanted it to be true, how much he wanted to hold me and it to all be a terrible dream.

"Never took you for a nursery rhyme and fairy stories fan," my eyes were still on the window. "This isn't going away, Billy, what he put in me isn't going away. And you will start to look at me like you look at him." My eyes found his, and face to face I wanted to force him to see it. "You will. And then, just like you, Frenchie, and Hughie brainstormed about Translucent and the best way to end him, you'll start to consider my pressure points." I gave a harsh, humorless chuckle. "And the funniest part is that Homelander built mine in for you, all you have to do is take me off the blood cleanse for a day and my own body will do it for you." His eyes tightened at the reminder of how many close calls I'd had. "Oops, I guess I just planned it for you."

"Please don't." He was begging me to let him pretend it wasn't the truth, that he wouldn't lose me too, and because of the same supe as Becca's cause of death. "Don't do this."

I smiled sadly, knowing he knew, even without me telling him, what was going to happen next.

#Billy Butcher x ofc #the boys #angst #alternate universe

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quentinblack · 4 years ago

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Smoke and Mirrors

Word Count: 3K words

Chapter 11: Hestia II - The Lost Boys (link to full story on FF.net)

Warnings: Reference to Suicide and Rape

Featuring: Hestia Jones & Jordan Turner (OC)

Hestia looked down at her list.

The name read “J TURNER – MGL – 18 – 07/05/1990”

This was the last one of the day.

Jordan Turner was only just eighteen years old when Hestia had first spoken to him at the tail end of last week, a mere few days following his birthday.

By both muggle and wizarding law standards he was now a man, but with his swept over greasy hair, fearful, mistrusting eyes and skinny frame he had seemed far more like a boy. A much worn and faded brown leather belt was the only thing that ensured his oversized, ill-fitting trousers sat near to his waist and did not fall down to his ankles.

It was difficult to believe that he was in-fact older than Harry Potter, who less than a fortnight prior had ended You Know Who’s reign of terror on Great Britain.

It had been You Know Who that had inadvertently destroyed the life of Turner, who had been taken in for questioning with a host of other captured snatchers and Death Eater associates following The Battle of Hogwarts.

Jordan had spent the vast majority of his life working on his father’s farm, which was situated in a sleepy village town a few miles south of Yeovil in Somerset.

From what Hestia had managed to gather from him in his interrogation, he would often do various chores for his father in the field late at night – and it was one fateful night last November when he’d been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Fenrir Greyback and his pack of hungry, disgruntled werewolves had been prowling the British countryside for the best part of two decades. For the vast majority of the time their disruption had been kept to a minimum, with Greyback himself often in and out of Azkaban for various offences, primarily resolving around breaking the statute of secrecy by illegally recruiting new victims.

However, both in the years prior and during You Know Who’s rise to power, Greyback had, for want of a better phrase, had his leash unshackled.

It seemed that his reward for unblinking loyalty to The Dark Lord had been free reign to more or less indulge in whatever recreational activity he felt like. This was bad news for British farmers, as his werewolf pack preyed mercilessly on livestock all over Britain.

Hestia had suspected as much even when she was in hiding with Dedalus and the Dursley family. Where they were stationed in Wrexham picked up all of the local regional news, which for many months focused on the extraordinary story of wild wolves supposedly ravaging sheep farms all across Wales.

There were all manner of eccentric oddball farmers and locals getting interviewed by BBC, ITV and Channel 4 presenters, with each interviewee adamantly proclaiming they’d seen a giant wolf or multiple wolves going after one flock or another. One crazed man even professed he’d seen a werewolf.

Needless to say, muggles across the country, excluding the farmers and locals unlucky enough to grab a sighting themselves, did not take it altogether too seriously.

In-fact, much of the coverage was framed in such a manner that the presenters back in the metropolitan London-based studios were downright laughing at the ludicrous tales from the backwards country-folk.

Hestia even recalled Vernon Dursley, in-between laughing along at the coverage with his wife, making several offhand remarks about the Welsh being a load of ‘stupid bloody sheep shaggers’.

But the Welsh farmers and locals had not been stupid at all.

They’d simply seen and witnessed things that no sane muggle would ever be able to comprehend or understand.

Jordan Turner had been one of these poor muggles.

His only problem had been that he hadn’t simply spied or eavesdropped on Greyback’s gang from a distance, no, he’d actually been brave enough, or indeed, foolish enough to try and take them on.

Once the werewolf pack had pillaged their way through Wales it seemed they’d headed out to Bristol, Bath and then eventually made their way south to Yeovil and stumbled upon the Turner family farm.

Jordan had been bottling up some fresh cow’s milk ready for the morning Sunday market when he’d heard a commotion coming from their sheep herd. At first he had not been too concerned, assuming it was probably just a fox, or maybe even a badger.

But as he peered out into the distance he saw several large shadows on the sheep field, which was followed by a blood-curdling howl and a scream of pure terror from a sheep, which caused the others to quickly disperse.

The Turner family had followed the news for the last few months and knew all about the rumoured wolf-pack preying on local farms.

At first his father had laughed it off like most of the rest of the country, but in the last few weeks he had grown slightly concerned. There had been reports from other farmers, ones that he trusted, who were based in Bristol that had given more credible reports of something very strange and sinister happening.

Jordan had thought of running back to the main house and calling for his father when he’d heard that first sheep scream, but he’d thought better of it, as it was a good five minute run. By the time they’d both come back the wolves could’ve been long gone and taken or killed half of their herd.

He’d instead reached for the shotgun in the outhouse and fearlessly sprinted towards the defenceless sheep.

What he had seen when he’d got there had horrified him to the bone.

A big, vicious looking brown wolf with teeth as big as knives was sinking its teeth into the side of a terrified sheep.

Luckily for Jordan the wolf had been so preoccupied in feasting on its flesh that it hadn’t notice he was watching it.

The beast hadn’t noticed when Jordan had raised the gun, nor when he had taken his aim and it was only when the deafening shot had been fired that Jordan’s presence was finally known to it.

It had been too late for the wolf though, as Jordan’s shot had penetrated straight through its neck and fatally wounded it.

The blast had been so loud that it had caused Jordan’s hearing to be temporarily reduced to nothing more than a loud ringing noise, so he was unsure whether the wolf had let out a whimper or not, but after a few moments it fell to the ground, dead.

Jordan had momentarily been quite proud of himself.

His Dad would be happy with him when he ran back to the house and told him that he’d caught a wolf in the act – and put a bullet right through it for good measure, but Jordan never got to tell his Dad what he had done.

As his hearing had returned he had been greeted by the sound of fierce, loud growling behind him, which was coming from the rest of the fallen wolf’s pack – and needless to say, they were not best pleased.

He had thought that the wolf he had shot dead had been big, but many of the other wolves that surrounded him after that had absolutely dwarfed the one that he had just killed.

It had been the one in the middle that had been the most terrifying.

It looked more like a bear than a wolf.

This wolf had been massive.

This wolf had been menacing.

This wolf had been Fenrir Greyback - and he had dived for Jordan Turner, knocked him unconscious and then sunk his teeth deep inside his neck, thus forever cursing the young muggle boy with the blood of a werewolf.

Jordan had recounted to Hestia how Greyback had explained everything to him in the morning when he’d come back around.

She thought how it must be bad enough for a wizard who is aware of werewolves to be bitten and then turned into one, but she sympathised with Turner who had previously never even known they existed outside of horror movies and folk tales.

It was one thing to be told all about the magical word as an excited muggle-born receiving a Hogwarts letter on your 11th birthday, but Jordan’s sorry entry into the magical world had been the polar opposite of that happy childhood experience.

Greyback had bullied the young muggle into joining his pack, under the guise that he was one of them now – a monster, who his family would ostracise should they ever find out the truth. Unable to fend for himself, Jordan was left with little choice but to enlist within Greyback’s ranks and do his bidding for the indefinite future.

The young farmer and many others would join a growing portion of teenage boys and young men reported as missing in the UK. The police would launch various man-hunts and missing person investigations, but to no avail, as the families would be left forever wondering what happened to their lost boys.

The next six months had seen the pack continue to ravage the country as Fenrir Greyback, quite literally, raped and pillaged his way through it. A few lost sheep paled in comparison to the number of teenage muggle girls who also began to go missing, with Turner reporting that Greyback, much like a black widow spider, would feast on and kill his helpless victims after he was finished with them. A corpse would often wind up in a local ditch, forest or river, with the police generally left baffled as to what cruel fate had fallen upon the deceased.

Turner had not understood why Greyback hadn’t held any interest in recruiting the females to join the pack, but Hestia had studied werewolves enough to have a good understanding of what his probable reasoning had been.

A female werewolf, unlike a male, can morph their body to almost three times its normal size during a full moon, as well as that they often develop twice as much of a lust for death and destruction. A she-wolf in the pack could have certainly threatened Greyback, especially if younger males within it lacking a mother-figure possibly gravitated towards her. An Alpha such as Fenrir would have never risked the possibility of having his pack taken over from within.

But now Greyback was behind bars – and, if the whispered rumours were true, he was first in line for execution following what would eventually become the Wizarding equivalent of the Nuremberg trials.

This had left many of the young and newly recruited werewolves without a leader.

A decent percentage of the werewolves that Greyback had turned in the last year were already dead of course, with many being killed in various skirmishes that their Alpha’s snatchers had encountered whilst parading around the countryside.

Those that had survived those battles, like Jordan, were then enlisted in as The Dark Lord took Hogwarts. Nothing could’ve prepared them for such a battle and with just knives, bats or their bare hands to defend themselves it was no surprise that a great number of them had fallen in the fray.

Yet just shy of 100 of them had managed to survive, which had given The Ministry a bit of a problem.

Hestia’s makeshift team had been given the job of at least partially dealing with it, as if they didn’t already have enough on their plate.

The short-term initial plan for these muggle werewolves was fairly simple. They were to have all memory of their previous life as a muggle erased.

At first it had seemed quite a drastic and harsh policy, to have them completely forget all of their family and friends, but it was deemed a necessary precaution to maintain the integrity of the secrecy act.

Hestia thought it may also in some ways be quite cathartic for the misguided young men, as they would no longer be as depressed about their fate. They could not long for the warmth of their previously loving families if they did not remember them.

The art of erasing the memory of a loved one from someone’s mind is a difficult craft to master, but Hestia had a fair amount of practice in the discipline. She had once spent 3 months on an internship in Ohio at the illustrious Munroe Hills Mind Centre, which controversially specialised in just that very branch of memory magic.

Munroe Hills’ team of highly trained, and indeed, highly paid, privately contracted Obliviators spent their time removing memories of former lovers, as well as helping people forget abusive experiences or traumatic events that they had witnessed.

There was good money to be made in the memory game in America, Canada and even closer to home in Switzerland, but Hestia was too much of a homely girl to want to move that far away. She would miss her Mother too much, even if she was only just an international Portkey away.

Hestia knocked on the door to the room that Jordan Turner had been allocated, noting that there was a bit of a foul smell lingering in the hallway.

A whole mini apartment complex had been knocked up temporarily whilst they decided upon where they would rehouse or base the remaining pack, yet, given the smell, it seemed that the former muggles had not taken to life back indoors too comfortably.

The door remained shut and there was no hint of noise emitted from inside.

Hestia knocked once more, with more power this time, but yet again, no response.

It hadn’t been a full moon the previous night, so it wasn’t as if the young wolf would be tired after being up all night.

They generally brought them their evening meal in around half an hour, so Hestia couldn’t have imagined that he would’ve wandered off anywhere.

She gave the door one last try, but still nothing.

The nasty smell felt a little more pronounced now, with Hestia guessing that it was actually coming from inside Jordan’s room.

He hadn’t seemed particularly unhygienic when she had spoken to him earlier in the week, in-fact despite his greasy hair and generally unkempt appearance, he had probably been one of the most civilised and reasonable of those that she spoke to.

“Jordan!” Hestia requested. “Jordan – It’s Hestia. Remember we spoke last week?”

Jones gave the door several further thuds, which, much like her earlier knocks, were once again met with no reply. She pulled on the knob but it seemed that Turner had locked the door.

“Jordan! Please don’t make me force my way in there!” she pleaded, but to no avail and thus she was left with little choice.

“Okay I’m coming in – I hope you’re wearing some clothes….Alohomora!”

The door swung open and Hestia saw him immediately.

He was wearing the same clothes that she had seen him in last week, save for the worn and faded brown leather belt, which was not holding up his trousers to his waist, but instead held up his snapped neck and the rest of his limp, dead body from the coat-hook on the back of the door.

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