#i just spent two hours straight editing this monster

[twicethetrouble]

Chapter 7 everyone!

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father.  The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst. 

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him. 

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could. 

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity. 

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now. 

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar. 

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy. 

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain. 

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink. 

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him. 

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.  

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals. 

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?” 

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.” 

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss. 

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch. 

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know. 

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control. 

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised. 

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

--

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[conchelle]

Aight let's discuss Yorumorukimiri. Unlike the other Towelket games where each game has its own confined story with very little real continuity between them, Yorumorukimiri is very much it's own series with very specific portrayals of characters and it's own lore and world rules that stay consistent throughout the games.

I was going to make a separate post for each of these games as I played them but I just couldn't be bothered...it felt kind of like trying to judge a show based on every individual episode without having the full picture. So now that I've played through (most of) the final game, I'll start writing my thoughts on the first game of the series now.

There are three games in this series. Yorumorukimiri, Bonds of Tails and Girl of the Beginning. They're all pretty long for RPG makers games to be honest. I spent about 46 hours in total playing through this series.

So, let's start with Yorumorikimiri, the first game in the series.

The premise is pretty simple. You play as Moochasu who's transferring to this new school. But turns out this school is weird as hell where nobody, not even the students talk. The only exception being two of your classmates. A friendly catboy named Keita and another girl who transferred during the same time as you.

So you and Keita do some investigating on what's really going on with this school and next thing you know, you're in this strange world called Yorumoru Kimiri. There's monsters called "Lizards". There's a creepy giant girl sitting off in the distance. There's four evil women who will kill you if you're unlucky enough to come across them.

Basically everything sucks and there's only one saving grace. A dog named Wanko fishes an angel out of your heart and it's the only thing that will keep you safe in this horrible world.

So you and Keita escape and meet up with some other survivors and the story goes on from there.

To start things off, I'll talk about the writing in this game since it was clearly the main focus.

This game definitely takes itself a lot more serious compared to previous Towelket entries. Not to say the other games were all just fun silliness but there was always a thin layer of self awareness and gags littered throughout that make for a pretty unique tone for these games. Like yeah, a premise where the main characters are cursed to walk in 4 directions like RPGmaker characters is silly but you better believe it'll play this plot completely straight until the very end.

Now that's not to say that this game is completely humorless and dry. There's tons of funnies sprinkled throughout. In fact these moments actually made me caring a lot more for some of the characters in the long run.

However when the story wants to be serious it absolutely will be. And I've gotta say, I was consistently engaged throughout it. Now there is something to be said about the pacing in which these events are told but I'll get to that in a bit.

What I want to discuss is honestly probably one of the first things that stuck out to me. The way the game looks and generally presents itself. To put it bluntly it's not really great. Towelket has always reused tilesets and I've never really been put off by it. Typically it's apart of the Towelket charm but geez, this game really does just feel like a mess of reused scenery we've already seen thousands of times. Nothing really feels like it fits. It feels like this game really just lacks its own visual identity.

Warau has it's own visual identity by recoloring the usual tilesets to be less saturated and using heavily edited photos as backgrounds which give it this almost gothic look throughout the game.

Other games do the opposite and opt for a more shiny and pastel looking color palette, all using the same tilesets. Basically what I'm saying is. These games don't need to have brand new shiny pixel art every time. What matters is how it's presented and how it makes itself relevant to the story we're experiencing.

However Yorumoru unfortunately just doesn't seem to have much of it's own visual identity. It feels more like a cluttered mess of things that worked much better visually in previous games.

Basically it just feels overly distracting to look at. The latest update of this game does do a little to make the game look nicer by replacing the overworld sprites with much more detailed and larger versions of themselves but to be honest, while the sprites themselves look nice, they to phase through a lot of objects...even during cutscenes and it gets really distracting at times.

Like this could have easily been fixed had the character just been set to stand literally anywhere else during this cutscene. But whatever, it's not that big of a deal. Just a little distracting at most.

This game is about 18 hours long. There are plenty of segments where you can easily go hours without experiencing combat of any form. I vividly recall this particular chapter which was probably 80% dialogue with very few spaces to actually stop and save. Basically, the game began to resemble a visual novel more than an RPGmaker game during the midpoint. Did I have a problem with that? No. Absolutely not. If the game has a story to tell me without the need for random monster encounters and pointless drawn out explanation, I'm 100% fine with that. I'd rather them just do that than try to pad out the time with meaningless busywork in attempt to remind me that this is an RPGmaker game.

And I will say, what was being told was actually pretty engaging and interesting. I was very interested in what would happen next however there was just one issue. How this section was presented was just...boring? The story wasn't boring. Absolutely not. However there were certain scenes that had a lot of text and information being put on screen without anything remotely interesting happening visually.

Characters would often just stand around and talk. I get it, it's difficult to do much in terms of interesting cutscenes with RPGmaker, however when the game already lacks an interesting visual identity, that particular segment really did feel like it was dragging on a lot more than it should have. And it's really a shame because it's definitely a section I would like to revisit in hopes of picking up on things I might have missed.

Thankfully I can say that this is the only game out of the three that have this kind of issue.

I won't get too much into spoilers since, really it's a lot and it's difficult to talk about without trying to explain the context for this game and the next ones.

So, the characters. How are they? Are they good, are they bad?

Well, they're a little inconsistent. It's not their portrayal that's off, not at all. Rather the cast just feels extremely unbalanced. The characters that are allowed to actually develop and get lots of screen time are fairly interesting and engaging.

Chihedomusubi was great. Uikechuke was great (though some of her scenes suffered from pacing issues). I was very interested in these two characters throughout the entire story.

(Honestly I could write a whole separate post on just how interesting Uikechuke is as a character. Someday. Maybe)

Keita was alright. He starts off as the comic relief character and the bits he shares with the main cast are entertaining. It never felt like he overstayed his welcome when it came to these bits. He always reacted appropriately to situations when the story took a more serious tone.

He gets his fair share of development as well however once a certain character joins the cast...a lot of the scene involving him really just end of revolving around that particular character and nothing else. It honestly felt a little frustrating and I lost significant interest in anything Keita had to say once it became apparent he would only be having back and fourths with this character whenever he was on screen.

Then you have the characters that suffer from "Air syndrome". For anyone who's new to Towelket, sometimes certain characters will be labeled as "Air" or like "Like air" some kind of variant of that. This basically means that they're going to be written out or just outright forgotten by the story. It's a bit of a running joke however in this game it really just bums me out.

While there aren't any characters that are actually explicitly labeled like this in this game, all the symptoms are still there, unfortunately. Characters like Minpo and Warawau are present but they're both forgotten by the story before the first chapter even ends. Minpo moreso as she's barely even mentioned until hours later when the game remembers that she is in fact still apart of the story.

Warawau on the other hand felt like she only existed to fulfil a specific purpose before being written out entirely. Which was a huge, huge disappointment. I really did feel that her character had potential. There are a handful of moments where characters talk about her and what's said is very interesting stuff that I would have loved to actually see in action. Unfortunately she just doesn't get the screen time I felt she needed to feel like an actual character rather than a tool to get the story moving forward.

The you have to protagonist, Moochasu. As always he's a silent protagonist however in this game it really, really, really does not work at all. You see, only for the first quarter of this game are you actually playing as Moochasu. Does he have relevance to the story? Yes, he does. However for the majority of the game, the focus is constantly flopping between different characters. Characters that are much more interesting than our protagonist. And their individual stories and character arcs just outright don't involve him.

Like I would even go as far to say that characters like Chihedomusubi and Uikechuke are much better suited protagonists that Moochasu since their actions actually influence the story and it's progression a lot more than Moochasu. The fact that he's a silent protagonist that barely acts as the protagonist half the time just leaves us with this weird character who feels more like a prop than anything.

Of course, towards the end it all leads back to him but by the time the ending happens you're left more confused about his character than anything. It affects what I believe would have been a pretty solid and touching ending had this character just been allowed to be relevant.

I've complained a lot in this post lmao. But that doesn't mean the game is bad! Trust me, I only complain this much when I believe something really good could have happened here. Not to mention I was trying to avoid spoilers because...let's be real here it's just a lot.

Overall, I did enjoy this game. Despite everything, I think it was a pretty solid introduction to the world of Yorumorukimiri. I'll probably revisit it again someday, just at a much more reasonable pace lmao.

Uhhh once again I'm not gonna add it to the Towel rating. I'll probably just treat the entirety of Yorumoru as it's own big game sooo we'll get the rating once I do a write-up on final game.

[separatist-apologist]

Honestly whatever works best for you ^^ I just like seeing jealous Lucien

This ask was for jealous Lucien. It's sort of a remix of Elain riling Lucien up, wherein they actually DO stuff. it is NSFW, 18+, and "edited".

Also I like my little Feyre/Lucien moment. I HC them as pranksters

--

--

Lucien was later than he’d meant to be, walking into Solstice. He was still reeling from his day with Elain, stunned that Nuan had been right, and her plan had worked.

She wants you, Nuan had murmured halfway through the larger meeting Lucien had glanced over at Elain, carefully arranging stems across the hall on a glass table.

He’d rolled his eyes, but Nuan insisted.

Let me help you make her jealous.

He’d kissed her hand and now he wanted to kiss every other part of her. He’d settle for polite conversation and maybe a little hand holding. He was nervous, like a young male about to touch his first female. Elain had never given him the time of day before and Lucien wanted to get things right.

He ran his hands down his sage green jacket for the millionth time, his boots echoing off the marble in Feyre’s home. He followed the sound of chatter to a drawing room and paused in the doorway. His eyes immediately found Elain standing beside Azriel, gazing up at him with sweet, doe eyes…her hand on his forearm.

He was so fucking tired of seeing the pair of them. Jealousy burned in his gut and he almost turned around and left. Feyre caught him, perhaps reading his thoughts, and looped her arm through his.

“Will you help me with something?” She asked conspiratorially, walking him out of the cozy drawing room.

“How could I say no?” He replied easily, his mind still back with Elain and Azriel.

“I want to put snow in Rhys’ side of the bed,” she confessed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s been shoving it down the back of my clothes for days now and I haven’t been able to repay him.”

“Because he’s so tall, or you love him so much?” Lucien asked dryly

“Don’t be gross, of course it’s because he’s tall,” Feyre shot back quickly. “I tried his pants but he’s just a little too fast—”

“That’s quite enough. Of course I’ll help you prank your mate. Let’s go to the kitchen for some bowls, though.”

“Smart, I didn’t think of that,” Feyre said with a happy smile.

For the next hour, he and Feyre giggled quietly as they scooped up frozen snow in metal bowls and snuck through the River House. They put the snow on Feyre’s side of the bed, creating a snow person shaped like her body they hoped a very naked Rhys would attempt to cuddle up next to. Lucien didn’t want to think about what Feyre and her mate did in their alone time but he had to admit, it was fun conspiring with Feyre again.

By the time she walked him back to the drawing room, they were pink cheeked from the cold and still quietly chuckling to themselves. Rhys was instantly curious, not that it mattered. Lucien was almost relieved to see Elain had left though Azriel remained behind, standing with Cassian and Mor discussing who knew what. Lucien went to a little loveseat, still amused when he froze.

Elain was there, looking up at him with those same wide eyes. Ah, fuck, he thought, about to turn and find another place to warm up. She scooted, patting the cushion beside her and Lucien couldn’t resist.

She was so gorgeous, her hair curled gently down her back and spilling over her shoulders in a long-sleeved, off shoulder gown of lilac. He wanted to feel hopeful, but her eyes slid past him towards Azriel and Lucien wasn’t stupid. He recognized when he was being used as bait. He nearly rose, nearly left entirely but she set her small hand on his knee and Lucien quickly changed tracks.

She might want to make another male jealous but there was something between them. He could smell her anticipation. He didn’t know what had transpired between the pair of them, if anything had, for that matter given how determined Azriel seemed to be at not looking at her. It didn’t matter. If she wanted to play games, Lucien was leave knowing she was utterly covered in his scent. There would be no mistaking who she belonged with…who she was mated to.

“Are you having a good evening?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off her hand sliding slowly up his thigh. He was so, so hard just from one little touch.

“I am,” she agreed, looking up at him again. Good. He wanted her to keep her eyes on him. “And you, Lord?”

“It’s certainly looking up,” he replied truthfully. Feyre glanced at Lucien and he heard her in his mind.

You two look cozy. Want us to leave for a bit?

He hated when she did that, when she spoke to him mind to mind, worried that she knew every little thing he’d ever thought. This time, though, he was a little grateful for it.

If no one minds.

He heard Feyre chuckle in his head. I promise you, no one minds. I don’t think she’d notice if we left at all…

Feyre withdrew and Lucien looked fully back at Elain, her eyes wholly focused on his face, pink lips parted, her hand so close to his aching cock he felt half insane. He reached for her neck, his hands twining in her hair as he tilted her head towards him. Lucien glanced up when Elain’s eyes fluttered shut, watching as Feyre silently ushered people from the room. His lips curved into a smile and he nodded his thanks to Feyre once before she left, too, closing the door quietly behind her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath, angling her head. He couldn’t resist. He didn’t care if she had started all this to make Azriel jealous. She’d failed on that account though she’d very much succeeded in making Lucien jealous. He ghosted his lips over her own, delighted when she gasped a little, her fingernails digging into his thighs.

“It looks like everyone left us,” he told her, his mouth pressed against her jaw. Her eyes flew open and Lucien, still holding her head, let her turn just long enough to look at the now empty room. The only sound besides their breathing was the cheerful crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the wind tapping on the glass.

“I didn’t notice,” she admitted, proving her younger sister right. Lucien’s heart picked up at the admission, hope re-blooming in his chest. He smiled at her, rubbing his nose against her own. She reached up, cupping his cheek and Lucien was half-lost. He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her for the first time. It was nothing like he’d imagined, and he had spent years wondering what she might feel like, how she’d taste.

She was better in real life he thought with a soft sigh. Like lavender and honey and warm, sunlit air all combined and mixed with something personal, something uniquely Elain that was sweet and inviting. She opened her mouth for him, surprising him again when her tongue very hesitantly licked against his own.

She moaned and Lucien was fully gone, utterly done. He was going to have her on this too small couch. He couldn’t walk, not with the erection he was currently sporting and especially not with the way her arousal was slowly curling through the air around them. He couldn’t think straight anymore, kissing her with more intensity than he might have. He leaned her back, one hand on the column of her pretty throat as he shoved his knee between her legs, parting them both.

“What do you want, Elain?” He asked before licking up the smooth, soft skin of her throat, his other hand holding her by the hip. Her eyes flashed open, dark with desire.

“You,” she breathed, dragging him back down to kiss her again. Did she knew the affect she had on him, he wondered idly a moment before her hips rubbed against his thigh? She moaned softly against his lips, her eyes closed again.

Would Feyre forgive him for fucking her sister in the drawing room? He hoped so, he thought to himself, devouring her mouth with a hunger that surprised even him. His fantasies could not compete with the real thing.

He ran a hand over her breast, hidden beneath glittery fabric. Elain arched into his hand, moaning softly again. He’d kill to hear her make that notice again, he thought desperately. More, more, more, the bond between them crooned, demanding satisfaction. Elain, too, seemed to be demanding it, given how her hips rolled against his thigh. There was not enough space to spread her out the way he wanted to. They’d have to move.

Lucien withdrew, pleased at the disappointed mewl that escaped her throat.

“Not for long, sweet dove,” he promised, pulling her easily into his arms. Her dress covered his tented trousers and her weight helped ground him back to reality, to slow him down just a bit. Her mouth on his neck, nipping the skin, didn’t make walking any easier, and leaving the drawing room for the bedroom Feyre had offered was difficult, given how badly instinct made him want to slam her against a wall and bury himself within her.

They passed her family, not that she noticed. Feyre pressed a hand over her mouth and Rhys actually winked, which made Lucien almost laugh. The jealous monster that still roared in his chest settled when Azriel, too, glanced their way, catching sight of Elain utterly lost, one hand in his hair, her mouth still licking his skin. What had he been so worried about, he wondered, half jogging up the steps that led to the hall he slept in?

He placed on her his bed with as much reverence as he felt in that moment and Elain sat up quickly, eyes wide. He froze, expecting her to tell him no, that they’d taken this too far and she wanted to leave.

Her fingers found the buttons of his jacket and with a nimble quickness, managed to undo them before he could inhale and exhale. She shoved them down his arms and without any hesitation, pulled his shirt out of his pants and attempted to yank it over his head. Lucien helped, utterly stunned with the image of his mate undressing him with hurried determination. He didn’t stop her when her fingers, trembling now, reached for the laces of his pants though he did gently pull them away when, having gotten them undone, she attempted to yank them off his hips. She was still fully clothed and the part of him that was still a gentleman knew he might be tempted to just flip her skirts up and have her without any other care of consideration.

He heard her swallow when, having divested himself of his boots, he climbed up the bed. He reached behind her for the little pearl buttons on her dress and undid them much slower than she had, reveling in each new inch of skin he revealed. Lucien dragged his hands down her shoulders when he finished, taking the dress with him until she her underthings were exposed, her dress pooled at her waist. He watched as she shimmied out of it, tossing it to his floor. It took her merely a moment to remove her under things as well, leaving her utterly exposed.

“Elain,” he breathed, gently guiding her back to the bed, unable to take his eyes off the peaks and curves of her beautiful, soft body. He almost asked if she’d done this before but the memory of snide, stupid Graysen strutting about flashed through his memory and he knew he might become overwhelmingly possessive if she admitted he’d ever touched her.

Some questions were better left unknown. He simply did not care how many lovers she had or if she’d had none at all. He’d pretend she hadn’t and let her set the pace.

“Now will you remove your pants?” She asked him, her voice catching in her throat. They were hanging embarrassingly low on his hips as it was, hardly keeping him modest and the fabric was beginning to chafe the crown of his cock. Lucien sighed, disappointed to climb off her and slid them down his body, well aware of how her eyes zoomed to the appendage bobbing between his legs. He wished he knew what she thought in that moment, if she found him lacking or not.

She gestured for him to come back, and Lucien obliged, hardly able to keep himself away. This was happening, he thought dazedly, his mouth covering her own again. Elain’s hands slipped up his chest and over his shoulders, her nails dragging down his back. He groaned even as he palmed at her now naked breast, desperate to feel her naked body arch against his own.

She gasped when he rolled her nipple between his fingers, her hips lifting off the bed. He was slowly being driven mad by every little noise that left her lips.

Taste, taste, taste his instincts chanted. She didn’t pull away when his head dipped to her chest so he could take that same delicate, pebbled nipple and roll it along his tongue. She squirmed, her nails digging into his flesh in the most deliciously painful way. More of that, his thoughts begged. The idea that his mate might instinctively know what he liked and how he wanted to be fucked was exciting to him.

She writhed against him when he took the other breast into his mouth, lavishing attention even as she ground against the bare thigh he had pressed against the heat of her cunt. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the slickness she left on his skin, growling softly in appreciation.

“Please,” she begged, lifting her hips again and fuck did he want to take her up on the offer. His hand was gliding down her body and when he dipped one finger into the source of her wet he half died right then and there. She clenched hard around him, the sensation shooting straight into his cock.

“Taste you,” he said desperately, trying to position himself between her hips but Elain screamed with frustration and yanked him by his hair, pulling him back up.

“Later,” she bossed, her kiss a demand. He wanted to taste her so bad it was almost painful.

“Please,” it was his turn to beg.

“Fuck me, Lucien,” she ordered and Lucien’s eyes rolled straight into his skull. Later implied they would do this again, slower, perhaps all night even. He notched himself against her slick opening, groaning at the silky, hot feel of her.

It had been his intention to go slow. He slid in an inch and Elain offered him another soft scream, stopping him dead. She hooked her legs around his waist, dug her heels into his ass, and pushed, slamming him to the hilt within her.

Holy fuck, he thought, dazed. His Lady was practically wanton, he thought with pleasure, watching as her hips arched to meet his next thrust, her eyes half-wild with lust.

“Been thinking of me, have you?” He grunted out, his thrusts almost punishing in their intensity.

“Mm hmm,” she wined, her breath coming in short, shallow pants.

“Tell me,” he demanded, trying to fight back the urge to spill himself inside her like an untested youth. His hand slid between them, his thumb rubbing careful, precise circles over her clit.

“At night,” she gasped. “In bed.”

“Touching yourself?” He asked, needing to know.

“Mm hmm,” she keened, her voice rising an octave. He sped up, both his hips and his hand, dragging her to the edge.

“What do you want?” He demanded again.

“You,” she begged. “Lucien, you, you—” Her words were lost to a scream, so loud he was sure the whole house heard. Lucien snarled with pleasure, still rubbing as he fucked her, driving himself deeper still, desperate to be as close as he could.

“Lucien,” she half sobbed, her body trembling around him, her nails digging so hard into his skin he could scent blood in the air.

“Again,” he told her, his voice rich with authority. She tossed her head side to side. When she came again, the walls of her cunt slick with fluid as the fluttered tightly around him, Lucien couldn’t hold back any longer. His own pleasure burned beneath his skin, coiled tightly in his gut desperate for release. Every part of him tingled wildly. He thrust hard, deep, and pumped his release into her, snarling loudly with satisfaction. This was home, his mind screamed. She was home.

When his body relaxed, Lucien carefully lowered his body to hers. She pressed a lazy kiss to his mouth.

“Again,” he murmured against her lips. She giggled in response.

“Let me breathe, first,” she asked, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. Lucien couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her, to leave her.

So he stayed, nuzzling his head into her shoulder while Elain worked to catch her breath. Minutes passed, timed only by the synced beats of their heart.

“Okay,” she whispered after who knew how long. “Again.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Investigations (Part 7): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.6k

tw: NSFW is you squint

masterlist

song recommendation:

You try your best to shuffle around the kitchen surreptitiously, clicking the espresso pod into the machine with a soft 'snap'.

The machine begins its duty, whirring to life before the liquid is deposited into the cup below.

Success.

Your fingers wrap around the mug and take it to the counter, where you've already prepared your milk and syrup for a quick and easy cup of coffee.

Lately, you've had to sneak and make coffee (all futile attempts ruined by Kai or Ran), but you consider today full of promise. You'd gotten the formula down so far.

"I thought I said no coffee."

Your hands hover over the cup, the steam caressing your fingers like a warm invitation. Your eyes don't move to look at Ran, but they do watch his fingers snatch the cup away from you - full of warm milk and espresso.

"Y/n, it's not good for the baby."

"Okay, but..." Your feet carry you to the sink, where Ran is pouring the concoction down the drain. "Just a taste?"

"No."

"A sip?"

"No."

"I'll make it and just stick my tongue in it once."

"No."

Ran stands firm on his opinions at all times. Especially now. Arms cross over your chest and you huff, turning away from him.

"So strict." Ran fingers slide down your neck, resting around your full hips.

"It's not just about you," he begins, kissing the space between your neck and shoulder. "I'm looking out for our child, too. You know that."

"I do," you groan.

"Now, we have a baby shower to host. Let's get ready."

_____________________________________________________________

"We thought you were gone forever!" The three women come around you and huddle close, cooing, and crying, spewing lamentations and satisfied praises that you've returned.

Sanzu - out of the kindness of his heart - planned the baby shower, and you're at his house, eating cake with your friends and consuming hors d'oeuvres. But when you find a free moment, you corner Ran in the kitchen.

"Did you tell the others?"

"Tell them what?" Ran tilts his head at you and leans onto the counter, frowning. Your face smoothes out into an expression of disappointment, and you sigh.

Of course, he hadn't.

It's still your job to carry this terrible secret. It's still your job to bury your deepest, darkest knowing, all while the other girls are parading about like their husbands aren't killers and extortionists.

"Hey, y/n! It's time to open the presents!"

_____________________________________________________________

The water surrounding your figure is warm, full of bubbles and Epsom salt, as well as a little bath bomb that Ran bought - well, he bought sixteen, but that's beside the point.

"Feeling okay? Is it too hot?" You look over to the man sitting on the toilet seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he observes you pour water over your belly.

"It's fine," you murmur, blinking slowly. "Feels good."

"Want to turn on the jets or--"

"I want to join Bonten." Ran's face drops, his violet eyes clouding with confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me." You stare at him, fully intent on getting your desired response. "I want to be a part of what you do."

"Babe, no." Ran leans his head forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"You haven't even listened to me," you whisper, looking down at the ten toes poking out of the water. "You always do this. You tell me 'no' because that's the way you want things. I can't even drink coffee without your permission."

"Listen, I'll let you do whatever you want, but Bonten is out of the question. You're pregnant --"

"Then I can wait until I have the baby."

"Even after that, I'm going to say no. This is a dangerous business." He emphasizes his words with a shake of his head, pressing his lips together.

"You act like I wasn't an investigative journalist for ten years."

"This shit could get you killed, y/n."

"Yes," you begin. "But you do it every day. I want to be a part of it."

"Why?" Ran finally asks, and your lips curl into a smile.

"I know things you don't know. The media follows you very closely, and you need a good image if you ever run into a problem with... say, law enforcement. What better way to prove that this is a harmless organization than hiring a woman - your wife?" Ran quirks his lips, looking at the door of the bathroom with consideration.

"Is there any particular skill you'll avail to us other than just public relations? I mean, I could get someone to do that who isn't my wife."

"I have connections that will divert attention away from Bonten, if necessary." You think of the little group you and the other wives have created, and send a mental apology their way. "You can use me to get the word out about any other suspicious groups who might be involved. Aid and abet, like a good wife."

Ran stands from the toilet, sighing deeply. "I'll ask Mikey. But don't expect me to attempt to sway him with my loyalty. If anything, I'll ask him to really think about it before he makes a choice."

"That's all I want," you breathe, taking Ran's hand and pressing your lips against the back of it. "You're too good to me."

"Don't thank me yet, sweetheart."

_____________________________________________________________

Convincing Ran to part with his old-fashioned ways is something you're very skilled at. All you need to do is get on your knees... and be as sweet as you can be.

"Babe," you mutter, sucking Ran's thick cock from the side. "You're such a good husband."

"Buttering me up for Mikey, huh?" Fingers cup the back of your head and push you down slightly. "Why am I not surprised?"

And every single time, Ran sees straight through your little act. But he enjoys it nonetheless. He loves seeing you like this - giving him the attention he missed so much while you were gone.

"Because you know me so well. And that's why you married me."

That's why you married me. Ran's eyes close as he re-imagines himself the first time he decided to visit you, hands full of shit he didn't have to buy, and eyes full of stars at the sight of you answering the door in a tank top and shorts with a cast on your leg. That's when he knew that he wanted to marry you. Not because you're good at anything in particular, but because you were so ordinary... So normal. He needed someone like you then, and he needs you now.

"Stop."

"Am I doing something wrong?" you murmur, but Ran shakes his head, strands of his black and white hair flopping back and forth.

"You're perfect," he whispers. "You're always so perfect." He brings you off your knees and face to face with him, holding you by the arms. "Let me make love to you. I'll do the work," Ran promises. "You just enjoy yourself."

"But--"

"I've already told you what I'm going to do. Just let me give you what you deserve." Ran angles forward, leaning into a gentle kiss that makes your knees weak and your head spin.

Ran spoons you from behind on the bed, holding your leg up and sliding in and out of you with care. The other arm is holding you against him - wrapped around your chest - as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"I love the way you moan my name," he breathes. "You always know how to make me feel like the only man in the world."

"You are," you reply honestly. "You're the only man for me."

_____________________________________________________________

"Why do you want to join Bonten?"

The dead eyes of the man across from you are unyielding, and part of you feels nervous that he's staring at you so intensely.

"I want to help you all out. I want to make sure that not only do my children have something to rely on when they grow up, but that my husband is taken care of in all ways."

"Your children and your husband?" You think of Ran, who is just outside of the door, probably pacing with his hands in his pockets. "Your husband just spent three hours arguing with me."

"About?"

"You." The man stands, and Sanzu looks over at him with blank eyes. He wants to chime in, but he can't say anything right now. Not when Mikey was supposed to handle this himself. "Your presence here will be controversial. Especially since you're... in the state you're in."

"Pregnancy isn't a fatal disease."

"No, but being in Bonten could be fatal. And I don't know if both ran and I would be willing to accept the consequences of two deaths on our hand."

"But--" Sanzu raises a finger to his lips, warning you to be quiet.

"However," the man murmurs, rolling his neck around. "Sanzu, Rindou, and Kakucho have vouched for you and your connections." Your shoulders slacken, and you lean back in the chair, somewhat relieved. "I will put it to an anonymous vote in thirty-six hours. Whatever the outcome is, we'll both accept it."

A blind vote.

Thirty-six hours.

"Thank you, sir." You stand and bow slightly, hands clasped together. When you leave the room, Ran is waiting for you in the hallway, eyes wide.

"Well?"

"It'll be put to an anonymous vote in thirty-six hours. Whatever happens, happens."

Ran's face is anything but pleased as you drive home, but you don't worry about that too much. You have one and a half days to wait for the results, and you'd make the best of it either way.

[accio-moony]

Escape || Remus Lupin x Reader SMUT

Request: no. A/N: I’ve been working on this for months. I am disgusted with myself for taking so long. Not fully edited, so probably lots of mistake. Forgive me. Word Count: ~9k Characters/Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, James, Lily, and Harry Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew Summary: [NO VOLDEMORT AU, post Hogwarts Marauder’s era]It’s near a full moon, but you and your boyfriend Remus are going to Harry’s fifth (5th) birthday celebration. Remus gets really turned on when he sees you with Harry and tries to control it, but he can’t. WARNINGS: face fucking, breeding kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, marking (scratching, hicks, biting), grinding hair pulling, choking, teasing, dom/sub relationship, overstimulation, dirt talk [all in no particular order god I’m disgusting] *not my gifs*

A loud crash sounds from outside your bathroom, making you jump in surprise and almost slip on the slick shower floor. Out of instinct, your arms come up to cover your chest, though the curtain covers you and whoever it was hasn’t made it to the bedroom yet. Quickly, you turn the water off, and you’re left cold as the remaining hot water runs off of your body. You grab the fluffy towel you had set out and wrap it around your frame before picking your wand up from the counter and slowly opening the bathroom door. You sneakily move to the bedroom doorway and peak down the hall. A tall shadowed figure stands in the great room, a duffle bag in one of his hands, a wand in the other.

“Y/n” the familiar voice calls to you when the man sees you. “Hold on. Lumos.” A small orb of light sits at the end of the man’s wand, and you can quickly identify the face of your boyfriend of several years, Remus, from under the blue-glow of the wand’s light.

“Oh, Remus,” you sigh, and your shoulders relax. “You scared me.” You walk down the hall to him and smack his arm playfully.

“Hmm, I missed you, too,” he grumbles and leans down, kissing you.

The kiss is soft and quick, but still holds all the love you’ve both built up over the years. When he pulls his lips away from yours, you whine, not yet having opened your eyes as you revel in the messed feelings of his lips on yours. He had just spent two weeks with one of his best mates, Sirius, but he was now home.

“Rem,” you say as you open your eyes, but he’s no longer standing in front of you. “Remus?” You call and turn back down the hall.

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his duffle bag which he had put down. His head leans into his hands as his elbows rest on his knees. You move from the hall to stand between his legs, but he doesn’t look up at you. You carefully grab his cheeks in your hands and pull his face up so he’s looking at you, but he keeps his eyes closed with furrowed brows. 

His actions confuse you. He’s usually very affectionate with you, loving any touch you give him. Slightly confused by his lack of reaction, you think of any obvious reason he could be acting this way, and your mind found the answer rather quickly: the full moon is in just two days. You turn your head back to him, not saying a word as you remove one hand from his cheek and trace your index finger down the bridge of his nose. He softens under your touch this time and quickly reaches up to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your belly.

You giggle as you run your fingers through his hair. “I thought we had planned to meet at James’s, honey?” You question him. 

At the mention of the small celebration that takes place in just over an hour, Remus drops his arms from your waist and leaned back on his elbows with his head lolled back, and of course, you take immediate notice to his change in demeanor.

“We don’t have to go, Rem,” you quickly counter. “We can stay home, just the two of us, in bed if you’d like.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You want to go. I would want to go if I weren’t so… well, you know. And they’re expecting us.” He looks into your eyes as he stands from the bed, his tall frame making you stumble back a few steps as he becomes unexpectedly close, towering over you several inches. He places his hands on your shoulders, steadying you as he plants a kiss to your cheek, but his lips linger and wander back towards your ear, his breath hot against your skin making your blood boil. “I’ll be fine,” he says lowly, “but you better go finish getting ready before I change my mind.” His hand slides down and then under your arm, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest is pressed against his own. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” His lips trail back over your cheek and jaw until they reach your lips. He captures yours with his own in a hungry kiss, the hand not around your waist wrapping into your still wet hair and pulling it backwards so he has better access to your mouth. The tension of the pull makes you let out a whiny moan into the kiss as your skin heats up.

You pull away and look into his eyes. They’re dark with lust and hunger. “Go,” he demands, and you scurry into the bathroom, Remus clapping his hand on your butt as you walk away, closing the door behind you and finishing getting ready. 

Once the door is closed behind you, Remus pushes his hand down on his semi, trying to give it some sort of relief. You don’t know yet, but he had gone to spend some time with Sirius, because they were discussing how Remus would ask you to marry him, and he had picked out the ring. You’re the only person in his life to ever make him feel normal and worthy of love. You had convinced him, after many years, that he is not a monster. He’s just Remus, with a furry-little-problem once a month. It had taken him years to believe you, and sometimes it’s still hard for him to, but you had shown him that his lycanthropy does not define who he is, and that he is, in your words, the best guy you’ve ever met and ever will meet. It wasn’t until the both of you left Hogwarts that he knew you were right. He knew you would always be by his side, no matter what condition, no matter what happens. You stood with him for the seven years of Hogwarts like you had known him all your life. You didn’t bat an eye when he told you about him, and you worked with his fellow marauders to become an animagus for him, so you could be with him for his transformations, not just to take care of him on the ends of it. He knows, and as his friends have pointed out on many occasions, you would never leave him. You love him too much. Remus would have to do something truly terrible for you to leave his side. After having convinced himself for so long that he could never have a real family, or even friends, you finally made him grow comfortable enough to the idea to believe he can, though he hadn’t told you yet. To your knowledge, he was still an insecure boy who thought he could never love. He knew you wouldn’t stop until you knew you had convinced him, and then you’d continue reinforcing the idea from then on. He’s able to imagine you with a grown baby, carrying his child, but he never mentioned it to anyone until this past holiday when he told Sirius. He had always pushed the thought aside, not wanting to get his hopes up, not wanting to pass his lycanthropy to an innocent infant. If you loved him for what he is, and you take care of him, then he knows you would do the same for your child, but the thought of passing the trait still terrifies him, but to a lesser extent. 

He turns to his bag on the bed and pulls the small velvet box out of the hidden pocket inside, going to hide it in one of his drawers, one you never go in — his underwear drawer. He opens the box, admiring the ring for a moment. The ring is small, simple but elegant, and he knows you’ll love it, he knows it reflects your personality and relationship perfectly. It’s simple: besides all the crazy stuff in between, the main picture is just love — the only thing that matters in the relationship. He still has to decide how to ask you. He knows he wants it to be romantic, but he also wants it to be as soon as possible. The romantic part isn’t difficult, it’s the having to wait until they’re not so close to the full moon. He could ask you tonight, before the gathering, but he doesn’t want you to think of it as a rash decision he made because of the full moon. If it was, he would’ve asked you months ago, maybe on a night where you were scolding him for trying to drink away the post-transformation pain. Quite the contrary, really. Usually, during a full moon, he’d get more self-conscious, feel more like you deserve better, but the full moons have begun to prove to him that he will marry you. You’re always there no matter what, and you always will be. He knows that, and he wants to keep it that way.

He hears the bathroom door open, and he quickly shoves the box haphazardly into the drawer.

“What’re you doing?” You ask him suspiciously.

“Uh,” he grabs a random pair of long black socks. “Looking for these,” he excuses, turning to you as he holds up the socks for you to see. It’s then he notices you’re in your favorite matching black lace bra and thong, and he curses his blood for running hot and straight to his groin. 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, still skeptical as you walk closer to him. 

As you reach the closet and start to look for an outfit, he quickly closes the drawer to try to hide the box from you.

He rummages through his clothes, picking out a plain white dress shirt with a dark red cable-knit sweater that contrasts just enough to wear with the pair of jeans he already had on and his favorite sneakers, sporting his signature comfortable-but-intelligent, soft attire and just enough of his old house colors. He puts the clothes on the bed with a subtle tie and pulls his jumper over his head, leaving him bare. In the mirror, you can see his back muscles flex and tense as he pulls the dress shirt up over his shoulders and start to button it. You walk over to him, laying the skirt and top you chose next to his outfit and helping him button up his shirt. 

“Let me help,” you smirk as you grab his shirt, looking up into his amber eyes innocently. You let your fingers trace over his muscles and is scars as you admire it all, never shying away from his flaws. When the shirt is buttoned, you grab the tie from the bed and toss it around his neck, grabbing the other end as it comes around and tugging his neck so he gets to a height where you can stand on your toes and kiss him passionately, biting and pulling on his lower lip as you pull away, releasing it softly as you lick your lips, looking into his pupil-blown eyes. 

As casually as possible, you step back from him and grab your clothes. First your mini skirt, pulling it over your bum and purposely squeezing into it give Remus a show. You grab your semi-casual blouse and pull it on, then tucking the bottom hem into the skirt. 

By this point Remus had his tie done and was pulling the sweater over his head, smoothing it down his chest. You grab your small wedges and wand before walking towards the door. 

“Let’s go, Remmy,” you call to him as you walk into and down the hall, your hips naturally swaying with each step.

Behind you, when he sees your hips move like that, Remus growls under his breath, but quickly subdues it with a cough as he follows you, grabbing his own wand on the way out, failing to pretend he could get the image of your plump ass out of his head. You grab the gift-wrapped box for the party, and the two of you went into the front garden, just by the old, rickety front gate. Remus holds his arm out to you, and you take it, preparing yourself for the sickening feeling of apparation. Your feet are lifted off the ground as you swirl into a spaceless darkness, squeezing through time and space in a way that would be nauseating to anyone who didn’t do it several times a day. 

It had been several hours since you and Remus had arrived at James and Lily’s house. You were in the kitchen with Lily, talking about what life is like, and how it changes once you marry and have children. You want that with Remus, and you had since before the two of you left Hogwarts. In Remus’ eyes, to your knowledge, he could never put that burden on someone for the rest of their lives. He didn’t want to risk passing his lycanthropy on to his children, who did nothing wrong, did nothing to deserve the condition, no matter how often you remind Remus that he didn’t do anything wrong, that he didn’t do anything to deserve the painful monthly transition. You wish you could make him see himself through your eyes, make him see how perfect he is. You wish you could make him see himself through his friends eyes, make him see how James, Sirius, and Peter adore him. You’ve confided in Lily about this before, and every time, she tells you how James tells her the same thing, wishing his friend could see how much he’s truly worth. The conversation dies down when you don’t respond, but just think about your boyfriend and how amazing he is. It upsets you to see his self-esteem so low. 

Your mind shifts back to when you were getting ready, and how Remus touched you, how he kissed you. You feel your skin heat up and your insides churn just thinking about it. You know it’s only a few nights to the full moon, and those nights, Remus gets sexually needy and rough. It’s something you love from him. He’s usually a softer lover, and you admire him for that, but sometimes you need something more stimulating. That need is rare for you and strangely correlates perfectly with his own

You squeeze your thighs together, trying to find some friction, but you are unsatisfied. You leave the kitchens and find Remus in the living room with his friends. He’s sat back in the couch, almost zoned out. You go to walk towards him with a simple innocent smile on your face, but you’re stopped when you feel a small hand grab your own. 

“Aunt Y/n!” You hear Harry call from behind you. You turn to him, giving him a big smile.

“Hi, Harry!” You exclaim. “Happy birthday!” “Thank you,” he says politely and hugs around your legs.

You chuckle and get an idea, a potentially dangerous idea. With your back towards Remus, you bend at your waist to lift Harry in your arms, but, as you hoped, your skirt rides up your hips, exposing just enough of your thong to Remus that you can feel his eyes burning into your back. You conceal your smirk with a big smile as you talk to Harry, “Where’s your mommy, huh?” Your knuckles nip around his nose playfully as you hold him in your arms, balanced on your hip as you walk into the kitchen with him still in your arms. Sweetly, he lays his head against your shoulder, and almost immediately falls asleep. Lily coos at her son when he she’s you with him. 

“I don’t see how Remus isn’t dying to see you like this with his child,” she comments, kissing her sons head. 

“I may bring it up to him again soon,” you comment. “I want him to know I truly want a life with him. But I’ll wait until a week or so after this full moon. I don’t want to aggravate him.”

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Remus looks over at Sirius once you’ve gone out of sight and ear-shot. “Fucking, damn-it,” he swears, unintentionally getting all of his friends attention. He blushes, trying to act like he didn’t just say that in a most aggravated tone.

“What is it?” James asks his friend, his eyebrow raised.

“I, uh —“ he starts, but is cut off.

“Can I tell them?” Sirius tries to, but fails to whisper to Remus. “Please?”

“Tell us what?”

“We’ll there’s no point hiding it now,” Remus sighs, giving Sirius at death glare. “You’ve gone and told them somethings up.”

“Great!” Sirius turns back to James and Peter. “He’s taking the jump.”

After a moment of confused silence, and Remus rolling his eyes, Peter speaks up. “The what?”

“The jump: he’s going to ask her!” Sirius explains, giddily happy. 

“Finally!” James exclaims.

Remus blushes deeply, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s no point not to. She’s everything to me… and she’s proved time and time again that I’m everything to her. She’s the only person to ever have made me feel normal, worthy of love.”

James and Sirius start high-fiving excitedly. 

“I mean, I already knew at this point that starting a family would be a part of this, but Merlin, seeing her with Harry like that just makes my heart want to explode.” Remus pulls a pillow off the couch and into his lap. “It’s turning me on, you know?..” He says under his breath. “Plus, I think she’s teasing me.”

“I’ve got this!” James says and stands up.

Sirius and Remus both grab his wrists, making him sit back down. 

“Don’t you dare—“ Remus starts, but it’s too late. James sets his plan into motion.

“Harry!” James calls from the living room, giving Remus a wink.

Harry’s head shoots up off your shoulder at the sound of his father calling his name. 

“We’ll see,” you smile to Lily, ending your conversation and turning out of the kitchen with Harry still in your arms. By the time you’ve reached the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, he’s wiggling so much that it’s difficult for you to keep hold of him. Again, you bend at the waist and place his little feet on the ground. Your blouse falling slightly and exposing your cleavage as you had  secretly hoped. You stand up again, and watch Harry run over to his father and jump into his lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Remus push a pillow down onto his lap and cross his legs. You smirk to yourself and look at him, his eyes boring you a hungry look, and you decide that you have to use the bathroom, meaning you’d walk right by him. You walk across the living room, tucking a stand of hair behind your ear as you head to the bathroom in the next hall, passing the end of the couch that Remus is seated on. When you get close enough to him, he reaches over the arm of the couch and grabs your waist, the side opposite him. He spins you and pulls you so you’re sitting in his lap, and he slyly removes the pillow, making you land right on his cock. You squeal slightly on your way down, and when you feel his hot breath against your ear for the second time tonight, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, “accidentally” creating friction between the two of you. 

Remus’ hands grab your hips and hold them still, holding you down against him.

“You feel that, babygirl?” He asks in a hushed voice so only you can hear him as he pushes his hips up from the couch, his hard member pressing into you. “You got me all hot and bothered in front of all of our friends. You’re going to have to fix it for me.” He nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing hot on your neck, and you let out a whiney moan at his words. “I would take you in the bathroom now, but with what I’ll have to do to you, there won’t be enough space in the there.” His lips graze your neck, and he unexpectedly flattens his tongue against your skin, leaving it feeling like it’s boiling. He hums at the taste of your sweat. “And I want to be the only one to hear you screaming my name. You are mine, after all.” He leaves an open mouthed kiss on your shoulder, his tongue grazing the spot at he kisses it. “So, go get your purse. We’re leaving.” His teeth nip at your ear and he pinches your butt under your skirt as he pushes you off of him. 

For a moment, you don’t move, too stunned to do anything, but to your dismay, and Remus’ impatience, his hand flattens against your lower back as he leans forward in his seat, pushing you in the direction of the kitchen. On your way stumbling into the kitchen to find your purse and say goodbye to your friends, you look over your shoulder back at the man you love. He leans closer still to his friends, saying something inaudible to you that makes them all smirk and chuckle. Blushing, you scurry over to your purse. 

“Got her,” Remus smirks from the living room to his friends.

“I honestly didn’t know you had that in you, Moony,” James laughs.

“She does things to me.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” You hear Lily from behind you.

You turn to her, your purse in hand, and you pull her into a goodbye hug. “Remus wants us to go home,” you almost whisper. 

She grabs your shoulders and pulls away from you, holding you in front of her. “Is it what I think it is?”

You smirk and look over her shoulder into the living room.

She pulls you into one more hug. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she tells you when she pulls away again. “Or anything James would do!”

Once Remus lays his eyes on you again after you’ve stepped back into the living room, he quickly stands, waiting for you as you walk over to him, and he takes your hand, pulling you away without any word to anyone.

“Bye, boys!” You call over your shoulder as your frustrated boyfriend pulls you out the front door. Your feet barely hit the garden when you’re lurching through space again, Remus disapperating from Godric’s Hollow with you on his arm. You feet hit the ground in the front garden of the home you and Remus share, and you’re instantly stumbling as he’s pulling you up the front step and into the house. He slams the door behind himself once you’ve both entered the house, locking it with a swish of his hand, as his other grabs your lower back and pulls you against him as he growls down at you with a matching look of hunger in his darkened irises.

You feel that he’s harder than he was just a moment ago when you were sat in his lap, and you could swear that you had long since soaked through your panties. 

His hand not holding your back grabs your face as he pulls your lips to his in a harsh, passionate kiss. The hand that was on your back sliding down to just under your butt as he lifts you up. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist to help him support you, and your skirt bunches up to your waist, your thong pressing against his leather belt. 

He walks forward, pushing your back against the door as his lips move from your lips to your neck, sucking and biting, effectively marking you as his own with the dark bruises he leaves behind.

You whine his name breathlessly at the feeling of his teeth, tongue, and lips all grazing and working at your neck. In hearing your name, Remus growls against your soft skin, biting down on it as he replaces your feet on the ground then pulls away, much to your displeasure. He walks backwards towards the couch, dragging you along with him by your hands. He sits down on the comfortable couch, his hands leaving yours and sliding down your sides and back towards your butt. As his hand rests on the top of your ass, he grabs the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down excruciatingly slow, but once he zipper is over the curve of your plump butt, he quickly employs the new margin of space available and shoves the skirt down your legs, letting it fall to the ground silently. Hastily, Remus’s hands grab at the back of your things, pulling them down and over to the sides of his own, making you straddle his lap. As he reconnects his lips to your own, one hand grabbing at the back of your blouse, the other cradling your face, you moan. You revel in the feeling of his plush lips for the first time this evening, being less caught up in passion where you can’t think, yet your senses are still crowded with longing. They work effortlessly against your mouth, his tongue pushing past your lips and exploring the area same as he would if he had never kissed you before, brushing over your lips, against your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, and the roof of your mouth before finally pressing his tongue down on yours, which had been begging his silently. As you two mix your mouths, you moan at the taste of him, the remainder of the one drink he had intoxicating you as if you were the one who had drank it.

You grind your hips down onto his jean-clad crotch, the denim rubbing perfectly through your soaked thong and against your aching core, a whine escaping your throat and into his mouth. Your hands slide under his sweater, then under his dress shirt, feeling his hard muscles under his warm, tan skin, littered with soft hills from scratches and wounds of the many previous full moons he’s had to endure. 

Remus leans back, detaching his lips from yours for a moment only long enough to remove the red sweater before fervently reattaching himself. His hands hold you still against him, one keeping your hips down on his own, the other holding loosely tangled in your hair. He could leave his hand in your hair for an eternity, sexual or not. He loves playing with it, twirling it between his fingers when you lay your head in his lap on the couch while he reads; he knows you love head and back massages at night and how they put you to sleep in a mere minute. Your hair is soft and silky, easy to run his hands through without getting caught on any knots or tangles. He also know how much you love it when he grabs your hair by it’s roots, tugging enough for tension but not pain, or when he puts it into a make-shift pony tail when you’re going down on him. 

Your soft lips leave the warmth of his mouth, pulling them away and down over his jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Your tongue brushes over his scruffy face with every kiss, tasting the salty sweat that has begun to seep from his pores the more you touch him. Trailing your lips down his neck, sucking soft marks into it, biting on his collar bone or shoulder as you pass it, your hands nimbly work at the buttons on his shirt, shaking from the excitement running through you, the continuous passion you hold for your boyfriend. Your mouth follows the buttons as the come undone down his chest, adjusting your position in his lap and on the couch to keep moving a few inches with each new free button as you kiss, lick, and suck at his supple skin.

When your tongue licks at the top of his faint happy trail, feeling his grip on you tighten, you kiss back up his chest, pushing the shirt to the sides to reveal his tones abs and pecks. Remus isn’t super muscular, he isn’t burly by any means, but he’s toned and has just enough muscles to look strong and soft at the same time. You run your fingers through the short chest hair that lightly strews across his chest as you kiss each of his scars, following them until they stop or disappear behind him. His scars are a story, they show how strong of a man he is, the man you love more than anything. His story has become your story, one you’ve loved since the beginning. 

You reach back up to his neck with your lips, kiss and continue to mark up the length of it as you return your mouth to his. You lean in just enough to feel your lips brush together softly, but you pull back when Remus tries to connect them. You smirk as you place a single, hot kiss to his lips before getting off his lap completely, sitting on your heals, your body supported by your knees on the floor in front of him. You start you lips back at the top of his happy trail again, and he pushes his hips forward, leaning back farther into the couch for both of you to be more comfortable in the coming activity. Your mouth trails down to his waistline as your hands run up and down his thighs slowly. When you reach the line of his jeans against his waist, your hands slide up, slowly, towards his belt, squeezing his painfully hard erection through his clothes as you pass. Once the buckle is free, you pull back completely, sitting back and looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes as you pull the leather from the denim loops. Your hands find the button on his jeans, quickly popping it open and then carefully attaching to the zipper as you pull it down.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pull down, he lifts his butt from the couch cushion enough for you to slide the fabric over his butt. You only pull to to just past his upper thighs, leaning his legs covered but giving you comfortable access to his treasure. Your soft hands rub back up his legs and over the material of his boxer briefs, finding his length and giving it a firm squeeze at the base, skidding your hand back and forth just and inch or so as you kiss at the damp spot over the tip of his cock. You slowly wipe your tongue on the spot, giving him an unsatisfying amount of friction.

His hand in your hair yanks your head back with a delectable amount of force, lifting your mouth off of him and forcing you to look up at his as you moan from the tension. He leans forward in his seat, bending low enough for his lips to be by your ear, his hot breath fading over it as he speaks. “You don’t want to tease me anymore tonight, love,” he informs you. “I had already been planning on you not being able to walk for the rest of the week.” He pauses and licks a stripe up your neck before continuing. “But now you’ve got a whole other punishment coming your way.” His hand leaves your hair for just a moment as he cups your cheek softly, leaning back a bit and pulling himself from his underwear. Once his aching cock is free, his hand on your cheek slides back into your hair, forcing you down so your mouth is next to his radiating member before sitting back into the couch completely.

Obeying, your small hands wrap around his cock, and you lick a long, wet stripe up the thick, pulsing vain on the underside. The feeling of it throbbing against your tongue, and the taste of his pre-cum when you reach his tip is almost enough to make you cum there, without being touched. You moan against him, still teasing him, still driving him mad.

His hair in your hair pulls you up only slightly as his other hand grabs and slacks your jaw, forcing you to take his delicious cock into his mouth. “Stop,” he says sternly as he thrusts up into your mouth. “Teasing,” he thrusts again, making you gag as he hits the back of your throat, unprepared. His hand in your hair loosens and his other leaves your jaw, letting you recompose yourself before further coaxing you. “Come on, Princess,” he hums softly, pushing stray hairs out of your face. “Let me see you take my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours. I know you want to, I know your desperate for it. Take my cock in your mouth, and you’ll get it nice and rough later.”

You whine at his words, quickly wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, spitting over it before lowing your mouth onto him, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks as you rejoice in the feeling of his cock filling your mouth. You hum against him, pleased to be providing him with pleasure. 

Remus starts grunting in time with your head and thrust up shallowly to the same rhythm. His hand drops from your hair when he thinks your ready, and they both grab the sides of your face as he fully fucks up into your mouth. Your hands flatten against his thighs, bracing yourself as you take him down your throat.

He’s grunting and groaning and praising your mouth until you feel him twitch in the back of your throat, before he roughly pulls your mouth off of him. He stands up quickly, shoving his pants the rest of the way down and taking his socks and shoes off with them, leaving them there as he pulls you up, kissing you once passionately, both of you moaning into the kiss.

His hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls you farther into your home and to your bedroom. He pushes you down on the edge of the bed before climbing on, straddling your legs with his knees on either side of your thighs as his hands wrap under your arms and pull you up higher on the bed so that your head rests in the pillows.

Remus’s calloused hands slide under the fabric of your top, pushing it up before grabbing the hem and forcing it over your head. He throws the shirt to the floor somewhere on the room, somewhere neither of you cared about right now. His mouth works down your neck, leaving more marks as he crosses over and down your chest, licking at the top of your breasts above your bra before biting harshly in the same spot. You moan out, loving the feeling of his teeth against you. His nibble hands slide under your arched back, making quick work of your bra as he snaps the band and releases the clasp. That is discarded in an equally irrelevant place as your shirt. As soon as your breasts are free, he leans in, sucking one of your nipples into your mouth harshly, letting his teeth graze over it and bit down ever-so slightly as his other hand cups your opposite mound, rolling and pulling that nipple through his fingers making you moan out his name.

His lips and hand switch sides for an equal moment before they continue down the valley of your chest and your soft stomach, leaving more marks still as he makes his way to your panty-line at an agonizingly slow pace. His fingers grip into the flesh on your sides as he sucks and licks his mark onto your tummy. You’re left trying to string word together to make a sentence, but it’s all incoherent as it just comes out as breathless pants. 

You’re able to build your voice back when he just follows your panty-line across your tummy, avoiding the steaming apex of your legs that’s screaming for his attention. “Rem-“ you barely manage, and his lips slow against you as he looks up at you from almost between your legs. “Plea—“ but you can’t finish as you gasp out a breath when you feel his lips switch to your thighs. 

“What was that?” he smirks into your leg?

“Ple—“ you try again, only for him to bite into the soft skin of your thigh.

“I need to hear the full word, babygirl,” he says, pulling away from one thigh and moving to the other.

“Please!” You force out, not letting him cut you off with his actions again.

At that, his mouth leave your thighs as he sits up, leaning over you enough to kiss you passionately, and you wrap your hands into his hair. “Good girl,” he smirks against your lips before pulling back again, positioning his face between your thighs while he sits on his knees, leaning forward. Without a warning, he presses his tongue over the wet fabric covering your mound. Me moans against you, feeling how you’ve soaked through your thong, and he can taste you. “Merlin, baby,” he hums into you, sucking you through your panties before pulling back. “You’re so wet, Y/n,” he teases as his fingers gently wrap under the waist line and begin to pull down your thong. “Who did that to you, hm?” He encourages you, throwing your thong off the bed before laying on his stomach between your legs, roughly gripping your thighs in his hands and pushing them up against your chest, giving him a beautiful view of your soaking cunt. He blows hot air over your sensitive core as he waits for you to answer.

“You, Remus! You made me that wet,” you plead for him. He happily obliges and dives in, licking his tongue up and down through your folds without warning. “Oh, fuck,” you curse out in a whine.

His tongue stills and flicks over your swollen clit several times as he rubs the tips of his fingers against your entrance, getting them ready for you. He stops licking as he begins to push his fingers into you slowly, his lips wrapping around your clit instead and sucking the bud into his mouth. His fingers only pushed in slowly until they reached a halt. He gives you zero adjustment time and starts pounding them in and out of your pussy, creating an obscene sound as the curl and twist within you.

You moan out at the sudden sensation, music to his ears as one hand finds this hair, wrapping into it and pulling. He moans into you at the tension you create and hearing your angelic voice do such sinful things. With your legs still pressed to your chest, you can barely reach the one hand into his hair, so the other reaches under your head, grabbing and pulling at the pillow.

He continues fucking his fingers into you at the fast pace, continuing to suck and lick your clit the same. You quickly become a moaning mess, and you’re almost embarrassed by the pornographic sounds you’re making. Your head turn to the side, and you bite into your arm to suppress the sounds. This doesn’t go unnoticed, and Remus pulls away from your center, his face slick with your arousal. His hand leaves the warmth of your walls, smacking down over your cunt and causing you to involuntarily jerk forward.

“Don’t be quiet,” he demands. “Let me hear you, darling. Let me hear the sounds only I can get from you, yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and your mouth releases your arm, but as though he doesn’t trust you to cover it again, he pulls your hand from the pillow, and interlaces his fingers with yours as he dives back in, eating you like he hasn’t eaten in months.

He returns to your cunt at the same pace, but only picks up the speed from there, his fingers digging not you deeper, rougher as he pushes you towards the rapidly approaching edge. He knows your dangerously close, and he pulls the high from you as he moans into you, sending vibrations through you that tip you over the edge. You moan loudly, legs convulsing at the intense peak rushing through your muscles. He pulls your legs down over his shoulders so you’re more comfortable as he continues to work your cunt, you thinking he’s riding out your high. Only he doesn’t stop. He removes his fingers from your hole, but continues sucking on your clit. The sensitivity from the orgasm that just ripped through you puts you right back on the edge. Your hips start to buck and both your hands lace into his hair, gripping tight. The intensity of only being on the verge of your next orgasm has you crying in pleasure, your hands pushing against him as you try to move his face off of you.

Your hands quickly give up as he holds himself onto you, and when he starts shaking his head back and forth with his tongue pressed against you, your pushed over that second edge, your back contracting as your muscles force you to sit up, using his hair as an anchor. He moans into you as you pull his hair, and he slows down, carefully lapping up your juices before kissing back up your body to your lips. 

He gives you a chaste kiss before he flips you over, pushing your face down into the bed. His hands hook over your hips, grabbing around them and pulling them up so your ass is in the air on perfect display for him. His hands leave your hips once they’re where he wants them, wrapping them around your wrists and pulling them back behind your back before wrapping one of his large hands over them both to keep them there. His other hand reaches between your legs, spreading them apart so he can comfortably stand on his knees behind you. After your legs were in position, he used the hand not restraining your wrists to grip his cock, rubbing it up against your core, getting it slick and ready for you, but still not entering you.

You moan at the feeling of his throbbing length pressing against you, so close, but not close enough. Your moan, having been a subconscious technique to get him to continue, is not a suitable attempt for him. His hand leaves his cock, still pressed against you as he holds his hips against your own, then smacks down on your ass, wordlessly commanding you to beg for him.

“Remus,” you whine, pushing yourself back against him, and his hand comes down on the opposite cheek. Not good enough. “Please!” Another smack. Still not good enough. “Remus, please!” You try combining the two previous pleas, but he spanks you again, and you know he wants to hear you say it. You know he won’t give you what you both crave until he hears you say it. “Please, Remus! Please, fuck me,” you cry out as his hand comes back down on you, only this time for fun, to make sure both of your cheeks are equally reddened. As you’re whining his name again, his hand leaves your ass and grips himself at the base, pushing into you to the hilt in a quick thrust, no warning.

“Good girl,” he groans from above you as you moan out at the feeling of him so perfectly stretching you. He stills only long enough to get out the two words and move your hair over your shoulder, letting him see the side of your face and the top of your back and shoulders. You don’t have much time to adjust before he pulls out, almost completely, and starts thrusting forward into you again at an agonizingly slow pace. His palm runs over your red cheeks, soothing and kneeling the skin under his hand while still holding your arms behind your back.

The perfect friction, the prefect way he fills you up and reaches every crevice within your walls has you softly moaning for him, but you need more. You start to push your hips back into him, meeting his thrusts in his rhythm but trying to get him to speed up all the same. “Rem,” you moan. “Faster. Please.”

His one hand releases your wrists, the other holding your hips against his as he wraps the first around your throat, pulling you up against him until your back is pressed to his chest. “You want me to pound you, huh, baby?” He breaths hot on your ear, his hips thrusting roughly up into you and hitting your g-spot dead center, causing you to cry out his name. “You’re so needy for my cock?” His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he thrusts again, another cry escaping your lips.

“Yes!” You call out to him. “Please, Remus. I need you.”

You say what he wants, but his reaction if the opposite for you. He pulls away from and out of you completely, pushing you back down onto the bed forcefully, and you bounce a little once you hit the bed. He turns you over again, having you face up as he kneels between your legs again, grabbing them from behind your knee and putting them over his shoulders as he realigns himself effortlessly and continues to pound into you.

The pornographic sounds you make further strive the hungry beast inside him, and he reaches down for you, draping his hand back over your throat and squeezing once more. He continues to hit the bullseye in you repeatedly, almost as if he’s trained his whole life just to please you to such an extent. His thrusts are so precise that you barely registered the build up to your rapidly approaching third orgasm.

“Rem,” you draw out his name, warning him, and he understands.

“Do it, baby,” he commands, and you let go of the force pressing violently against your gut.

You scream his name, your voice hoarse and throat sore as you whine and gasp while you come down, Remus working you through it the whole time.

“Good girl,” he praises you, dropping your legs from his shoulders as his hand leaves your neck and slides up.  He cradles your cheek as he leans over you, kissing you passionately as his thrusts slow down. “You’re so beautiful, darling. Just absolutely perfect.”

Remus’ previous aggressive lust, turns into a loving lust, just wanting to be one with you, be a whole instead of two halves. There’s just as much passion as before, it’s just more apparent now without his hunger for you clouding it.

“Remmy,” you whine, too sensitive after three orgasms. You’re still soaking, but you can feel every ridge of his cock as he slides in and out of you. Remus lifts his head from where it was folded into the crook of your neck, looking deep in your eyes. “I can’t. It’s too much.” A tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek, but he’s quick to catch it, kissing the wet spot it left and then your lips so softly you barely feel it.

“Help me finish, baby. I’m close,” he encourages you to hold on just a few moments more. “You can do it, Princess. You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You nod your head as you look up into his darkened, but soft, eyes. The way his mouth hangs open and his eyebrows furrow together, you can tell he is close. You moan his name as you pull his lips into another love-filled kiss, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips and your arms over his shoulders, pulling him deeper into you. You break from the kiss panting. “Cum in me,” you plea so softly you can barely hear it.

Remus’ hearing is strong enough to pick it up, and his rhythm falters for half a moment. “Really?” He asks, how close he is painfully evident on his face. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

His carnal need resurfaces, hitting into you harder, and you cry out every time. “You want me to cum in you, huh?” He growls into your ear, but he’s so close it breaks into a groan. “You want me to fill you with my cum, baby?”

You nod vigorously, not being able to form any words with the intense feeling burning in your core. He captures you lips in a kiss as he stills, buried deep inside your cunt and coating your inner walls with his hot ropes, his hips involuntarily jerking as he does. You’re sensitiveness, his words, and the feeling of him and his cum filling you to the brim push you over the fourth edge, and you crying out as your body convulses under him so much you would’ve folded in on yourself if his body weight wasn’t keeping you flat on the mattress.

He collapses on top of you as both your bodies give their last few tremors, both of you panting and sweaty, hair sticking to your faces. His arm extends towards the side table, looking for his wand. “Fuck,” he mutters, and you hum in question to his exclamation. “Our wands are still in the living room,” he kisses you softly, but with so much love. “You know, with our clothes.”

You giggle against his lips before he pushes himself off of you and goes into the ensuite to grab you a washcloth. Your affectionate urge to always be around him awakens and sends you to the bathroom, but when you stand from the bed, pain shoots down your sore legs and your knees give out. You’re left to gravity to fall to the floor with a small squeal and a soft thud.

The door to the bathroom quickly opens as he looks for the cause of the sudden noise, finding you on the floor in front of him. “What do you think you’re doing?” He chuckles.

“Following you,” you blush and look down at the carpet. You’ve always tried to subside your natural clinginess in fear that it will annoy Remus.

You heel hands wrapping under your arms and you’re hoisted off the floor. “You’re my lost puppy, aren’t you?” He teases, making you giggle. A sound he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life, a sound he’s never planning on losing. He puts you down so your weak legs hand off the edge of the bed. “Would you wait here just a moment please, love?” He says, adoration filling his voice. He steps back into the bathroom and comes back with two washcloths, a warm on and a cold on. He uses the cold one first, wiping the sweat and left over make up off your face. A moment later you take the rag from him so you can wipe his sweaty forehead, too, but you gasp and whine in surprise as the warm cloth rubs between your legs. “I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes and kisses you sweetly. You run your hands over his head, flattening his hair down as you kiss him back, never wanting to stop, and he finished cleaning the mess he had made of the two of you. “I’m going to take these and the other clothes to the laundry real quick, love,” he tells you before kissing your head and leaving the room.

You build all of your strength to get up and go to the closet in search of clean underwear for you both, stopping dead in your tracks when a poorly hidden velvet box in his drawer peaks at you from between the socks. You pick is up carefully and open the box, a ring perfect for you sat in the fold. You cup your hand over your mouth to hide any noise you might make, but your heart is in your throat as it bursts with love, and you couldn’t make a sound if you tried.

“Shit,” Remus curses behind you, having come back into the room silently. He rushes over to you and moves to take the box from your hands, but his hands stop, resting over yours as he looks at you staring at the ring, mesmerized. “You weren’t supposed to see that, yet,” he says and laughs softly, nervous of your reaction because your face is so blank, he can’t get a clue. 

“Then… I’ll just pretend I didn’t,” you give him a small smile, but one that shows him your whole heart. You pull your hands back from his, leaving him to hold the box as you slip on your fresh panties and climb back into the bed. He looks to you, surprised you’re not questioning it, but your sat in the center of the bed with your arms held out to him and a goofy pout placed on your lips as your hands grab at the air.

He sighs happily, places the velvet box unhidden in his closet, and pulls on fresh boxers before climbing into your arms. Your fingers slide into his hair and scratch at his scalp as he lays his head on your belly.

After a moment of comfortable silence and his mind not settling, he lifts his head and looks up at you, seeing your eyes are closed. He calls your name softly. You hum, informing him you’re awake. Remus climbs further up the bed, laying on his side facing you to your left. His hand grazes your cheek as he pushes hair out of your face.

“I love you. I have never felt this much of one feeling before I met you. I’m so in love with you that it terrifies me, and I don’t know what to do. But you’ve changed me, you’ve made me a better man. I can’t imagine a future without you as my wife and with our kids running around. I never knew how to bring it up before,” he pauses a moment, trying to find the right words as he asks you the big question on a sudden limb. “I’ve just been to scared. I don’t know why, because you’ve never done anything but love and support me, and I couldn’t ask for better. I was with Sirius to find you the ring, and try to plan a romantic moment to ask you to marry me, I just didn’t want it to be so close to the full moon.”

You take a moment, considering everything he’s said and your chest swells with love and pride. “What about ‘James’?” You ask, being stuck on the one thing he said. When he pulls away from you completely and sits up, you open your eyes, startled. He’s looking at you with all the confusion in the world. “Oh my god!” You gasp. “That came out so wrong. I meant as a name! Merlin, the things you do to me — beyond amazing — exhaust me. I can’t speak correctly.” You let out a breathy laugh as you look for his reaction, a smile growing onto his face.

“You mean, like, a baby name?” He asks you.

You nod at him, smiling, and his shoulders relax as he lays next to you again.

“No, no,” he says after a moment. “I don’t want the product of my love for you to constantly remind me of my idiot best friend.”

“Okay, so ‘Sirius’ is also off the table,” you giggle.

“What about our parents names?” Remus asks as he turn to you, pulling you into him as his little spoon. 

“So the product reminds us of our parents?”

He laughs at your rebuttal, and you smile. “Good point.” He presses his lips to your temple. “I guess we have time to figure it out.” He sighs in contempt as he buries his face in the back of your neck.

“For now,” you agree.

“So that’s a yes?” He picks his head up quickly to ask. “You’ll marry me?”

You turn in his arms, facing him and grabbing both his cheeks in your hands, purposely squishing his face a little. “Of course, you big oaf,” you laugh and kiss the love of your life.

[goodnightmemes]

DEXTER SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS (PART ONE)

Lines taken from 2x01-2x06 of the show Dexter. Feel free to change pronouns or edit in any way to better fit your needs. Here is part two.

❛ It's not what I want, for what I want doesn't matter. This is the only way I know how to survive. ❜

❛ I really need... to kill somebody. ❜

❛ You're in control of your urges, not the other way around. ❜

❛ Can we please secure this motherfucking crime scene ? ❜

❛ It's not him that you miss. Because what he had to offer wasn't real. The way he made you feel about yourself...That was real. ❜

❛ I'm just trying to figure out some way to feel alive! ❜

❛ This stuff never gets to you? ❜

❛ I'm more of a crying on the inside kind of guy. ❜

❛ This neighborhood? It's full of crazies. I'd lock my doors. ❜

❛ Tons of options: Everglades, alligators, pig farms, sulfuric acid, wood chipper, incinerator. Hell! Even meat pies. ❜

❛ So this is the man who stands between me and death row. ❜

❛ There is no such thing as the perfect crime. Not in my experience anyway. ❜

❛ If I believed in God, if I believed in sin, this is the place where I'd be sucked straight to hell. If I believed in hell. ❜

❛ I'm not so much doing this to you as I'm doing it for me. ❜

❛ Now, it makes sense. That's where you disappeared to at all hours of the night like Clark fucking Kent. ❜

❛ If the eyes were a window to the soul, then grief is the door. ❜

❛ I've been preparing for this my entire life. ❜

❛ I'm sure someone with a heart could answer that question. ❜

❛ You know those words don't mean anything, right? ❜

❛ Get used to food references because... I like food. ❜

❛ I go to stalk a killer and I end up with a new car. How did that happen? ❜

❛ Nothing stays buried. ❜

❛ Everyone in that room has heard or lived far worse than anything you've ever done. ❜

❛ The worst killers are usually the ones who think their murders were somehow... just. Even deserved. ❜

❛ You just hop from one lie to the next, no shame, no embarrassment, you just don't give a shit. ❜

❛ You're lying to yourself if you think you don't care. ❜

❛ I'm not sure of what I am. I just know there is something dark in me. ❜

❛ Things, people, who never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter. It scares the hell out of me. ❜

❛ You were right. I'm sorry to wake you up, but I had to let you know that you were right. ❜

❛ In our most paranoid moments, we fear that everyone is talking about us. That's become my reality. ❜

❛ It makes me feel like the whole world could explode at any moment. ❜

❛ I don't have a badge. I have a laminate. ❜

❛ You haven't got the first idea who you are, have you? ❜

❛ You don't kill this many people because it's a chore. You do it 'cause you like it. ❜

❛ I've always been good with parents. The key is to simply think of them as aliens from a distant universe. ❜

❛ The last guy I had sex with tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Okay, this is the first time I regret not being a bigger nerd. ❜

❛ He asks you a question, I want you to think of your answer first and then tell him the exact opposite, okay? ❜

❛ You know, I've been thinking about you breaking up with me, and, well, I don't think it's in your best interest. ❜

❛ There are no absolutes. No one's all good or evil. ❜

❛ You make yourself into a monster so you no longer bear responsibility for what you do. "I can't help it. I'm a monster. "Of course I was gonna do that. I'm a monster." It's sad and it's pathetic... And it breaks my heart. ❜

❛ You don't think there are monsters in this world? You don't believe people are evil? I'll show you evil. ❜

❛ For the first time, I feel the future might hold something different for me. It's possible I'm just fooling myself, but I'm willing to take the risk. ❜

❛ I suddenly find myself weighing the benefits of electrocution versus lethal injection. ❜

❛ Sweet mary, mother of fuck, that's good! ❜

❛ I never expected to get better. ❜

❛ You think you're charming, don't you? ❜

❛ And you're not the least bit pissed off that this man got away with murder? ❜

❛ Healing is all about focusing your rage on the person that's hurt you. ❜

❛ I'm not the person I'm supposed to be. It's like I'm hollow. ❜

❛ I hide in plain sight, unable to reach out to people close to me. I'm afraid I'll hurt them. Like I've hurt so many others. ❜

❛ If you can't be happy for me, then maybe you shouldn't be here. ❜

❛ You made me into what I am! ❜

❛ If you turn back now, you'll go right back to the way you were...hollow, angry, alone. ❜

❛ I will get you through this. I swear. Just come back to me. Okay? ❜

❛ You ran a background check on my boyfriend? ❜

❛ Imagine that... a life with no more secrets. ❜

❛ Everyone has a moment when they realize their value system is different from their parents'. ❜

❛ Rumor has it you have a knack for attracting serial killers. ❜

❛ Sorry if I was short with you this morning. I'm lost without my morning coffee. ❜

❛ I thought you were different than ____, but you're the same. Actually, you're worse. You made me trust you. ❜

❛ I have been patient and understanding, but there's only so much I can take. ❜

❛ What in the name of fuck are you doing up so early? ❜

❛ When I get pissed, I say stuff I don't mean all the time. "I hate you," "I faked it," "You're hung like a grape." ❜

❛ Stop being a douche bag and go fight for her. She's fucking perfect. ❜

❛ I heard what you said. I just don't take orders from you. ❜

❛ You want to hit me? Go for it. I've been waiting for a chance to take your ass out. ❜

❛ Nobody fucking listens to me! ❜

❛ Last time, you came back covered in blood. ❜

❛ Apparently my new life involves a love triangle. ❜

❛ The voices are back. Excellent. ❜

❛ I've spent years looking the enemy in the face, and I'm telling you ____ is dangerous. ❜

❛ Chin up little sister, these things have a way of working themselves out. ❜

❛ You attacked those people because you wanted to. ❜

❛ All my life, I've done what someone else said I should do, been who he said I should be. I followed his rules, I stuck to his plan. I never stopped to think about what I wanted and what I needed. And now I don't know who I'm supposed to be. ❜

❛ I will kill you. I have to. I just don't need to. It's very empowering. ❜

❛ There was a time I would have done anything to protect ____. I would have even lied. But today I told the truth... even though I knew she'd get hurt. ❜

[choiwrites]

kth | the day after valentine’s (m.)

Words: 4.5k Synopsis: Taehyung, your best friend, had asked you to come over to help him arrange his furniture after moving for the hundredth time. It’s the day after Valentine’s and all the getting laid stuff is over, right? Not for Taehyung. Also, who the hell buys condoms after Valentine’s day? Rating: 18+ Author’s Note: This is a messy drabble that I have no intention cleaning or editing. I wrote this at liek 2am so a lot of typo’s ahead y’all.

When you agreed to come over Taehyung's apartment, you thought he needed help with arranging the stuff that came from his moving van today. But no, your best friend's not the most truthful person you know.

He spreads across his dirty old couch, one he'd kept from his college dorm, wearing nothing but his basketball shorts that holds tight against his waist. Seven years since meeting him, he's done nothing to change his lifestyle. Every month, it's the same old scenario of him moving to another place after getting evicted for God knows how many times, and you watching him play a mobile game while you beg him to please start unpacking before a landlord sends him on his ass again.

"Let me finish this level, I'm so close." He looks for a second to study your reaction, annoyance painted clearly on your face.

You shrug, and your eyes dart over the cigarette pack that almost hides in one of his Goodwill boxes.

"I though you quit?"

Confused, Taehyung follows your eyes and he regrets in an instant bringing you here.

"I haven't had one in two months. I'm stressed lately."

Sighing, you try to understand. Taehyung's been on and off with cigars, he'd buy one in secret but sooner or later, you'd always find a lighter in his laundry when coming over. You advice him to keep his hand busy, and you'd even given him a bracelet that chimes. He removed it three months later and you never asked where he threw it away.

"Fuck," his finger swipes his screen as if he wanted to break it, "I almost got it!" he yelled.

He switches off his phone, now staring back at you. Your eyes fall, he's always intimidating. You couldn't blame him, you were always intimidated.

"What?" you croaked.

"What do you mean what? What's your plan?"

"My plan? Why do I have to make the plans?" Your fingers find the hem of your thin baby blue shirt.

"Because you're the smarter one. How do I arrange all my shit? You got any idea?"

"Taehyung, we've been doing this for ages. How come you still depend on me? There will come a day that I won't be here anymore and the only person you could depend on is yourself." Was it seeing the cigarettes that raised your voice, or remembering that he threw your handmade bracelet? You couldn't care less.

He was quiet. Then he opens his mouth, and he's quiet again.

"You sound like my mom," he says, meaning to tease you as if he hadn't used that for the hundredth time. "Was your date last night that bad? I told you you should come with Hoseok and I on Valentine's, we had an amazing night at Jungkook's crib."

There he goes again, ignorant of your troubles. Classic selfish Tae, the exact same one who stood you up on homecoming because he spent it having sex with Tilly Janes in his car. You're still upset about it, he didn't even think of going inside to give you at least a minute to dance with somebody on the dance floor.

"Mind telling me what happened? Did you get laid?"

"Do you ever think of maybe you shouldn't ask such inappropriate questions to someone?"

"Fine," almost tired in his tone.

And you spend a few more minutes in silence, guessing each other's thoughts with the way both your gaze lands on the floor. He clears his throat and forgets what he's about to say. You wish you didn't cancel your nail appointment today just to be with your best friend who still, in no surprise, doesn't have a single plan in his life.

Taehyung suggests he buys a stock from the grocery first, and when he says stock he means an awful lot of Oreo cookies and Lays. You agreed with him and he gets dressed, though the soles of your feet still hurt from walking in heels for three hours straight last night. If only you knew that Hyungwon would be bringing you to a walking spree, you wouldn't have worn a formal attire.

Taehyung spends his time choosing between peanut butter and double stuff. You tell him to pick the peanut butter one because you've never seen him finish the double stuff, he always throws the leftovers saying it was too sweet. He ignores your opinion and chooses the double stuff over the peanut butter.

He asks you again whether he should buy milk or pineapple juice instead, and you tell him to pick milk because whoever drinks pineapple is a monster. He nods in affirmation, commenting about how pineapple has a really weird aftertaste. And he brings the milk back to the shelf, putting the pineapple juice in the cart.

"You should dress like that." He points at a mannequin dressed in sportswear.

"You don't tell me what to wear, young man. I don't even jog."

"I'm just saying you'd look hotter." He scans you head to toe and your knees weaken a little.

He takes a route to the meat section, you already know why. He just wants to brag about being a vegan. Jungkook had convinced him last month to finally turn vegan, and he's been talking about it non-stop.

"I can't stand the smell of meat anymore, it's disgusting." He pinches his nose, wrinkles forming on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Vegan. We get it." You rolled your eyes.

"No, really. It's making me vomit," he says, nasally.

"Just make sure that once I cook chicken alfredo, your mouth wouldn't water."

Upon reaching the counter, Taehyung approaches the magazines and candy bars, leaving you in line.

What does he need this time?

And when you're up next in line, he comes back with a tight fist, hiding an item as he crosses his arms.

He thought he was sleek, but when he throws the condoms next to the Oreos, you couldn't help but laugh.

"You're buying condoms after Valentine's Day?" You throw your hand to your mouth, suppressing an uncontrollable laughter. "Did you run out last night or you're only getting laid today?" you added.

"Do you ever think of maybe you shouldn't ask such inappropriate questions to someone?"

You sighed. "But seriously, I know you wanna answer that question."

In the mood, you poke at his waist and he flinches like a worm. Taehyung was cocky, but he can be cute sometimes in ways he doesn't intend to.

"I ran out last night. Lucky you who don't need to buy another one since none of your dates ever pass your standards."

You couldn't point it out in what he said that made your heart throb, it felt a little offensive. Taehyung knows so much about you, it can get scary when he opens his mouth. What's he thinking right now? Cute little y/n, no one's ever good enough for her fragile heart. Cute little y/n, always finds a mistake in every part.

"That's not true, you know? I just don't settle that easily."

The corners of his lips lift, eyes rolling in disbelief. He was skinning you alive with that gaze, annoyed. He has a sarcastic smile sprawled all over his face, you just wanna punch it away.

On the way home, you thought about what he said for a second... For a while. You thought about it for a while. Was Taehyung right? Was his perception of you correct? Whatever it was, it did hurt. All you ever did for Taehyung was to be a good friend, and he gave nothing in return. You weren't expecting anything, but deep inside you knew Taehyung loves you just as much as you love him. But like every other person, insecurity gets in the way in relationships.

Maybe Taehyung doesn't even treat you as a friend.

No, you argued inside your head.

Sure, you've seen him in his most vulnerable moments. You've seen him break and you've seen him fall, you've seen him lose the inner parts of his soul. You've seen Taehyung happy, and you will always remember that specific laugh he lets out whenever he pretends something is funny. You know that he blinks when he curses because his body rejects it. He told you about his broken dream of becoming an astrologist, and you daydreamed together about the stars and the way they collide like magical dusts.

Maybe Taehyung doesn't know you like you know him.

Before the thought gets answered, Taehyung was already groaning as he puts the bags down to his counter. You had forgotten you arrived.

"We should start with your room. I'll place your clothes in your closet and you go arrange your miscellaneous."

He doesn't nod. Why won't he nod?  God, please, Taehyung, just agree with me once.

He remains standing with both his hands on either sides of his waist and he does nothing else. Still standing feet away from you, just knitted brows and a stern expression that you couldn't read. What is it this time?

"How was it?" His arms cross on the buff his chest, waiting for a response as he tries to read your reaction the same way you're reading where he's coming from.

"How was what?"

"The sex, y/n. Was it so bad you're in a bad mood today?" A laugh pauses in his throat, replaced by a rise of the corner of his lips.

It was a tug, or maybe a push, in your stomach that made your minds do wonders of spins. Such an unpredictable person Taehyung is.

There was nothing to deliberate inside your mind, nothing happened last night. Hyungwon went home without a kiss on his lips, and you're limbs gave out due to the amount of walking.

"There's no sex. We didn't have sex."

"Let me guess, he insulted your outfit? If not, he probably split the check." His index finger extends, eyes wrinkling to get out any more ideas from his dirty little head.

"Can you just- Ugh! What's with you and your insults?"

"How was that an insult? I was guessing which of what he did didn't pass your golden standard."

"If I had a better standard, maybe you wouldn't be my friend." Ouch. It wasn't directed to you but sometimes you just want to dissolve after saying something.

"I'm your friend because you have a high standard." He wasn't offended, not a single bit from what you have said. Was Taehyung that oblivious of how miserable he is? "If we weren't friends, I'm pretty sure I could get inside your pants."

You hoped he regret what he said, just as much as you wanted to dissipate earlier.

"I'm sorry, Taehyung. But my 'golden standard' would never, and I can't stress this enough, let you get in my pants, in an alternate universe where we aren't friends."

"Lies. Lies. Lies. I could easily get you swooning for me in just a matter of seconds, y/n. Stop, and I can't stress this enough, lying."

"Sure, Taehyung. Whatever you want me to fucking say." You turned your back on him to get a grip of yourself. You grunt, you shudder, and you sighed.

Cocky. Bastard. You could join those words together and it would still perfectly describe Taehyung. Perhaps you have a list of two words that could go either independently or together they'd still describe Taehyung well.

Arrogant. Pervert. Overconfident. Asshole. Striking. Idiot. Son. Of. A. Bitch. I. Just. Want. To. Punch. Him.

He places a grip on your arm to spin you to him. "I want you to say it," with a guttural voice coming from the pits of somewhere within his diaphragm, it's crazy how smooth it escaped from his lips.

"Saywhat?" as opposed to yours that escaped with so much tremble and crisp, thinner than air.

"Consent," he began. "I'm pretty sure I can reach your standard."

It was probably a bad idea. And a bad idea is followed by a spontaneous drive to try it, that's how it's done in movies. You'd probably regret it, right? But you'd regret it more if you don't get a chance to prove Taehyung wrong.

Fine. He needs a wake up call. He needs to wake up from that delusion he'd built inside his towering cocky arrogant head, no pun intended, that he's not every girl's cup of tea.

"You know what? Sure. What do you want me to do? Ride you? Then give you a blowjob after not finding the clit-"

He pulls you, hand reaching your lower back to push his groin toward your front. You were far behind than he was, Taehyung was already hard and eager. His lips were hot, warm around the tip of your tongue that vividly tastes the mint and smoke he had had earlier this morning. It was evident in the sloppiness of his kiss, swiftness of his wandering hands, and blazing fire underneath the lust of his eyes, Taehyung isn't exactly as what you have thought him to be.

The men you've slept with before, they were a floating fish in the sea. But Taehyung brings you sea deep into the weakness of your knees, the floor may have shaken 'cause you find yourself falling on his body and he catches you just perfectly, bodies molding with each other on the floor. Taehyung grips your thigh, to the north his hand traveled, his thumb harshly caressing your slit.

The position made it hard for him to move, he was struggling to reach every part of your body as he would have wanted so he pushed your body, and you look him in the eyes with question, both hands resting on his chest as he continues to play with your clit. He earns a sly grunt from you and he'd do anything to hear it again.

Then he was standing, carrying your body to the nearest stool he could find, desperate and quick. With one sharp thrust to lock you in position, he inhales the moan that went from your lips to his throat. Then he stops. He stopped.

"Moaning already, are we?" He lifts his brow, a crease forming on his forehead.

"Can you just get to it?"

He laughs. "That's not exactly how I always do it. I like to take my time."

You punch his shoulder, a questioning look taking over his features. Embarrassment flows through you. "This was a mistake."

He kisses you again, eating whatever insult was about to come out of your mouth. He wants to whisper it, that thing he have always wanted to tell you, in between kisses. Because now that he's got you under his touch, his tongue is burning just to say it. To distract himself, he digs into your waist deeper, sinking those three little words under your skin hoping you'd realize it.

You pull away, pushing him away from you. "Something wrong?" His nails have left their mark before you could figure out.

"No, no. Nothing's wrong."

There is though. You're not a stranger to not know the look on Taehyung's face. You recognize this one, it happened before. The trembling lips and crimson cheeks. They bring you back the day after prom, the day after Tilly Janes took his innocence.

"What happened last night?" you asked him, arms crossed against your chest.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come-"

"You came Tae. You came hard, didn't you? I can't believe you convinced me to go to prom just so you can leave me in there alone."

"I didn't want to. Listen, okay, I realized something last night."

"I don't need your apology, Taehyung. I don't need it. Jimin took me home last night."

"What? Why?"

"Why? Because some asshole left me without a ride. That's why!"

"I was looking for you last-"

"Shut it. He asked me on a date. So thank God, I'm at least in a good mood today to not flame on you."

"He asked you on a date? Are you going?"

Trembling lips and crimson cheeks. He gulped so hard you heard it.

"I am. Hey, are you okay?"

"I just can't believe someone would even ask you out. I'll be going, forget I came."

It's the same face, the same gulp. You put your hand on his cheek, like what a mom would do to an injured child, and he holds it so you won't ever let go of his face.

"We can stop. I know. This was a bad idea. We shouldn't have done it."

He shakes his head, his other hand creeping behind you. He latches his lips onto yours again, pulling your shirt up to reveal your stomach. The kiss was different, a touch of hunger for affection. A slow open one, mostly the breaths clashing in a soft whisper.

"I want you, y/n. I want you," he whispered to your mouth. You push him to the couch, straddling him and he groans in satisfaction. He pulls you closer, enough for his chin to land on your chest and he looks up in pure admiration of you.

There was more behind the words he said, but with the heat pooling in between your thighs, you couldn't care less as of now. It's something you'll resolve after. He tucks a strand of your hair as he makes thrusts underneath you, the thick cotton of his sweats didn't do anything to conceal his cock aching for you.

You remove his shirt, not being able to take your eyes away from his body. Sweet and honey under your gaze, he tenses them and you couldn't help but laugh at this. Kissing every inch of his exposed skin, you kneel as your knees approach the floor, not breaking eye contact with Taehyung while untying his sweats. His hand fails to fall steady on your arm and his Adam's apple bob in anticipation.

There's warmth that spreads across your stomach, different from the one in between you thighs. It's like electricity that continuously ignites a fire inside you when you notice his excitement, eager to have your mouth around him. A sign of reciprocation that he wants this just as much as you do no matter how hard you try to deny it, a catching fire of the thought that maybe he looks at you the way you look at him throughout all these years. Even now that you're not looking in his eyes, the continuous ignition of sparks inside you still teases.

You reach for his length, softly wrapping it in your hand and his breath quickens along with your heartbeat. Studying every detail, even the cold tones of the veins that spreads like tree roots. In usual occasions, giving head never takes your time. You suck it and finish it, no more and no less, nothing special really. But it's Taehyung, and his difference from others makes you uncomfortable in a way it shouldn't be possible. Trying to forget these unnecessary emotions, your thumb circles the head of his cock and he couldn't help but make his lip bleed, the agony of it keeping him awake to not fall into your dreamy touch.

His shorts reaches the floor and you made it quick to to kiss the base of his glistening length. Your index finger making lines on his thigh while the other keeps his cock steady as your lips move upward. You've never imagined how he would taste, but you were always sure he tastes exactly like he tastes now. Bittersweet. He throbs at the heat of your breath, thighs almost jumping when your fingers find his balls. He emits a groan that strengthens the force you're putting in your thighs to keep your core intact.

Down you go, the head of his cock deepening in your throat just like his grunts, getting lower and lower until he thrusts upwards making you gag and he releases a high-pitched whimper of your name. Tears blur your vision and a moan sends minimal vibration to his cock.

"I don't think... y/n, fuck, I'm not gonna last long," he confessed, and you finally look up to see him without removing him from your mouth.

You tongue swirling still and he has gone rabid trying to control himself, clenching your hair as he lets himself go maniac against your throat. He stares at you with mad eyes, his mouth failing in keeping him quiet. Only his groans, his throat-fucking, and your whimpers that you can no longer suppress. You're a little scared maybe he'll get too confident and tease you on your gagging, calling himself so big he made you cry.

He pulls your hair and he tries to get a hold of himself, catching his breath to gain stability. Before you can wipe the corners of your lips, he was standing up and taking your shirt off. He frames his chin with his index finger and his thumb, making you grow conscious of your own body. He had no reason to be looking so long, he'd seen you in a two piece more than one occasion. And he's going behind you, putting a finger at the waist of your shorts, bringing it down slowly until it lands by itself. He wraps your hair in a pony as the other grips your ass, a throaty growl escaping from his body.

He rotates you to the other side, an empty blank wall where you can see the fool you made of yourself. The argument ends here. The argument has ended since he had kissed you like no one had kissed you. You shouldn't have underestimated Taehyung, because he's now biting your shoulder as he slowly descends you to the wall. He hums, this close he can hear the tiny whimpers you try to keep to yourself, your fragile voice that can break once you open your mouth to say something. He can hear them all and he's aware of the power he has over you.

A hand holds both of yours behind your back, and once he has successfully taken your white underwear off, he's positioning the fat head of his cock right in your entrance.

"Make it easier for the both of us and just say it, y/n," he commands, his breath echoing in your ear sending voltage in your spine. He bites your ear and he whispers again, "Baby, please."

"What?"

Taehyung laughs at your adorable cluelessness. He doesn't answer. The next thing you hear was the expansion of his breaths, getting heavier and heavier it's almost a hum as he slides himself inside you.

"Taehyung," you say in a falsetto, "god, Tae, fuck!"

"Hmm, fucking tight. You're so fucking tight, y/n. Your pussy's taking my cock so fucking well," his knees bend to enter you deeply, this sharp thrust hitting a spot in you you never knew you'd feel, "maybe now you'd let me fuck you often, huh? You're gonna take my cock anytime you want, I'll fuck your brains out, ruin you and your cunt."

You respond with a soft murmur of you're not entirely sure what, because Taehyung was already fucking your brains out and you had no other thoughts but the feeling of his cock that slips in out of you so easily. He'd hit that one spot and you're going to release yet another cry and he'd enjoy every note of it. You're a mess with strands of your hair sticking to your face as the sweat trickle down your temples.

"Tell me what you want, y/n. Want it fast, baby?" He speeds up his thrusts, your ah's getting louder as he almost sends you to your high. "Or you want to cherish every inch of my cock?" He slows down which brings you wailing, whimpering his name over and over until you're no longer sure if it's even coming out right. His free hand lands on your ass and you gasp as if inhaling after suffocation. "Answer me," he speeds up his pace again, "answer me, y/n."

But you couldn't, there's nothing in your body that you trust right now especially your voice. He growls, unsatisfied with your silence which leads him to pulling your hair and pushing your back to the wall. You're almost embarrassed to see his eyes once more in the state you're in, overpowered by the despair of wanting nothing but to have Taehyung take you to your climax. Your eyes are begging for him, hell there were tears coming from them as he enters you again.

He cries out, "I want to fuck you all day long, would you let me do that?" He continues to carry you upward the wall and your weight would go down whenever he pulls himself from you. You nod and as he sees this, his head moves back to watch your body crumble before him, giving him no more than satisfaction. "Look at you desperate for my cock, such a fucking whore for me, aren't ya?"

In every "hm" he makes, he enters you harder and rougher, makes you want to stay silent. You bite your lip, feeling yourself come to a close. Your thighs pulling together like magnets, wrapping his waist while it shakes and he doesn't take one second to land your body on the couch, watching your orgasm hit you with spasms traveling your whole body. Taehyung wraps his cock in his hand, moving toward your mouth as he jerks himself off to his own orgasm. You take the spurts of his fluid landing on your tongue, his waist twitching while he groans for each drop of cum.

He sighs, falling onto the couch where your legs are still apart. He smiles at your nakedness, not giving a second thought as his middle finger enters you once more. Your body  sits straight, only to land on the sofa's arm. "You're so fucking pretty," he commented, his body hovering over yours again. He kisses you.

"I can't handle," you say before Taehyung cuts you off with another kiss, and another, and another, his finger in and out of you which as the minute grows only turns from pain into pleasure again.

"You're going to," he whispers and he kisses you again, until you're crying his name and he just studies the way you react to his slender finger. "So pretty, so, so," he curves his finger resulting to your second orgasm, "pretty." He makes sure you see his savoring your juices in his mouth, and once he was done lapping up his finger he puts them inside your lips, tasting nothing but his saliva.

"Do you get it now, y/n?" He unclasps your bra, and from then on he ignores your eyes. "This is why I run out of condoms."

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 13: On Your Left

Summary: Steve and Katie meet a new friend whilst out jogging, and Steve is sent on a mission to rescue a ship- the Lemurian Star…but it fast becomes apparent that not everyone on his team is pulling in the same direction.

Paring: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Smut (NSFW, 18+)

A/N: We jump forward a couple of months here and slip straight into the Winter Soldier storyline. Credit to @angrybirdcr​ for another lovely edit, and this re-post contains additional materiel- I’ve written the mission out instead of merely skipping over it.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 12 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 End of March/Beginning of April 2014

“Turn it off,” Katie’s voice was muffled from the pillow she had buried her face into as the alarm rang around the dark bedroom. Steve moved slightly to turn it off, but he wasn’t fast enough for his Girlfriend’s liking. “Steve!”

With a huff he leaned over and slapped the offending item with his palm, hitting the snooze button.

“Why is it even set?” She grumbled “It’s not like you don’t normally wake up at the crack of dawn anyway…and who uses an alarm clock when they have a phone?”

“You know, no one makes you stay here.” Steve teased, with a chuckle moving so that his front was pressed to her back.

“You’ve been away for five days, I never sleep as well when you’re not here.” She mimicked his line from the night before in a baby voice.

“And that’s why the alarm is set, because I do sleep better with you.” His arms circled her waist and he grinned to himself as despite the fact she was grumpy and tired she melted into his arms as he nuzzled at her neck, revelling in her smell, her warmth.

“Jerk.” She grumbled. “I mean what time is it anyway?” There was a pause as he continued to simply breathe her in and she glanced at her phone giving a scoff as she saw the ridiculous time on the screen “5:30? In the morning. Five. Thirty…”

“You said you wanted to go running.” He murmured, his eyes still closed.

“No, you said you were going running and I said I might tag along because I’ve eaten nothing but shit whilst I’ve been in New York, which, by the way is your fault…”

“My fault?” Steve laughed, cracking an eye open “I wasn’t even there.”

“Exactly” she muttered “No one to stop me.” “I wouldn’t stop you anyway. You’re a big girl, you make your own decisions…” “Big girl? You calling me fat?” she teased as she rolled onto her back and turned her head to face his, just about making out his features in the dark room. He rolled his eyes, God she was a pain in the ass at times.

“Yeah, you’re huge.” he deadpanned, his hand travelling over her flat stomach and coming to rest on her hip. “Enormous.”

“Ok, well now that we’ve established I need to run, you know on account of me being a hippo, that still doesn’t answer the question why we have to go so damned early anyway. It’s not like we have to be anywhere…” “It’s less crowded.” he shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s because it’s a ridiculous time.”

“Stop being a fucking brat!” Steve laughed and she huffed out breath again.

“I’m not being a brat, it’s just a stupid time to be getting up.”

“I love how full of sunshine and happiness you are in the morning.” Steve muttered as he dropped his head so his lips could gently trail a few lazy kisses down her neck before landing at her collarbone and giving a quick nip, his hand tightening on her hip.

She sighed, her body already starting to respond to his touch, the way it always did, betraying her. 

Damned him and his fucking bastard sex appeal.

“Okay, if you want to actually get up now…” She muttered, as his mouth travelled back up and she rolled her head back to give him access to the spot on her neck that drove her wild every time he found it.  “I suggest you stop.” “I hit the snooze button.” he muttered, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “We got about eight minutes left.”

“Eight minutes? You have a very high opinion of yourself.” Katie replied, tilting her head so she was looking at him, smirking.

Steve said nothing, just cocked a single, mischievous brow at her before his lips met hers, his hand running down from hip to thigh then across, parting her legs slightly. They were still naked from the night before, clothes strewn all over the apartment after he’d been so desperate to get his hands on her.

She moaned gently into his mouth as he slowly sank two fingers into her and her hips instantly bucked upwards, drawing a grin from his mouth. 

“Easy, Baby.” He whispered, his mouth returning to her neck.

Four minutes later she lay beneath him, a quivering wreck and he was right behind her, two shallow thrusts later as he tumbled over that edge with a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as he fell forward onto her. He smirked into her neck when she had finally regained her senses enough to quip that he’d beaten his best time by a full sixty seconds. And sixty seemed to be the flavour of the day as it was almost another sixty minutes before they got to his favoured running spot, the National Mal thanks to the fact it had taken Katie half an hour minutes to locate her running shoes which she’d eventually found in her car.  Steve had seized the opportunity, as always to lament her for the fact she was messy. 

“I’m not messy.” She scoffed indignantly as they walked the seven blocks. “I’m just not as OCD about everything being in its right place, all the time, like a neat-freak Soldier”

The good natured jibing had continued until they reached their destination and walked through the park to the reflecting pool

“How many laps did you do last time?” Katie asked, as Steve stretched his arms upwards, cracking his back.

“Six.” he said.

She looked at him, frowning. “That’s like what? Twenty miles?”

“Nearer twenty-two.” He grinned.  “You want me to keep your pace?”

She laughed “No way, you’ll just bitch at me for being slow.”

“I do not bitch…” “You bitch like a 14 year old girl.” Katie lamented, gently shoving him in his back. “Now go, go on!”

He smiled again, jogging backwards for a second before he set off at a rate of knots. Exercise always made him feel good. Running, boxing, sparring…fucking. Pushing away the dirty thoughts that had arisen to the forefront of his mind, he was quick to find a comfortable pace, his trainer clad feet slapping the concrete.

It didn’t take Katie long to find her rhythm either. Despite not being with SHIELD anymore she had kept her fitness training up, sparring three times a week with either Natasha or Steve in the local gym. She was technically still an Avenger after all, Tony having now fashioned her another Supernova suit which was basically a version of his latest Iron Man suit but in Silver and Blue, the Nova shaped star sported in the chest where the mini arc reactor powered it. She’d given it a trial run whilst she had been back in New York and was just as impressed with it now as she had been with the prototype he had blown up.

Her feet gently slapped the ground as she ran, the sun was rising on the last day of March and it was promising to be a sunny, bright spring morning.

"Hi.” A voice greeted her as another jogger she hadn’t seen before caught up with her and fell into step with her.

“Nice day for it!”  Katie smiled.

“You normally run this early?” He asked “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“That’s because I don’t normally run here!” She smiled “But I just spent 5 days in New York eating crap so…!”

He laughed and held out his hand. “Sam Wilson.”

She took it and gave it a shake. “Katie Stark.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” Sam grinned “I didn’t recognise you. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

As Steve was about to lap Katie for the first time he noticed she was running with another jogger, a black man wearing a grey sweater with short, cropped hair. At one time this would have sparked the green eyed monster in his chest, but not now. Not only did he know she wouldn’t stand for it, but he knew she was just sociable in general. She would talk to anyone given the chance and moreover, she was his girl, he knew that. As he approached them he breathed out an “On your left.” as a warning as he sped past into his second lap.

Sam frowned, looking round and Katie smirked, trying not to laugh at the look on his face as Steve’s frame whizzed off into the distance.

“I never tire of looking at these.” She commented a short while later as they rounded the monument.

Again the sound of heavy footsteps came. “On your left.”

“On your left.”

“Uh-huh. On my left. I got it.” Sam called after him as he entered his fifth lap.

Katie didn’t even try to stop herself this time and she laughed at the slight look of frustration on Sam’s face.

Not long after they were making a lap around the pool at the base of the memorial. Sam gritted his teeth at the wholly unwelcomed sound of footsteps behind him once again, he looked over his shoulder “Don’t say it. Don’t you say it!”

“On your left.”

“Come on!” Sam shouted and Steve allowed an amused smile to spread across his face.

Sam tried his hardest to pick up his speed to match that of Steve’s but failed miserably after only a few moments, now completely gassed out.

“Are you alright?” Katie asked laughing as she approached his hunched over figure, catching her own breath.

“Oh, here he comes…Superman himself…” Sam said gesturing to where Steve was now walking towards them, hands on his hips. He paused at his girl’s side and looked down at Sam.

“Need a medic?” he teased.

“I need a new set of lungs.” Sam chuckled breathlessly. “Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

“Guess I got a late start.” He shrugged, shooting Katie a pointed look. She responded with her best innocent stare, batting her eyelids at him. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention back to the stranger who began to talk again.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.” He scolded jokingly. “Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve smiled, he couldn’t help but like this man. As he looked at him, he noticed the military symbol on his grey sweater.

“What unit were you with?” Steve asked changing the subject and motioning to the man’s shirt.

“Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue. But now I’m working down at the VA. Sam Wilson.” He said motioning for help up.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve held out his hand and pulled Sam to his feet.

“I kind of put that together.” Sam said as he tried to catch his balance. “Must have freaked you out, coming round after the whole defrosting thing.”

“It takes some getting used to. But I’ve had help.” He smiled, looking at Katie who grinned back. “Good to meet you Sam.”

“Yeah, bye Sam!” Katie smiled as Steve gently placed his hand on her lower back to steer her away.

"It’s your bed right?” Sam called out from behind him.

Steve paused and they both turned back around. “What’s that?”

“Your bed, it’s too soft.” Sam went on to explain. “When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground and use rocks as pillows. Like cavemen. Now I’m back home, in my own bed, feels like-”

Steve cut him off. “Like lying on a marshmallow, feels like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”

"How long?” He asked Sam

“Two tours.” Sam responded. “You must miss the good old days huh?”

“Well, things aren’t so bad.” He folded his arms, taking a quick glance at Katie who raised her eyebrow at him, teasingly. “Foods a lot better. We used to boil everything. No polio that’s good.” He paused before making a gesture with his hand. “Internet so helpful, I’ve been reading that a lot tryna’ catch up.”

Sam nodded and then moved his right hand from where it had been folder across his chest and held it, fingers extended. “Marvin Gaye, 1972, ‘Troubleman’ soundtrack.” He said, returning his arm to its resting position “Everything you’ve missed jammed into one album.”

“Ohhh man!” Katie groaned “I love that film.”

Steve nodded, smiling and pulled out the notebook she had bought him the previous year, “I’ll put it on the list.”

“We can download it later.” Katie offered. Steve smiled as he closed his book before he reached into his other pocket for his phone which was going off. It was Natasha.

'Mission Alert. Extraction imminent. Meet you at the curb :)’

He showed the message to Katie who read it whilst he looked over at Sam.

“Well Sam, duty calls. Thanks for the run. If that’s what you wanna call running.” He joked extending his hand.

“Oh that’s how it is?” Sam says amused shaking the offered hand.

“That’s how it is.” Steve responded, laughing slightly.

“Okay, anytime you two wanna stop by the VA. Make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Steve said as Natasha pulled up in her black chevvy sports car.

“Hey guys, anyone know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.” She quipped.

“Hey Nat!” Katie waved at her and she nodded whilst Steve simply shook his head.

“That’s hilarious.” He commented dryly as he turned to Katie. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?” She took a deep breath. “Be careful.” She instructed as she leaned up to give him a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Steve made his way to the car, opened the passenger side of the car and dropped into the seat.

“How you doing?” Sam called with a smile as he squat down to get a better view of both Natasha and the car.

“Hey.” She responded with a small smile.

“Can’t run everywhere.” Steve joked smugly, looking back at the man.

“No you can’t.” Sam chuckled and Steve shot one last look at Katie who waved as Natasha surged the car forward.

Katie watched them go before she turned to Sam.

“Military girlfriend huh?” He teased and she laughed.

“Something like that.” “Fancy a coffee?” Sam nodded to one of the stands parked over on the square and she smiled.

“Sure, why not?”

Sam insisted on paying, despite Katie’s protests and they took their coffees over to a bench, sitting down in the early morning sun. As they talked, Katie fast realised she really liked this man, and he was pretty damned interesting too. He told Katie about his time serving in Afghanistan and how he had chosen, post the loss of his partner, Riley, to leave active service and focus his attention on helping others through work at the VA.

Katie had never really dug into the VA much, but it seemed like it did some pretty good work, helping those Soldiers who needed help adjusting to life post discharges for medical or mental health reasons. Sam confided in her that the DC branch was under threat due to lack of funding, and she made a mental note to speak to Tony about it being something that maybe the Stark Relief fund could look into partnering.

When they both realised they had been sat on the bench chatting for almost an hour and a half the pair of them both, knowing they had other places to be, exchanged numbers and she promised to pass his onto Steve.

The rest of her day went pretty quick, in a flourish of telephone conferences and various other ad-hoc emails to deal with, talking to the editors and Business Development team about potential authors to target. By the time she logged off for the evening it was gone eight. She leaned back in her chair, glancing up at the photos that decorated her office, her eyes being drawn to the one on the shelf of herself and Steve which had been taken at the New Years Eve gala last year. 

Picking up her phone she debated texting him, but she knew better than to bother him. From personal experience, STRIKE missions were heavy going. Instead she decided she was going to break with their usual routine whereby he would come to hers if it wasn’t too late post mission, and she was going to wait for him at his.

******

 “The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: The Lemurian Star.” Rumlow spoke, moving images along a screen as they all stood watching as the jet flew over the Indian ocean. “They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-three minutes ago.”

“Any demands?” Steve asked.

“A billion and a half.”

“Why so steep?” Steve asked, frowning. That wasn’t so much steep as fucking vertical.

“Because it SHIELD’s.” Rumlow replied and Steve took a deep breath.

“So it’s not off-course, its trespassing.” He said exasperatedly, turning to his left and looking at Natasha.

“I’m sure they have a good reason.” She met his eyes, her face not faltering for a second.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.” Steve raised his eyebrows as she looked back at the screen.

“Relax.” She drawled. “It’s not that complicated”

“How many pirates?” Steve looked back at Rumlow.

“Twenty-five.” he replied, once more swiping at the screen. “Top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc” he pulled up a photo of Batroc on the monitor. “Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.”

“Hostages?” Steve pressed.

“Uh…mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell.” Rumlow flashed up Sitwell’s photo and Steve shifted slightly “They’re in the galley.”

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” He queried, an air of frustration in his tone as he pulled on his gloves before he took a breath and issued his instructions without waiting for an answer. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep up after, find the hostages, get them to the life-pods, get ‘em out. Let’s move.”

“STRIKE, you heard the Cap. Gear up.” Rumlow nodded to his team and they all began to bustle around the jet.

Steve moved towards the back, checking his ear piece, raising his wrist communicator to his mouth. “Secure channel seven.”

“Seven secure.” Nat picked up a few more bits of equipment from the shelves, passing a coms device to Evans as Steve walked behind her to the ramp. “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, seeing as all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, I had to settle for a movie and pizza with my girl.” He shrugged as he fit his ear piece, a smile tugging at his face. “Yeah, it was fun.”

Natasha grinned and Evans gave a chuckle as the pilot spoke into his ear. “Coming up by the drop zone, Cap.”

Steve punched the button to lower the ramp before he grabbed his helmet.

“You know, I think it’s cute. You’re like a regular, normal couple.”  Evans said, and Steve turned to him as he fastened the straps on his helmet.

“That’s because we are normal.” He replied, a little louder as the noise of the air blowing through the ramp surrounded them. Steve grabbed his shield and swung it onto his back, the irony of his statement making him smile even more as he walked towards the end of the ramp.

“Yeah, because most people do this type of stuff for a living.” Natasha shot after him and he turned to face her, smirking.

“Well, at least it doesn’t get boring.” He grinned, before he threw himself off the jet.

“Was he wearing a parachute?” Rollins turned to Rumlow who gave a huff of a smile.

“No. No, he wasn’t.”

Steve held his arms and hands out to the side of himself as he was free falling through the air, before he shifted, straightening his legs out below him and crossing his arms over his chest. He speared straight into the ice cold water below and, after a moment to adjust, he started swimming toward the ship, using the anchor chain to climb up onto the deck. He dropped silently over the railings and grabbed the guard who had walked past seconds before in a choke hold, rendering him unconscious as noiselessly as he could. Then he set off at a sprint and it wasn’t long before he encountered two more of the pirates. Using his shield he hit the first one and took him down then sent the vibranium weapon flying once more where it ricocheted off the hull of the boat and took down the second. He caught it and continued running around the side of the deck where he encountered another three. The first one he dispatched with a harsh kick, taking the others down with a quick leg swipe and a harsh punch to the face. The next one he saw wasn’t looking so Steve sped up and used his momentum to shoulder barge him over the side of the ship, before he launched at the next one, taking him down with a swinging choke hold. The one after had a knife, which was slightly more inconvenient, but Steve managed to disarm him and used the dagger he now had possession of to pin one of the other guards hands to the wall as he was reaching up to hit the alarm button, before knocking him out with a kick to the head.

That was how it went for the most of it. Steve ran the entire deck, taking everyone down using his shield, arms, legs, body, any means he had before anyone could raise the alarm. And he was almost home and dry, until he dispatched of what he thought was the final merc, until as he caught his shield, he heard the click of a gun right behind his head.

“Bouge pas!” The man spoke and Steve tilted his head slightly to glance at the man in his peripheral, understanding the words to mean don’t move. So he didn’t, especially not as he had just spotted Rumlow drifting down towards the deck. The STRIKE leader shot at the pirate, taking him down and landed a few feet away.

“Thanks.” Steve nodded to him.

“Yeah. You seemed pretty helpless without me.” Rumlow joked and Steve turned to see Natasha and Evans parachute down onto the deck to join them.

“So you know you said before about things not getting boring?” Natasha asked as they strode across the deck, Steve slinging his shield onto his back. “If you ever need any tips on how to keep it from getting boring in the bedroom, just ask.”

Steve shook his head and let out a groan.

“When you gonna ask her to move in with you?” Nat continued.

“Secure the engine room, then we can talk about my sex life and living arrangements.” Steve deadpanned back

“I’m multitasking” Nat sing-songed as she effortlessly hopped over a set of railings, disappearing onto the lower part of the deck.

Steve set off at a run, vaulting up a few steps, using railings to swing himself onto the higher level of the ship before he stopped just below the bridge, shooting one of Lawson’s listening devices at the windows. He listened in as Batroc instructed his men to fire the engines and then Steve retreated to a spot where he could see Batroc clearly through the window of the control bridge. Crouching down he continued to listen into their conversation, easily able to understand the French they were speaking, one of his many skills picked up in the war. It had come easy post the serum, as with everything it had enhanced his ability to memorise and grasp things like that.

Batroc was being informed by one of his officers about the radio silence from SHIELD and Steve watched carefully before Evans’ voice cut across the jabbers of French.

“Targets acquired”

“STRIKE in position” Rumlow replied.

“Natasha, what’s your status?” Steve whispered into his wrist coms, but there was no reply. “Status, Natasha?”

“Hang on!” She said loudly, and Steve waited as he heard a bit of a struggle before she spoke again twenty or so seconds later. “Engine room secure.”

That was it, they were clear to engage.

“On my mark” Steve whispered “Three. Two. One.”

With that he set off running towards the bridge, leaping up a small set off steps before he flung his shield through the window. He jumped in after it and Batroc caught him with a kick to the chest before sprinting off and kicking his way out of the door. Steve jumped up, wrenched his shield from where it had been wedged in the metal panels at the back of the control room and ran after him.

“Hostages on route to extraction.” Rumlow informed as Steve emerged onto the end of a set of steps. “Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap.” The STRIKE leader continued as Steve jumped down onto the main area of the deck. “Hostiles are still in play.”

Steve looked around before he turned on his heels and started walking “Natasha, Batroc’s on the move.” He instructed quietly into his coms. “Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.”

There was no reply, and Steve was starting to get pissed off at her radio silence.

“Natasha!”

But then, out of nowhere Batroc flew at him with another harsh kick which sent Steve flying, and no sooner had he righted himself, there came another. The two engaged, toe to toe, fists flying, legs kicking, arms blocking and Steve had to hand it to Batroc, even after he knocked him down with his shield, the man was quickly back on his feet. Steve aimed a knee to his gut and flipped him backwards only to see Batroc effortlessly fling himself into several back flips before landing on his feet a short distance away, smirking as he eyed Steve up.

“Je croyais que tu étais plus qu'un bouclier.” He chuckled slightly and Steve cocked his head to one side, chewing over the man’s words… I thought that you were more than just a shield.

The arrogance in Steve won out and he straightened up out of his attack stance. You wanna go, fucker? Fine. Let’s dance.

He took a breath, stashing his shield on the harness round his back, and undid his chin strap, pulling his helmet off. “On va voir.” He said simply, tossing it to the floor, his eyes not once leaving Batroc’s who gave a huge grin.

They dodged for a second or two before they began to fight once more, trading punches, kicks and a few more knees to the gut before Steve threw himself up into the air, twirling his body round into a huge over-head kick, connecting his boot straight with Batroc’s head. Batroc fell to the floor and soon staggered back to his feet, but Steve didn’t give him chance to recover properly. He ran at him, spearing them both through a door, and sitting up slighting, Steve knocked Batroc out with a huge punch to the head.

He took a moment to draw his breath when a voice rang out across the room.

“Well, this is awkward.”

He looked up to see Natasha smirking at him from where she was bent over a computer.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded as he rose to his feet.

“Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into.”  She retorted.

Steve glanced over his shoulder, happy Batroc was still out cold, before he strode purposefully towards her.

“Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing here?” He drew up behind her and glanced at the screens. As it registered what she was doing he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re saving SHIELD Intel.”

“Whatever I can get my hands on.” She drawled, still tapping at the computer as she looked at him, before turning back to the screen.

“Our mission is to rescue hostages.” Steve glared at her.

“No. That’s your mission.” Natasha corrected as she finished what she was doing and pulled the pen drive out of the slot. She turned towards him and smiled causing Steve’s anger to bubble even more. “And you’ve done it beautifully.” Her tone was almost patronising as she smirked, moving to pass him.

At that, Steve felt his temper snap and he grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks. “You just jeopardized this whole operation.”

“I think that’s overstating things.” Natasha stated calmly but before Steve had time to reply a movement caught his attention. Batroc stood up and threw a grenade at the two of them as he ran off. Steve deflected the bomb with his shield before he grabbed Natasha round the waist and hopped up onto the desks. Jumping to another one, Natasha shot out one of the glass windows into an internal office and they dived in just as the bomb exploded.

Smoke, ash and debris rained down on them and Steve gave it a second before he looked over his shoulder and out before sitting back down to take a moment. He was beyond pissed off. Pissed at Natasha and pissed at Fury for not bothering to tell him the full story.

“Okay. That one’s on me.” Natasha breathed out.

“You’re damn right.” Steve grit his teeth and pushed himself up, storming out in anger. Of course, Batroc was nowhere to be found.

**** Steve was that angry about the cluster-fuck of a mission that he didn’t speak a word to Natasha all the way home and yes, he knew it was childish, but he was getting seriously pissed off at the secrets and lies that seemed to be part and parcel of any goddamned mission Fury sent him on. Once back at base he stormed off the jet, ignoring pretty much everyone and simply barking out that they would debrief in the morning.

It was just before midnight when he got home, and as he pulled his bike up into the designated space allotted for his apartment, he noticed Katie’s car was in one of the guest spaces that lined the street. He frowned slightly, she never normally waited at his for him. Not for any particular reason other than he normally spent the hours or so after a mission debriefing before heading home to decompress for a few hours and then if it wasn’t too late he would head to hers. But the more he thought about it now he realised that he had no idea why he did it that way. It wasn’t like she didn’t understand what it was like being a SHIELD operative, or that he didn’t want her at his. 

Knowing that she was there made him smile for the first time since he’d left the Lemurian Star and, despite his various aches and bruises, he found himself taking the steps to his apartment three at a time, his eagerness to see her wiping all other thoughts from his mind.

She was on the couch, bare denim-short clad legs tucked underneath her, and she looked up from the TV as he walked into the living area and leaned in the doorway, smiling softly at the sight of her, hair tousled slightly from where she had been leaning her head against the arm of the couch.

“What are you doing here?” He asked gently as she sat up.

“Decided I’d wait for you.” She shrugged “You complaining?” “Not at all.” He smiled, turning away as he unzipped his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the stools by the breakfast bar before he crossed the room.

“You had a good day?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She replied as he walked back into the lounge. “Vanity Fair have written the article already, if I’m happy with it tomorrow then it’s going to be published this month.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at her tone. She was proud, and she had every right to be. So was he. Stark Independent Publishing LTD had taken off like a rocket and the glossy magazines were queuing up to interview the youngest Stark prodigee. She had declined all of them until the board had suggested she do one interview for Vanity Fair, along with a photoshoot in her office. She’d reluctantly agreed, but had confided in Steve she’d actually kind of enjoyed it.

“That’s fast.” he said, heading back into the room.

“Yeah they’re really pushing for it.” She smiled as he dropped besides her with a groan, lifting her legs up so they crossed his lap. As he did so he jostled the bruised ribs and muscles he’d obtained on the Lemurian Star and let out a hiss, rubbing slightly at his torso. Katie spotted this, as always, and frowned, moving her legs so she was sat up, scooting over to where he was and gently tugged at his t-shirt. He didn’t stop her as she examined the large bruise over the side of his ribs and gently ran her fingers over it.

“Ouch.” She mumbled softly, looking up at him and then tilting his face round. He knew there was a small cut on his temple but other than that and the bruise to his side he was uninjured. “Is this it?”

He nodded.

“So how did you do it this time?”

“I got blown through a window.” Because that was a perfectly normal thing for Captain America to do, Katie merely rolled her eyes and dropped a kiss to his cheek as she stood up “I’ll get the arnica and fix you something to eat”

He loved this, the way she just wanted to take care of him, but he was aware of what time it was too, and he didn’t want her to feel like she had to play the dutiful housewife.

“Kitten, you should go to bed, its late.” He grabbed her hand. “Once I’ve patched you up and fed you I will.” She shrugged stubbornly, tugging gently on his hand and he allowed himself to be pulled up “Go take a shower, I’ll sort your dinner.”

This time he didn’t protest, simply smiled, dropped a kiss to her head and headed to the bathroom.

He stepped under the hot water cascading from the shower and let out a groan as it hit his body, allowing it temporarily to soothe his mind and his aches. He still couldn’t shake his annoyance at how the mission was gone. Suddenly, he was distracted by his stomach grumbling and he realised he was actually really hungry. He quickly washed off before cutting the water and stepping out, grabbing a towel. He could hear Katie in the kitchen as he walked down the hall towards his bedroom where he dried himself off and dressed in a pair of loose sweats and a grey T-shirt.

The smell of food hit his nostrils as he walked into the kitchen, making his mouth water. Her food was always good, he had no idea what he was in for tonight but he didn’t care. As he approached where she was stood, both his hands dropped to her hips and he placed a soft kiss on her neck, an easy sign of affection before he let out a heavy sigh and reached into the refrigerator.

“So, you wanna tell me what happened?” She asked, turning to look at him as he downed pretty much an entire bottle of water before he slumped down at the breakfast bar and explained everything to her. She listened, asked questions, shook her head, and when he reached the bit about the ransom she whistled slightly through her teeth, coming to the same conclusion he had when he heard the demand.

“That’s steep.” she frowned and Steve snorted.

“That’s what I said. Turns out its SHIELDS.“

The microwave finished and Katie moved to open the door, stirring whatever was in there before removing it and placing it down in front of him, along with a plate of his favourite bread. He was silent for a moment as he stirred the hot stew, Ghoulash, before taking a small mouthful to test the heat. Damned she could cook. He nodded appreciatively.

“It’s good.” “You sound surprised.”

“Behave.” He admonished, giving her a look. “You know what I think about your cooking.”

He continued to eat as she stood up and fished about in the cupboard he stored the bottle of Arnica gel she insisted he keep to hand. As he ate, she settled next to him and hitched his shirt up, gently and carefully applying the ointment to his side. The bruise extended from the middle of his rib cage to an inch or so beneath the band of his sweats.

It was relaxing, and he relished her touch and her gentle tone as she continued to talk.

“So did you get the hostages?”

“Yeah.” He nodded in between mouthfuls. “That bit was pretty easy all things considered.”

“So what’s wrong, love?”

She could tell there was more to his mood than what he had told her, and her instincts were proven right when he let out a soft sigh as she continued to rub at his side softly.

“I’m just annoyed Sweetheart.” He sighed eventually “At Fury, at Romanoff.”

“At Nat? Why?”

“She was running a separate mission, which meant the task I gave her to back Rumlow up with the hostages wasn’t done.”

“Fury?”

He nodded.

“More secrets” Katie sighed, feeling a flash of anger. “You know this is exactly why I got out…legacy or no legacy.”

“Tell me about it.” He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl. “We were lucky no one was hurt, or worse. I mean, Rumlow was great, got everyone out but, Doll, how can I lead a team when half of them are lying to me?”

“Nat was just doing as she was told.” Katie spoke softly, trying to deal with each issue one at a time.

“Since when is retrieving Intel more important than people’s lives?”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just saying don’t be so hard on her.” She reasoned, her fingers still tracing shapes on his skin. “She has a job to do, same as you. Its Fury you should be talking to about it.”

“Oh I intend to.” Steve snorted. “I’m going to go see him tomorrow morning after de-brief…”

“Well, at least you’ll get an explanation. I mean it might not be what you wanna hear but…”

She was right, of course. Pushing it from his mind, Steve concentrated on her touch as she was still gently rubbing his side. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment, and was disappointed when she finally finished and let his t-shirt fall down before she stood up to put the ointment away.

“You want any more to eat?” She asked, once she’d washed the arnica off her hands.

“Is there any?” He looked at her hopefully.

She smiled, nodding, and then gave a small yawn which she tried to stifle, but Steve noticed it.

“Okay, I’ll warm some more up and you’re gonna go to bed.” He said, standing up “And that’s an order.”

“Bossy bastard” She retorted. He replied simply with a raised an eyebrow and stern glare as he crossed towards her. She held her hands up, “Okay, I’m going…” She leaned up to kiss to his cheek.

“Won’t be long.” He smiled.

Steve had another bowl of food before he slipped the dishes into the dishwasher and headed to the bathroom to clean his teeth. He turned off the lights, crossed into the dark bedroom and pulled off his T-shirt, sliding into bed behind Katie. His arm curled over her waist, surprise surprise she was in one of his shirts, which did nothing to ebb his growing desire and the twitching in his groin. Hoping she wasn’t asleep, his nose gently nuzzled at her neck, and he was pleased when she responded.

He needed this. Wanted this. Wanted her.

“When you told me to go to bed…” Katie sighed, as his lips gently started their assault on that spot, “I thought you meant to sleep.” “Want me to stop?” Steve practically purred into her neck.

“Didn’t say that.” She replied, rolling her head to catch his lips as his hand crept down her inner thigh. She let out a contented sigh and he smiled against the side of her neck as he traced his fingers over her hip, hand flattening as it crept down and round to the top of her panties, his fingers slipping inside, where he found her hot, wet, ready for him. It was enough to harden him completely as he started to gently tease her, causing her to groan at the pleasure, her back arching whilst his lips continued to kiss and caress her neck.

“Steve.” She moaned softly, her tone pleading. “I want you…”

Fuck, he would never get tired of hearing that. Ever. 

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah. Please Stevie.” He didn’t think he’d ever be able to say no to her. His hand moved up and he gripped at her hip, gently rolling her so she was lay on her back, using his leg to part hers. He guided his shirt over her head, pulled down her panties, before he stripped off his boxers, fingers lacing in between hers, as he crawled over her, pinning both hands above her head as he worked his way into her. They both groaned as he stretched her, and she looked up at him, those eyes locking onto his as he leant down to kiss her, starting up a slow, gentle pace. He moved slowly, again and again, lips caressing hers, then her jaw, then her neck, all the time his hands wrapped around hers, causing her to surrender to him completely.

He kept up that soft, gentle pace, loving her completely. He could tell she was close, he knew the signs well enough now and as she groaned in delight, tightening around him he coaxed her, “That’s it baby girl…” lips soft on her ear.

And then she came, shuddering underneath him, her head tipping back, as she let out a gentle, low, broken moan of his name. It sent shivers down his spine and he continued to thrust through her orgasm, the tale heat spreading across his belly and then he tipped too, jerking and groaning slightly before he fell forward, burying his face in to her neck.

“Love you.” She whispered softly into his ear as her hand ran up his neck, into his hair and he gave a hum of contentment as he regained control of his senses.

“Love you too, so damned much, Sweetheart.” He rubbed his nose up against hers and she chuckled slightly as he rolled off of her. She scooted closer so she could lay her head on his chest and his arm curled round her, large hand tracing shapes on her skin at the bottom of her back as she tossed her leg over his.

“What time are you in tomorrow?” She asked gently, hand rubbing absentmindedly over his chest.

“Half nine.” He gave a sated yawn.

“We can have breakfast together, I made cinnamon rolls.” She muttered through a yawn of her own.

“That so?” “mmmhmmm”

“You know, you’d make a good little housewife.” He grinned, thinking back to his thought before. He knew her response before she had uttered it. “Fuck you.” He chuckled, dropping a kiss to her head and they both fell silent. And his last thought as he drifted off to sleep was just how her being here had made him almost forget his worries.

Katie lay still, listening to the sound of his breathing which grew even as he fell asleep, clearly exhausted. He always needed food and rest after missions, his metabolism drained him. She stole a glance up at him, long eyelashes lay against his cheek as his head lolled to the side slightly, facing her.

“Night soldier.” She whispered softly, placing a peck on his lips before settling down and succumbing to her own tiredness. ********* Katie woke the next morning, tangled in Steve’s arms, his face pressed into her neck as he’d done his usual koala impression. As gently as she could, she moved to check her phone for the time, and found it to be twenty-five past seven, five minutes before her alarm was due to go off. Cancelling it, she glanced back over at Steve who shifted onto his back, the arm that had been thrown around her gently resting on his chest. Smiling, she climbed out of bed deciding to leave him to sleep as long as she could.

Considering what a light sleeper he normally was, Steve didn’t stir when Katie returned following her shower and was still out of it when she finished dressing so she unset the alarm on his bedside clock and headed to the kitchen. She put on a fresh pot of coffee, threw the fresh rolls she had made the previous day into the oven and settled down on his couch, flipping on the TV whilst she quickly scanned through her phone, looking at her schedule for the day. She only had one meeting in the afternoon, and it wasn’t important so she fired an email through to her PA asking her to reschedule.

At about eight-fifteen, there was still no sign of Steve so Katie headed through to the bedroom to wake him up. Any longer and he would be late for his debrief. He was lay side on, facing her side of the bed so she dropped next to him…

Something was tickling his nose, right on the bridge. He gently sniffed, and then soft lips met his. Again, again…Steve made a completely involuntary noise that was halfway between a groan and a sigh as he realised his girl was kissing him awake, before her lips met his and this time he gently responded.

“Hey.” That soft voice greeted him and he smiled, gently cracking an eye open and meeting that emerald green.

“Morning” He said groggily and she smiled.

“It’s almost eight-fifteen.”

He frowned, that was late. “My alarm didn’t wake me?” “I turned it off, sorry-not-sorry” She said with a tone so blasé it made him chuckle “You needed the rest.” She gave him a soft kiss again “There’s coffee in the kitchen and breakfast is ready.” “You know I could get used to this” He rolled over so he was on his back as she rose from the bed. “Coming home to a ready-made dinner, waking up to ready-made breakfast before I go to work. And you.” “Nice to see which one of those is your priority.” She teased over her shoulder as she left him to it.

“Always you, Doll.” he murmured with a smile. But as he lay still for another few minutes, he thought about it more and more. Over the past four months, other than when they were away either on missions or business trips they had spent every night together, either at his or hers but last night, something had felt different to him, more intimate. She’d taken care of his mission injuries, cooked for him, made love to him, and now here she was making him breakfast before she would wave him off to work later on. It was almost normal, what people with mundane nine to five jobs did. And he realised he wanted that all the time, he wanted to come home, find her there, wake up with her, every single day.

“When you gonna ask her to move in?” Natasha’s voice popped back into his head.

If he was honest, he hadn’t given it a lot of thought, it wasn’t something people did back in his time before marriage. But times were different, hell he was different, and as he lay there contemplating it, he realised, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

When he headed through, Katie was sat at the kitchen table, laptop fired up, mobile glued to her ear.

“I know!” Her tone was one of utter excitement. “I mean I didn’t think they would turn out so good…or they’d be done so fast but they’re pushing for this month’s edition…”

He dropped a kiss to her neck and glanced at the screen, pausing when he saw the image. It must have been one of the photos done whilst she was in New York and as he looked at it, he felt his mouth drop open. His girl was stood against a wall in her office in the tower, one leg bent, high heeled foot raised back against the flat surface behind her, palms splayed either side of her thighs as she looked to the right. Her hair was pulled back in a slick, high pony tail, her make-up was heavier than normal and utterly flawless, and she was dressed in a grey charcoal pinstripe suit which cinched in at her waist, with a low cut white blouse underneath.

“Yeah, I know Tony.” She continued speaking into the phone as she glanced up and saw the expression on his face. She pressed a button on the keyboard and it flipped to another picture, this one of her sat in her chair, legs apart, elbows resting on her knees, as she looked beyond the camera, laughing at something. She looked absolutely fucking stunning. His eyes roved the image on the digital copy of the article and he began to read the writing that was next to it.

There are a lot of things you might absolutely hate about Katie Stark. Aged just twenty-nine she has more money than anyone could possibly wish to spend in a life-time, looks and a figure that you would kill for, and a Super Soldier Boyfriend with a jawline that seems to be carved from marble. However, after thirty seconds in her company despite wanting to hate her for all of the above, it was simply impossible not to like her.

Unassuming, accommodating, and with a smile that you simply can’t help but return, she welcomed us into her office and was remarkably humble about the entire thing, admitting that she still wasn’t quite so sure why we were so interested in her. We took the time to grill her on how the first three months of Stark Independent Publishing LTD has gone and what we can look forward to in the future.

Katie stood up and gestured for him to sit down and carry on reading the article. She headed off into the living room, continuing her call, so he read as he ate a hot cinnamon bun. The article ploughed through a load of questions about the book that had launched the business when they published, the fact the company had already registered over fifty-percent first quarter turnover, where she thought the business was going, future pipeline projects, her favourite authors, genre, books, previous role in Stark Industries before she had spent a few years working for a Government Agency following the Battle of New York (no mention of Supernova or SHIELD) and then the final paragraph took a personal turn.

When asked if she would indulge us with a personal question she sighed slightly before grinning and telling us to ask and see if she answered. So we did…

“We know that you’re a notoriously private person, in comparison to your brother anyway, but most of our readers are dying to know…what’s it like dating Captain America?”

“No idea, I’m dating Steve Rogers.” She replied immediately, a faint flush hitting her cheeks as she spoke, all the time fiddling with a delicate yet gorgeous antique looking emerald ring which sits on her right hand, a gift we suspect from the man in question. When asked to elaborate slightly, she bit her lip and simply smiled before explaining; “Steve isn’t just Captain America. There’s more to him than a shield. He’s the kindest, gentlest, most caring man I’ve ever met and he makes me unbelievably happy.” The blush spread from her cheeks to her ears “And that’s not down to the Serum or outfit, it’s just who he is. The fact he’s 6ft2, drop dead gorgeous with a smile I’d happily die for is a bonus.”

Steve felt himself grin as he read the words and glanced at the small photo they had framed the paragraph round. It was the shot of them together that had been taken at the Stark Industry’s New Year’s Gala as they danced. His eyes continued to the final part of the article, this one complete with a picture of Katie and Tony. Katie sat at her desk as Tony leaned over, looking at something on the computer screen. 

When asked about the other man in her life, her brother Tony, she smiled again, another genuine smile, the love she has for her elder sibling evident on her face and in her voice.

“I owe everything I have to Tony. He brought me up from the age of seven, gave me absolute, unconditional love and opportunities I know I was extremely fortunate to have. People have a pre-conceived image of what he is like, and sometimes he can play into that, but to me he’s been nothing but loving and supportive, my father and brother rolled into one and I can’t thank him enough for everything he has done and given me. He backed my decision to open SIP from the off and believed in me and has always pushed me to be the best I can be.”

We couldn’t resist another personal question, so we asked her a little cheekily how Tony had reacted to news that she was dating one of his fellow Avengers, who had served alongside their Father Howard in WW2. Hesitating slightly, she flushed before smirking and answering, a grin on her face.

“How he found out wasn’t ideal, but once he realised we were serious, he was fine about it. I think deep down after my last car crash of a relationship, he’s just happy I’m with someone who puts me first.”

“Do they get on?” At that she laughed. “They have a love-hate relationship. In that they hate the fact they love one another. Tony has these ridiculous nicknames for Steve and he can be an absolute nightmare at times, but to be fair Steve’s quite sarcastic himself too but I know full well that they have each other’s six and, even though they would probably deny it, they are quite close and would miss one another if they weren’t around.”

Steve, grudgingly, had to admit she was right. Tony could be a pain in the ass at times, but he would miss the billionaire if he wasn’t there. Underneath all his bravado he knew that he thought the world of his sister and, despite their initial meeting whereby Steve frankly thought the guy was a dick, he’d fast learnt during the Chitauri Battle that underneath that persona he had a heart of gold and was more like his father than he would care to admit. A fact that Steve was even more convinced of having gotten to know him much better on a personal level over the last two years or so.

Whilst the siblings certainly share a lot of attributes, both good looking, tough, hard-working, Katie has a certain softness to her edges and we challenge anyone who spends time in her company not to warm to the youngest Stark. Stark Independent Publishing has, in our opinion, a very bright future ahead of it whilst it is spearheaded by such an astute and shrewd business woman and we wish her all the best.

“What do you think?” Katie watched as Steve read the article, leaning against the wall, nibbling at her thumb, nervous to see his reaction.

Steve jerked his head round and smiled at her. “I think it’s fantastic. The photos are stunning, the article is well written. Are you happy with it?” “Yeah.” she nodded as she walked over to his chair, standing behind it and slipping her arms round his shoulders from behind “They wouldn’t drop the whole So you’re dating Captain America angle though, so our PR department told me to answer a few personal questions to shut them up. Are you ok with it?” Steve smiled and turned side on in his seat, pulling her into his lap. “Seeing as I’m the kindest, gentlest, most caring man you’ve ever met how could I not be?” “I meant every word of that.” She smiled, rubbing her nose against his.

“I know baby.” He gave her a peck on the lips. “Now I need to go or I’m gonna be late.”

Sighing she stood up as he did the same, grabbing a final cinnamon bun from the plate.

“I’ll be back at mine” She informed him as she walked to the door with him, “I have a few calls to do this morning.” “I’ll come over when I’m done.” He smiled. “And maybe we can do something this afternoon?”

“Sounds perfect”

***** Chapter 14

**Original Posting**

[cordria]

27 and 100

I spent the longest time yesterday turning this over and over in my head today. Instantly, my head jumped to Danny being sick and saving the day, but that’s been done a thousand times over. Then I went down the path of someone being sick and Danny saving them… but that doesn’t honor the spirit of the challenge. Besides, the funnest word in the prompt is ‘accidentally’. And Danny doesn’t usually ‘accidentally’ save someone. So I had to find someone else. 

I jumbled through everyone I could think of, before stumbling upon the greatest idea while I was sleeping. Like a shot out of the blue. Or, perhaps, an upside-down ring. Our very own, our favorite...

Vaguely edited.

-

27+100 (sick+accidentally saved the day)

-

Wes watched dozens of his classmates playing a variety of games, scattered around the park. It was a beautiful Saturday. The sun was shining, the wind was gently blowing the spring leaves, and birds were chirping and fluttering around. Despite the gorgeous day, Wes was in a bad mood. He crossed his arms and slumped down at the picnic table, glaring at anyone who dared come too close.

“I’m joining your movement,” came a voice.

Wes turned his glared at the newcomer, then blinked and lost his scowl for a moment. “Jazz Fenton,” he said, in a grumpy sort of greeting. “What do you want?”

“I told you.” She had her arms crossed, and sat gingerly down on the bench next to him. “I’m joining you.”

Was kicked up the scowl. “I’m not in the mood for-”

“Look, I just got told I was the recipient of a nearly five centuries old curse-” Wes flinched at the look she gave him. The normally cheerful and helpful girl had a dark gleam in her eyes and a scowl. “And don’t you give me that look,” she continued. “I get that you don’t believe me.” She slumped down further, shoulders creeping up around her ears. “Nobody appears to believe me. Figured you’d understand.”

Wes blinked. ��What?”

“Watch.” Jazz leaned forwards. “Hey Valerie!”

The black-haired girl, who was walking past with an ice-cream in her hand, paused. She glanced at them, gazing jumping between the two. Wes squirmed a moment, wondering what she was thinking. “What?”

“Danny’s Phantom,” Jazz said.

Wes blinked at the bluntness. “Wha-”

Valerie cut him off with laughter. “Yeah, whatever. Are you joining the Weston loony-train?”

“Seriously,” Jazz said, a slight frown on her face. “I should know. I share a house with him.”

“Funny. Where is your brother, anyways? He still owes me a movie.” 

“Home sick,” Jazz said. “You know how he quarantines himself every time he gets sick, now.”

Valerie rolled her eyes at that, and Wes spoke up. “Why does he do that, anyways?”

“He brought home a ghost flu once. Nearly contaminated two worlds with a crazy half-human, half-ghost virus.” Jazz leaned back against the picnic table, resting her elbows on the top. “He’s probably making the best choice. What’s missing a day or two of fun when you risk causing a two-worlds-wide pandemic by walking out your front door?”

Valerie gave her an odd look and she walked away, licking at her ice cream.

Wes waited a beat. He recognized the look. “She didn’t believe you.”

“Yeah…” Jazz said, kicking her foot. “I tried it out on my parents this morning. Same look.”

“You’re really cursed.”

“Seems like.” Jazz scowled. “I’m apparently doomed to spend my life knowing the truth but having nobody believe me.”

“I believe you,” Wes offered.

“You already know the truth,” she groused. “You wouldn’t believe me for things you don’t know-” Jazz cut off suddenly, eyes sharp as she sat up. “Valerie is the red huntress.”

Wes raised an eyebrow. “Uh…” He tried to picture the two in his head, the preppy girl with the angry ghost hunter. Perhaps they had a similar silhouette, but a lot of girls had that silhouette. He just couldn’t imagine Valerie being that angry all the time. “Yeah, no. That doesn’t make sense.”

Jazz twisted up a corner of her mouth and shook a finger towards him. “I-”

A blast of light sent them both scurrying underneath the picnic table. There were screams and yells as people all over the park ran for cover. 

“And of course Danny’s home sick,” Jazz muttered. 

Wes watched, heart beating in his throat, as Jazz dug through her bag and pulled out a too-small ectogun. “Are you going to kill it?”

Jazz sent him a dark look. “Not a chance. I’m just hoping it ignores us.”

The picnic table they were hiding under quivered and shook, then it suddenly sank about an inch into the dirt, the boards over their heads shrieking and bending. Wes ducked low, huddling into a ball, and fighting down a scream of terror.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” the ghost roared.

Jazz was right next to him, pale and shaking. “Don’t. Move,” she breathed.

The picnic table sank a bit more when the ghost stomped it’s foot. 

The sound of the picnic table taking that force made Wes flinch. He couldn’t help imagining what was going to happen when the boards gave out. The ghost squashing them flat. Shards of wood impaling them. “If we stay we die,” he hissed back.

Jazz clamped a hand over his mouth with a glare. She pointed at him, then at the ground where they were crouched.

Wes got the message. He just wasn’t sure he agreed with it. Running had to be better than hiding here.

The ghost standing less than a foot over their heads howled. “I will destroy this town, and I will start here!” A huge blast tore into the ground around the picnic table. “I have heard tell of the hunters of this zone from a hundred prey.” Another huge flare of light toppled a tree nearby, sending a cloud of smoke and flames roaring into the air. “Come stop me, fierce hunters, if that is what you truly are!” 

Wes stared at the destruction, sinking into an even smaller ball. Jazz was right. Stay it was. He tore his eyes off a park pavilion that had just burst into an explosion of wood chips and glanced at the girl. 

Jazz was staring at her ectogun, then kept looking up over their heads. Wes’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t possibly be thinking of attacking the thing. Not with that little gun. He shook his head, pointing at the gun.

She scowled at him. “I know what I’m doing,” she breathed.

Wes didn’t believe that for one minute. He’d personally witnessed the disaster of Jazz joining the Phantom team. It hadn’t gone well. “Give me that,” he hissed in her ear, grabbing the gun. She yanked it out of his reach.

There was another explosion somewhere off to Wes’s left, and the picnic table creaked and sank another inch into the ground. Wes felt the blood drain from his face. He was going to die.

Jazz aimed the gun straight up. What was she going to do, shoot through the picnic table? 

Wes panicked. The ghost would kill them! He launched himself onto her, grabbing for the gun. 

Whether he had misjudged his jump, or had anticipated that Jazz would fight more, or the result of an unfortunately timed kick on Jazz’s part… didn’t matter in the end. What did matter was that Wes ended up with the ectogun, and that he ended up rolling right out from underneath the picnic table. He scrambled into a crouch as the ghost turned its eyes on him.

It was a huge caricature of a female Viking warrior - one out of a horrible video game with gleaming armor, huge sword, and miles of green skin. Its face split into a horrible grin, eyes focusing on the tiny gun whining in Wes’s hands. “Are you one of the hunters I’ve heard so much about?”

Wes’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t move.

The ghost aimed its glowing sword at him. “And what do you hunters look like when you’re blown into a thousand pieces?”

“Throw it!” Jazz shouted. 

The ectogun in Wes’s hands had gotten hot. Burning hot. His-hands-were-screaming-in-pain hot.

“It’s set to overload! Throw it!”

Wes closed his eyes. He was going to die. He was going to die. He threw the gun blindly, wrapped his hands around his head, and curled up in a ball just as the last of his blood drained from his head. 

He collapsed, out cold.

--

He heard about how it went an hour or so later, when he was at the hospital getting the burns on his hands checked out. His wild throw had hit the ghost smack in the head, the gun had tumbled into the ghost’s ample armor, and it had exploded. The concussive blast so close to the ghost’s core had destabilized it just enough that the Red Huntress (who had shown up a few convenient seconds after Wes had fainted) was able to mop up the remains without too much trouble. Jazz had been the one responsible for getting his unconscious body to safety and then to the hospital.

Wes wrinkled his nose and stared down at the bandages on his hands. His brother was claiming he was a hero - even showed up to his hospital bed with a balloon with the word ‘hero’ permanent-markered across its face. “Getting your picture for the paper, bro,” Kyle said, using his phone to snap what had to be the worst-looking picture Wes had ever been part of. “You saved our town from nonexistent, invisible monsters! Gonna make the front page in this clown car of a town.”

Outside the window, it was a beautiful Saturday evening. The sun was low in the sky and faint clouds were purpling the horizon. Despite the gorgeous view, Wes was having a bad day. 

He groaned. “Go away. The painkillers haven’t set in enough to deal with you.”

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

yo!!! what are the rfas nighttime routines with mc?

Welcome back to another episode of ‘Sunny is drinking alone and decided to get her shit together and do some requests’ (I am a horrible influence, if you are under the drinking age please be responsible). Anywayyyy here ya go anon! I very well may read this back in the morning and edit it again but will let you know! <3

***

RFA nighttime routines with MC

Zen:

❤︎ Zen’s all about a pamper y’all

❤︎ he wants to stay looking fresh and healthy but bbygirl he also wants to make sure you’re well looked after

❤︎ is it even a nighttime routine if you don’t have an elaborate hour-long skincare regime?

❤︎ well yes Zen not everyone is as extra as you like you might as well be chewing gum

❤︎ if anyone actually gets that dumb joke then i am so sorry but also you get 10 points

❤︎ whilst i don’t imagine Zen to usually be that tired in the evenings, his muscles are always tired after a show/day of rehearsals

❤︎ so he would have a bath but he also gets home pretty late and doesn’t wanna faff around ya know?

❤︎ so shower it is

❤︎ oh you think that because he’s a grown ass man that he could be away from you for like 10 mins to shower on his own? well you thought wrong

❤︎ actual puppy

❤︎ sometimes it turns into ~sexy times~ but most of the time he just enjoys the intimacy/closeness and enjoys it when you take care of each other

❤︎ and boy when you shampoo his hair he literally turns to putty

❤︎ when you get out of the shower he L O V E S to do your hair

❤︎ king of braiding

❤︎ but he L O V E S it even more when you do his hair

❤︎ pretty sure you heard him purr once

❤︎ then he sneezed lmao

❤︎ you’re both pretty much out as soon as you get into bed but you always fall asleep in each others’ arms

❤︎ to conclude: nighttimes are about taking care of each other

Yoosung:

★ so this man FINALLY got his life together once you started dating

★ you helped him find his motivation and drive again so it’s actually a pretty production evening most of the time

★ your goal is to get everything done early on so you can relax properly later

★ soon as you both get home? homework/work straight away

★ you also try to make a habit of cooking dinner together every night

★ but you know how it is sometimes you just wanna order a takeaway and that’s chill too

★ do what you gotta do boo

★ once you’ve finished dinner aND DONE ALL THE WASHING UP (don’t you dare leave it until the morning Yoosung i see you), you play LOLOL together !!!!

★ he found that it was SO much more rewarding to play once everything he needed to do was done, and he didn’t have that horrible nagging guilt whilst he had down time

★ then all that’s left to do is get ready for bed !!

★ …

★ …Yoosung?

★ GO TO BED FOOL

★ “mC oNe MoRe gAme” “you said that an hour ago.” “i MeAn iT tHiS TiMe”

★ EVENTUALLY you drag him to bed but he’s always grateful when you do because he only realises how tired he is when his head hits the pillow

★ and he also gets  s n u g g l e s  so it’s always worth it

★ to conclude: nighttimes are productive but also relaxing

Jaehee:

☞ this poor woman works so hard

☞ even when she quits working for Jumin and you guys open the coffee shop, she still always pushes herself to the max

☞ ya girl gets tired

☞ so you know what that means

☞ BUBBLE BATH TIME

☞ some things only bubbles can heal

☞ wow what that’s so deep Sunny ah yes wasn’t it thank you Sunny aren’t i inspirational yes you are Sunny

☞ you two always go a but overboard with the bubbles lmao but this woman only deserves the best o K

☞ similarly to Yoosung’s, you guys like to get everything done that needs to be done before you relax, so once you get out of the bath you can do whatever ya want!!! how swell is that!!!!

☞ usually end up watching a movie/one of Zen’s musicals because why not hmm?

☞ Jaehee likes to get an early night, so y’all are all snuggled down and ready to sleep at a reasonable hour, ready for your shift in the morning

☞ on a serious note, this woman is pretty affection starved so you make it your MISSION to shower her with love before she falls asleep

☞ i’m talking kisses, cuddles, the whole shebang

☞ when you’re cuddling you like to have a good gossip about the RFA and all that and you always end up all giggly and it’s just the best

☞ to conclude: every night is like a teenage girly night in that she never got to experience

Jumin:

♚ although he doesn’t like to show it, he’s always exhausted after work

♚ he has a lot of pressure on him and he constantly has to be focussed and alert, so by the time he’s walking through the front door he’s running on very little energy

♚ therefore he appreciates a quiet night with the love of his life <3

♚ of course, every night you have a nice meal and a glass of wine W I N E and chat about your day

♚ Jumin has learnt to appreciate the smaller things in life after meeting you, so he adores listening to your voice as you talk about what you got up to that day during dinner

♚ you could be reading the phone book out loud for all he cared, he just loved listening to your voice

♚ he’s usually too mentally tired to do anything like reading in the evening, so most of the time you end up either watching a film or cuddling on the couch

♚ you have enlightened him to the concept of slouchy clothes

♚ yes, Jumin Han has learnt to appreciate joggers and a hoodies what about it?

♚ honestly just the sound of Elizabeth purring and your breathing is enough to bring his stress levels to 0

♚ he’s tried meditation, he’s tried mindfulness, but nothing was as healing as having you in his arms whilst you stroked his hair

♚ after you’ve done the essentials like showering and brushing your teeth and all that jazz, you get into bed and just talk

♚ normally you end up talking about your future, and he goes to sleep every night dreaming about the life you will have together, and then wakes up every morning excited to make that life a reality

♚ to conclude: nighttimes are for recovery and comfort

Saeyoung:

☀︎ honestly? every night is different lmao

☀︎ Saeyoung is a spontaneous guy, so no evening is the same when you’re with him

☀︎ which is amazing, because it keeps things exciting and fresh !!

☀︎ however, there are a few things that don’t change

☀︎ like fAMILY DINNER Y’ALL

☀︎ every. night. without. fail.

☀︎ it’s SO important to you guys that you have time to catch up with each other and make sure that Saeran feels a part of the family because sometimes he likes to hideaway and doesn’t know how to include himself

☀︎ so dinner time is the family bonding time, and then you go back to doing your own thing

☀︎ do you find brushing your teeth boring? do you wish you could make it more fun? do you have a energetic red-head in your life?

☀︎ well then LISTEN UP

☀︎ TEETH BRUSHING DANCE PARTY

☀︎ EVERY. DAMN. NIGHT.

☀︎ like is said, this man keeps you on your toes lmao

☀︎ is this a bathroom or a nightclub the world may never know

☀︎ did someone say cuddle monster??

☀︎ because that’s Saeyoung lol

☀︎ idek why but i always imagine Saeyoung to be very physically affectionate, and not necessarily in a ~sexy~ way

☀︎ he just really appreciates physical contact

☀︎ it grounds him and reassures him that you’re really there and really love him

☀︎ I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN IT’S A HUGE PROBLEM

☀︎ to conclude: every night is exciting and spontaneous, there’s never a boring night with Saeyoung

V  / Jihyun:

❁ V is also a man that appreciates a quiet night in

❁ he’s had so much chaos and drama in his life, that quiet domesticity is utter bliss to him

❁ evenings are typically spent in a companionable silence whilst you do your own thing

❁ reading, drawing, whatever! there’s just something so comforting to him about being with you, without even needing to talk

❁ music has become an VERY important part of your lives

❁ we all know that Jihyun is a man who appreciates the arts, and music is no exception

❁ he’s had a stressful day? he’s feeling overwhelmed? put on some soothing music and you can actually see the tension melt away

❁ always trying out new recipes for dinner

❁ most of the time they turn out delicious, but some are just complete abominations i am so sorry

❁ but really? it doesn’t matter because you made them together and you had a good laugh about them

❁ one thing that you recently started doing was reading together in bed

❁ and i don’t mean reading two separate books oh no no no

❁ i’m talking the same book

❁ what a plot twist

❁ every night you take in turns to read out loud to each other

❁ it takes a while to get through book this way, but it also mean that you both appreciate every damn word because how could you not when they’re coming from the literal love of your life??

❁ to conclude: nighttimes are spent in quiet bliss

Saeran:

☽ every evening begins with a walk

☽ it’s a must

☽ Saeran just l o v e s nature, and it’s the perfect start to a relaxing evening

☽ Saeyoung picked up on the fact that you both like evenings to be a calm time, so when you two get home he tries not to be too crazy

☽ but we all know this bitch is out of control so it doesn’t last long lol

☽ Saeran secretly finds it so entertaining but bless he would never admit it

☽ Saeran finds a pleasure in the ordinary

☽ he has never experienced ‘normal’, so he finds so much comfort in everyday activities such as washing up, cooking, setting the table…things like that

☽ he hasn’t had much time to form his own hobbies/interests, and is still experimenting to find things that he enjoys

☽ so he loves watching you do your hobbies

☽ it really doesn’t matter what it is, he just finds watching you concentrate on something you care about so fascinating

☽ often you will offer to teach him and share your interests, and his face always lights up when you do so

☽ this precious boi i cry

☽ he just loves to learn i C R Y

☽ when it comes to showering and all that, he prefers to do that alone

☽ don’t get me wrong, he adores you and cherishes every moment he spends with you

☽ but he’s easily overwhelmed and needs time to himself

☽ it’s also important to him that he’s able to care for himself, so something as simple as washing his face on his own helps him feel like he has some control

☽ to conclude: nighttime is the time for self-care and exploration

***

Thank you so much for the request, anon! I hope these were what you were looking for. Have a wonderful day💛

[when-a-humble-bard]

what my heart just yearns to say

Word Count: 5575

summary: Jaskier’s a romantic at heart. So you would think he falls in love at first sight. But... when he falls in love with Geralt, he falls very, very slowly. Or, ten moments where Jaskier falls a little bit more in love with the Witcher, until he's really not sure when it started in the first place.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, injuries, vomiting, mentions of death, nonconsenual almost-groping by a patron, shipping lens on a canon scene, near-drowning, cursing (of course), first kisses, feelings confessions, Jaskier yearns so much oof

A/N: In which I continue to be amazed by the other creators in this fandom, inspired by them, and also wanted to further explore these two. I hope you enjoy it! A companion piece is in the planning stages already... Heh. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3

...

I.

“They said it’s a water nymph?” Jaskier asks the Witcher one evening.

A fire crackles in front of them, sparks shooting up into the night sky. Stars peek between the breaks in the forest canopy above them. Geralt glances at the bard, then sighs and turns his attention back to the fire.

“That’s what they said.”

“But you don’t buy it,” Jaskier says. It’s not really a question. He can tell from Geralt’s tone.

Geralt’s lips press into a thin line. “Rusalki and some bruxae share a number of similarities in terms of appearance. The rusalki they described has pale skin and dark hair.”

Jaskier’s fingers twitch with the sudden desire to grab his notebook. “And… rusalki don’t look like that?”

“They can,” Geralt replies, glancing at him, “but so can bruxae. They also have similar tastes in prey.”

Jaskier purses his lips as he remembers what the townspeople had told them. “Men.”

Geralt nods. “Which is why you’re going to stay here with Roach tomorrow.”

Jaskier glances over towards the horse grazing a few yards away, then looks back at the Witcher. “So what’s the difference?”

He doesn’t know if the question tumbles past his lips because he’s genuinely curious about the answer or because he just really likes hearing Geralt talk. The Witcher’s subdued cadence was stubbornly persistent. Often when Jaskier made a concerted effort to engage Geralt in conversation, his responses were brief, clipped, and straightforward. A staccato drum against Jaskier’s lilting melody.

But apparently, Geralt was a fountain of willing knowledge when it came to monsters. And Jaskier could listen to him for hours.

Geralt’s brow quirks in surprise at the question. “To start with, bruxae are of the vampire family. They lure men to their death so that they may feed on their blood. Rusalki are, usually, much more amenable. They lure men to them for procreation, and rarely intend death.”

Jaskier’s brow furrows. “Which is why you think it’s not rusalki. You think it’s a bruxa.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier feels something twinge in his chest. “How do you kill a bruxa?” He tears his gaze towards the fire as he feels Geralt glance at him.

“They’re susceptible to silver, like most monsters. Igni is also useful. Bruxa tend to hunt in packs, so its unusual that the villagers here have only seen one.”

“Have you fought them before?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nervous? About tomorrow?”

A pause. “No.”

Jaskier huffs and offers a faint, uncertain smile. “That makes one of us.”

“I told you you’re not coming with me.”

“Yes, but that’s quite beside the point, isn’t it?” Because Jaskier isn’t nervous about himself.

Geralt’s head snaps over to the bard in surprise. “Jaskier—”

Jaskier waves him off. “So tell me, dear Witcher,” he says, because he just wants to hear Geralt talk as much as he can tonight. “Why does silver work so well on monsters?”

 II.

Jaskier watches him. The early spring air tugs gently at the loose strands of his white hair. Birds twitter happily in the canopy above them. The stream nearby is still. Mid-morning sunlight filters through the leaves and branches, leaving a mosaic of light around them.

Geralt breathes.

Kneeling in a patch of grass with his hands resting on his thighs, the Witcher has his eyes closed and just… breathes. Jaskier watches the steady rise and fall of his chest. The way it expands with each inhale, the way the ever-present tension in Geralt’s shoulders eases just the slightest bit with each exhale.

Jaskier knows he’s not asleep. Sleeping and meditating are different things. But he thinks that Geralt actually looks more peaceful like this. Jaskier had spent many nights in the bedroll near the Witcher and knew all too well that when Geralt slept, it was usually fitfully. But when he meditates like this…

Geralt is still.

Jaskier can’t help but feel like he’s getting a rare glimpse at who Geralt was—is—beneath the layers and layers of training and mutations. He knew Geralt didn’t regret what he went through to become a Witcher. At least… not exactly. Can you regret something that wasn’t your choice to begin with? Had been his rhetorical response when Jaskier had been brave enough to ask him one evening. But the bard knew that no amount of trials and training could erase the parts of Geralt that was still—sometimes painfully—human. Geralt held within himself a carefully balanced dichotomy that seemed, at least to Jaskier, to be a storm built on regret and guilt and (in his darker moments) self-loathing.

But watching Geralt meditate—the steady breath, the perfect stillness—makes the bard wonder if the storm metaphor isn’t quite accurate. Because really, when Jaskier thinks about it, Geralt’s humanity is perhaps more like the coastal waves. Relentlessly returning to the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

Jaskier watches Geralt meditate and feels something tighten in his chest. He’d follow that tide to the end of the earth, he realizes. He’d call the waves back to shore for as long as Geralt would let him.

Geralt’s eyes blink open and Jaskier unapologetically meets his gaze.

He arcs his eyebrow. “Composing, Bard?”

Jaskier offers a small, sincere smile. “Something like that.”

 III.

“I’d rethink that move.”

If he’s being honest, Jaskier is almost as surprised as the patron when Geralt seems to materialize out of the crowd and grab the man’s wrist in a vice-like grip. The man’s other hand is still fisted possessively in the waistband of Jaskier’s trousers, uncomfortably close to his crotch.

“What,” the patron spits with a sneer full of rotting teeth, “unwilling to share your whore, Butcher?”

Jaskier grimaces. Butcher made his skin crawl, and he knows that Geralt didn’t take kindly to that term either. The bard had learned that very early, and very quickly.

Geralt growls low in his throat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Call him that again and I’ll slit your throat.”

The threat makes Jaskier freeze instinctively. Call him that again… Him.

As in Jaskier.

The patron roughly lets go of the bard, who stumbles a step from the suddenness of the motion but still hasn’t taken his eyes off Geralt. In truth, Jaskier really hadn’t been particularly bothered by the term itself. He’d been called it before, and been called much worse than that several hundred times over. But Geralt took issue with it, evidently.

Geralt was defending him. He’d never had someone who’d done that before. Not even his own family.

“Not worth it,” the patron says gruffly. Geralt releases him with a shove to send him stumbling away from Jaskier. He staggers a few steps, muttering something under his breath. Jaskier doesn’t hear it clearly—something about his voice and screaming as pretty as he sings—but Geralt evidently does hear it, quite clearly. Something bright and furious ignites in his gold eyes.

“Geralt,” he says quickly but quietly. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

For a moment, the Witcher looks torn. Jaskier places a hand on his forearm, and Geralt levels a withering gaze on the other man. He rushes through the crowd and out the tavern. It’s not until the door closes behind him that Geralt turns his attention back to the bard. The hot anger in his eyes evaporates slowly into something that Jaskier almost wants to call… soft. His gaze flickers—quick and calculating—over Jaskier’s form. Looking for signs of injury.

Geralt’s gaze meets his again in a silent question. Jaskier offers a reassuring smile and slight nod in answer. I’m okay.

Geralt shakes his head, but Jaskier doesn’t think he’s imagining the tinge of relief under the veil of exasperation. “You really ought to learn some self-defense, Jaskier.”

Jaskier offers an affronted scoff. “I can defend myself perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Hmm.”

“I can! I’ll have you know, he is hardly the first over-enthusiastic fan I’ve dealt with.” Jaskier tries not to wince at the way Geralt’s expression darkens, and rushes of add, “And I’ve fended off unwanted advances just fine. He just happened to be particularly, ah, insistent.”

“Hm. And what happens when you can no longer talk your way out of such situations?”

Jaskier’s flippant smile wavers, then stays in place. “Are you offering to teach me, Geralt?” He’s mostly joking.

“Yes.” Geralt’s answer is immediate and unflinching. Jaskier tries not to think too long about why that sends a flutter through his stomach.

 IV.

The kitchen of the small house on the outskirts of the town has barely enough room for the three of them. Geralt, beside him, reeks of death and decay and monster guts. In front of them, the young boy—who couldn’t be older than 16 by Jaskier’s best guess—hoists his baby sister up further onto his hip.

“Truly, Witch—ah, Geralt?” At Geralt’s slight nod, the teen smiles. “Truly, Geralt. Thank you. I, um…” he trails off, turning to rifle through a drawer behind him. The middle sibling, a young boy of about six, runs around the corner and nearly barrels straights into the two of them in the entryway.

“Oi!” the teen snaps. “Slow down, will ya?”

“Sorry,” the younger boy mumbles, and then is off like a flash the moment Geralt takes a step to the left to let him through.

His brother watches him with a certain fond exasperation, even as embarrassment colors his cheeks. “Too much energy for his own good,” he says. Jaskier realizes then that he has a small pouch in the hand that isn’t supporting his baby sister’s weight. He extends it out to the Witcher. “It’s not much. Certainly not nearly enough for disposing of the monster that took our parents, but...”

Geralt shakes his head, making no move to take it. “No payment necessary.”

Jaskier glances at him and feels something unexpectedly soft warming in his chest.

“Please,” the teen says. “I insist.”

“Keep it.”

“My father taught me to never accept charity.”

Jaskier thinks of the empty cupboards around them in the kitchen and feels a small tug in his gut. He remembers all too well singing for literal scraps. Barely surviving. He knew desperate times. And he also knew that some people still ranked their pride higher. The bard figures he can’t really fault him for it, and besides, the poor kid had just lost the very father he’d spoken of. Grief did funny things to people.

Geralt stares at the boy for a long moment. Jaskier sees the tension work in his jaw before he holds a hand out and lets him deposit the coins into the outstretched palm. Twenty ducats fall from the piece of cloth.

“It’s all I have—” he begins apologetically.

“It’s plenty,” Geralt interrupts, folding his fingers over the paltry sum. It does not escape Jaskier’s attention that he doesn’t slip the coins into his own pouch.

The infant in the teen’s arms shifts and makes a distressed noise. “I… I should put her down for a nap, I think.”

Jaskier can hear the uncertainty in the boy’s voice and offers an encouraging smile. “We’ll see ourselves out. I’m sure a bit of rest is exactly what she needs. As a matter of fact, I could use a nap myself.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but Jaskier sees the relieved smile pull at the boy’s mouth. “Right. Well… Thank you. Again. I… thank you.”

He disappears up the rickety wood stairs. On their way out, Jaskier sees Geralt discretely drop the ducats into a partially-opened drawer by the entrance to the kitchen.

That soft, warm feeling in Jaskier gives an aching, happy tug.

 V.

Jaskier watches, fascinated, as Geralt’s eye twitches. The music that fills the tavern is not coming from Jaskier, and while the other bard is clearly less experienced, Jaskier seems less bothered by the amateur display than the Witcher. Which is odd—really odd—to Jaskier. Because he had been certain that Geralt really couldn’t give a rat’s ass about music.

Jaskier looks at the Witcher over the top of his wine glass as he takes another sip. “What’s troubling you, Geralt?”

Geralt settles an irritated golden gaze onto Jaskier as the bard (the other one) starts another song. It takes only a few seconds for Jaskier to realize it’s the same simple, mundane chord progression and structure as the last song played. Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt’s gaze flickers lightning quick to the lute beside him.

Jaskier stifles a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re already missing my serenades.”

Geralt isn’t looking back at him, instead watching the other bard parade around the room with a look that is very nearly a glare. “At least your songs have some… complexity.”

That sends a very unexpected surge of warmth through Jaskier’s chest. He sits up a bit more, leaning forward. “Musically or lyrically?”

“Music,” Geralt replies, almost absently. “The… chords?” The Witcher’s gaze flickers uncertainly to Jaskier, who can’t help but feel like he’s clinging to every word. He gives Geralt a slight, encouraging nod. Geralt shifts. “They’re better than this shit.”

Jaskier stares at him. Sure, the Witcher didn’t have the same musically-inclined vocabulary, but even that couldn’t hide the fact that Geralt listens to his music. Really listens.

Geralt tears his gaze away from Jaskier’s after a moment, taking a long pull of ale from the tankard in front of him. “Your lyrics,” he continues, “are little more than inaccurate stories.”

“Ah, my dear Witcher, ordinarily I would balk at such a baseless accusation—”

“It’s not baseless.”

“—but you cannot hide the fact any longer.” Jaskier cannot contain the grin that pulls at his lips any more than he can contain the surge of a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest. He points a finger at Geralt. “You listen to me.”

Geralt looks back at him and—though he knows Geralt would deny it—Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Impossible not to,” Geralt replies dryly, “what with you filling every damn second with song.” He takes another swallow.

The thinly veiled deflection does nothing to diminish Jaskier’s smile. “And you like it.”

This time, Geralt can’t quite contain the tilt to the corner of his mouth. “Hmm.”

Jaskier knows it’s a hum of agreement.

 VI.

Jaskier’s heart still hasn’t stopped pounding, even though they’d finished the treacherous part of the shortcut around an hour ago. The image of Borch, Téa, and Véa plummeting—their bodies disappearing into the mountain mist below—still leaves Jaskier with a slight roll to his stomach and an ache in his bones that had nothing to do with the long day of foot travel.

It’s close to dusk. The chill of evening mountain air begins to stiffen the bard’s fingers as he sets his lute down beside his bedroll. The dwarves busy themselves with setting up camp and starting to prepare a meal, but Jaskier can’t help the way he keeps watching Geralt.

Geralt, who hadn’t said a thing since Borch let go of the chain.

Jaskier kneels by his bedroll and pretends to adjust it, but he watches the Witcher sitting on a boulder a few yards away. He gazes out over the jagged terrain off the cliffside. He is still. But Jaskier feels his chest knot with concern.

Geralt was perhaps the single most selfless person that Jaskier had met in his 40 years of living. But that came with its pitfalls too—especially as it related to how Geralt tended to view himself. There had always been splintered shards in Geralt’s soul that Jaskier didn’t know how to begin to dig out. But he can still picture the way Geralt had stayed kneeling for a moment on those wooden planks, his head bowed like the weight of the world had—for just a moment—dropped on top of him.

Jaskier fears he knows that body language, and the weighted silence that had followed that moment. He fears that his 22 years of traveling with the Witcher means that he really does know Geralt. And that Geralt feels that he has let them down somehow, despite all he did to try to save them. Even at great risk to himself, Jaskier remembers with a bit of a wince, hearing the creak of those boards under Geralt’s feet.

The Witcher could never catch a break, it seemed.

With a sigh, Jaskier stands and crosses to him. Geralt makes no move to acknowledge his presence, not really, but his stillness is a sign of recognition in and of itself. The bard sets himself carefully, gingerly, on the boulder beside him.

“You did your best,” Jaskier tells him softly, the words managing to push through his slightly tight throat. “There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Jaskier looks at Geralt as he says it. The Witcher had spent more years constructing a mask of passivity and stoicism than Jaskier had been alive, but the bard knows him. And when he sees Geralt’s gaze drop by a few degrees, he knows he’d been right about where Geralt’s thoughts had been.

Something in Jaskier’s chest pulses with an ache that he cannot name. Geralt has carried too much for too long and Jaskier desires fervently to ease that burden. To find a way to let Geralt breathe and be and exist without quite so much heaviness.

“Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow?” he offers, his fingers fidgeting in his lap against the sudden desire to take Geralt’s hand. “That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travel companion.”

It’s a weak, flimsy attempt for a smile. Geralt doesn’t, but there’s just the slightest tug at the corner of his mouth when he hums in response. Geralt glances at him briefly, and though Jaskier doesn’t meet his gaze, that aching in his chest gives a sharp lurch with hope.

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while,” he adds softly. He’d never said the words aloud before, but they resonate with a certain familiarity. “Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? ‘Life’s too short. Do what pleases you… while you can.’”

Jaskier swallows, setting his hands on his thighs because they are only getting more fidgety with each pulse of that sharp warmth in his chest—more insistent now. Harder to ignore.

“Composing your next song?” Geralt rumbles quietly.

Jaskier looks down at his hands. “No, I’m just, ah—” I love you, he thinks without daring to look at him. “Just trying to work out what pleases me.”

 VII.

They’re half a mile out of town when it starts to rain. The starting sprinkle lasts just long enough for Jaskier to think he’s glad he invested in a case for the lute before the sky opens up and it starts to pour. Then he’s also glad he bought some decent boots at the last town they were in.

“Fuck.” Jaskier knows that tone. Geralt is annoyed. The bard glances at the Witcher beside him, a faintly amused smile pulling at his lips and a teasing quip on his tongue, but… it dies on his tongue .

Because Geralt meets his gaze, and for a moment, Jaskier forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t know why, really. The rain soaks Geralt’s white hair, causing some of it to fall into the man’s face in damp, loose strings. His dark shirt is quickly becoming plastered to his broad shoulders from the downpour, having left his armor to be cleaned during their quick trip to the woods to collect some medicinal herbs. Jaskier thinks it’s something about the Witcher’s eyes. Maybe it’s something to do with the way water droplets cling to his lashes. Or the way his golden eyes seem so much brighter in the downpour. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Jaskier is a man of many words and many metaphors. But he finds words failing him entirely now, and he can’t explain why. Except that he’s left with the sudden, clear sense that looking at Geralt feels a lot like being called home.

Geralt tilts his head slightly, the way he usually did when he was about to ask a question, but Jaskier blinks and jumps in before he can.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt? We still have half a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” Jaskier shakes his head. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looks away from Jaskier then, squinting briefly up at the sky. Not squinting, Jaskier realizes after a beat. Glaring.

“Not a fan of the rain?” he asks, mostly rhetorical. Geralt rarely vocally complained—usually Jaskier did it enough for the both of them—but the slight crease between his brows is a familiar look of displeasure. Jaskier pulls the lute case off his shoulders and shrugs out of his doublet.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he slings the lute case back around his shoulder. “You left your cloak back at the inn, and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He hands the purple doublet out to him, looking very pointedly down the road where they can just barely make out the silhouette of the edge of the town.

“Jaskier…” A hesitation. A surprisingly heavy one.

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier looks back at the Witcher then to flash him a smile.

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, then takes the garment. As he does so, Jaskier swears he sees a twitch to the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

The bard quickly spins around and rushes a few steps in front of him, arms outstretched to welcome the rainfall, feeling a little breathless again.

 VIII.

Jaskier jolts to awareness with a desperate, strangled gasp. Bile surges up his throat and he barely has the wherewithal to roll away from the person beside him—whose presence is more sensed than seen. Jaskier groans and shuts his eyes against the rolling nausea and the oddly briny taste it leaves in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He feels a hand rest between his shoulder-blades, so gently it almost seems hesitant.

When Jaskier takes a breath, it trembles. More bile—salty and acrid—rushes up his throat. When the second round of nausea abates and the coughing that wracks his lungs eases, Jaskier feels something cool and smooth pushed against his lips. He instinctively jerks away.

“Damn it, Jaskier,” snaps a rumbling voice. It’s weirdly familiar, even if the strain in it sounds foreign to the bard’s ears. “There’s not—”

Whatever the voice was saying is drowned out by a beautiful, echoing melody. It whispers promises of safety and warmth and love, and something in Jaskier’s chest gives a near painful lurch towards the sound. It’s also not until then that Jaskier gets a sense of his surroundings: the lake in front of him, the grainy sand sticking to his sopping wet clothes, the slate gray overcast sky above him. There are ripples in the lake and that song is calling to him from the water.

Overcome, Jaskier scrambles towards it.

“Fuck—”

Something thick and heavy grabs around Jaskier’s torso and pulls him back. The bard’s back hits something solid and firm but Jaskier’s chest is still pulling, pulling, pulling towards the water, towards the song.

The cool, smooth thing is pressed to his lips again. Jaskier wrenches his head away. But then he can hear something, barely, rumbling like distant thunder beneath the lilting song.

“Drink it, Jaskier. Please.”

The “please” sounds… odd to him. Strained and choked.

Jaskier lets his lips part in response, and a cool liquid floods into his mouth. It tastes of honey and cotton, washing away the briny taste that had been lingering in his mouth. He swallows it down.

A second later, the song fades away. So does the sound of the lake and the dusk breeze brushing past his ears. Just… silence. Jaskier feels the pulling in his chest release and the bard nearly goes boneless from the sudden relief.

He blinks a few times as clarity starts to trickle back into his thoughts. He’d been… traveling. Tracking a siren, or a mutation of one anyway. Yes, that was right. But he’d been with someone. Specifically…

“Geralt?” he asks, his own voice sounding odd in his head with the rest of the world muted. He realizes as soon as the name leaves his lips that Geralt is the thing that’s holding him in place. Jaskier cranes his neck to look at the Witcher, who still hasn’t relaxed his grip. Bright gold eyes meet his blue ones, then flickers over his form with panicked speed.

The stoic, collected look the Witcher usually wore has splintered, just a bit, and Jaskier thinks he can see a glimpse through the cracks that Geralt is frantically trying to piece back together.

He’s… afraid, Jaskier thinks. Or he had been, a moment ago.

“I’m okay,” Jaskier tells him, if only because he has the feeling that maybe Geralt needs to hear it.

The Witcher doesn’t reply, instead swallowing thickly and sinking his head to where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder. And if Jaskier traces Geralt’s arm around him to find his hand and lace their fingers together, well. Geralt doesn’t seem to protest.

 IX.

Jaskier is about halfway through the song about the vampiress when the door to the tavern ricochets open with a loud crack. Geralt staggers a step into the room—and it’s the fact that he staggers that makes Jaskier stop mid-song. The Witcher’s entrance is less than graceful, but Jaskier watches closely as Geralt grits his teeth, straighten his spine, and step fully through the threshold. Geralt’s eyes flicker over the room like he’s looking for something, or someone—perhaps the woman who had hired him—when they settle on Jaskier.

Oh.

The bard gracefully, if quickly, jumps to his feet and slings the lute in his hands around his back. Geralt is hiding it now behind sharp eyes and a rigid posture, but something is wrong. Jaskier can tell.

“I hate to cut a performance short,” he says to the crowd as he maneuvers through them towards the Witcher, mostly in an effort to break the sudden silence in the room, “but alas, I must bid you all adieu for the evening. Geralt, shall we?”

Geralt doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even hum. But he follows Jaskier as the bard carves a path through the crowd towards the stairs. Jaskier flashes patrons reassuring smiles despite the way his own throat is tightening with concern.

They make it to the room—barely—before Geralt’s steps falter again. Jaskier steadies him by grabbing his arm and bracing a hand against Geralt’s chest.

“Easy,” he says softly.

“Fuck.”

“Here. Let’s get you sitting before you end up face-first on the floor, because if that happens then we’re both out of luck because—Melitele’s tits—” Jaskier yelps  when he staggers for a second under Geralt’s sudden weight. “Okay. I’ve got you. Here we go.”

Jaskier is rambling as they cross the small room to the bed. He helps Geralt sit, kneeling in front of him as the Witcher sinks to the edge of the mattress. Geralt grimaces tightly and pitches forward into the bard, his head landing on Jaskier’s shoulder. His weight sinks a bit more, as if too weary to pull away. This close, Jaskier can feel the echoes of faint tremors wracking through his body.

Jaskier swallows the rising panic down. “Potions?” he asks in as level of a voice as he can manage.

“Out,” Geralt answers. “The venom isn’t lethal just—” Another shudder and a tight grunt. “—hurts like a fucking bitch.”

Jaskier releases a faint breath. He supposes he should feel relieved that it’s not lethal, but he can’t help that the tightness in his throat doesn’t quite ease. “What can I do?” he asks, because of all the things Geralt could have done and all the places he could have gone, he chose to find Jaskier when in immense pain. He wants to live up to that display of open trust.

He feels Geralt fist a hand in his shirt. “Just… stay.”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier says thickly, and if his voice breaks just a little, at least Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 X.

Jaskier doesn’t think about it. He sees the mage thrust a hand out in Geralt’s direction when the Witcher’s back is turned and Jaskier lunges on nothing but instinct and the acrid taste of fear on his tongue.

A bolt of sharp green slams into his chest. Something cracks when Jaskier hits the forest floor, something that the bard doesn’t think is magic. His head snaps against the ground, his vision swimming. Heat and sharpness tears through his chest.

Someone screams. Maybe it’s Jaskier. He thinks he hears his name shouted, but it sounds far away.

He is drowning. Can you drown without water?

The bard gasps, desperately, searching for air that he can’t seem to drag into his burning, burning, burning lungs.

His eyes sting. He doesn’t know how much time passes.

There’s a hand on his shoulder—and Jaskier tries very hard to let that tug him from his haze of thoughts. When the hand pulls at him, rolling him onto his back, Jaskier can’t quite contain the choked whimper that releases in the back of his throat. He grimaces, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Jaskier.”

He definitely knows that voice. Jaskier blinks his eyes open, setting squarely on Geralt above him. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Geralt’s eyes quite so wide.

“Fuck,” Jaskier wheezes. He grimaces again. Is he dying? He doesn’t know.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?”

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Geralt’s voice very nearly breaks. Jaskier voice is tight with pain—his lungs are throbbing—but soft. Unapologetic. “You’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

He’d never said those words aloud before—I love you—but he means them. He thinks perhaps he’s meant them for quite a long time. Long before even the thought had occurred to him on that mountain all those years ago.

And he thinks Geralt knows this, from the way his eyes widen, and then his whole expression crumples.

“Jask,” he says, a hand cupping the bard’s jaw, his thumb skimming Jaskier’s cheekbone. “You can’t—you… fuck.”

Jaskier takes a breath to reply but cuts off with a wince at the sharp jolt it sends spiking up through his ribs. But he realizes then that the burning in his lungs is easing—gradually, but quickly—and the bard’s next exhale trembles with relief, even as his vision blurs with tears. Whatever spell the mage had sent at Geralt, it seems like one meant to briefly incapacitate and not kill outright. With a quiet grunt of effort, Jaskier presses a hand against the wet leaves beneath him and pushes to sit up.

Geralt looks startled, but he helps nonetheless. The hand on Jaskier’s jaw slips back to cup the back of his neck and the other grabs his free hand to ease him up. The bard sees Geralt’s gaze flicker over his form.

Jaskier tosses him a shaky, wan smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

“You didn’t know that,” Geralt snaps, like that should have made a difference in Jaskier’s decision to jump in front of it.

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

Something bright and pained flickers through Geralt’s gaze. He takes a breath as if to reply, then stops. A crease appears between his brows a second later. “You’re still hurt.”

“Some broken ribs,” Jaskier replies dismissively. The fact that Geralt is still gripping him like he’s afraid Jaskier might just dissolve into smoke in front of him doesn’t escape the bard’s attention.

“Hmm.” He sees Geralt swallow. Watches the way his pupils flicker over the bard’s chest and refuses to meet his eyes.

“Geralt.” The gaze snaps to his own, wide and splintering. Jaskier takes a shallow breath, his gaze as steady as the words that leave his lips. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Though Jaskier can’t be sure—his ears are still ringing a bit—he thinks he hears Geralt’s breath catch.

“Jaskier,” he says, and the bard doesn’t know why his name sounds choked in Geralt’s throat. The Witcher leans forward until his forehead rests against Jaskier’s, and he’s clutching the bard’s hand to his chest like it’s a lifeline. “I… fuck. Fuck.”

And then Jaskier feels Geralt’s lips brush against his own—soft and careful, warm and asking. And Jaskier kisses him back with answers and promises on the edge of his lips.

It feels like coming home.

[angelinasway]

Regaining Hope

Chapter Six

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers

Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes:Thank you all for you're amazing reviews. I never get tired of reading them. I just got to say I adored writing this chapter. It was so much fun and I loved the banter. I'm slowly falling in love with this couple the more I explore it. I should warn everyone that there's a subject that comes up that might offend some of you. I did not write this part to try to do that to anyone, so please don't take it seriously. It was more about showing Buffy's age and what some of us begin to contemplate as we get older. If Buffy was really only twenty-one it wouldn't be a topic that would come up, but I don't think its to far off the mark that a thirty-two year old Buffy would think these thing. Once again, a shout out and huge thanks to my amazing beta Hipkarma for being so insightful and just plain helpful while editing these chapters. I don't know what I would do without her.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable  characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.  The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The  author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers  of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Six

Buffy awoke, as always right around eight. It didn’t matter where she was in the world, she always woke up around the same time every morning. Except, this morning happened to be very different because a large warm arm was wrapped firmly around her waist and a large thigh was wedged between her legs. She blinked in surprise as the night before came rushing back in surround sound and technicolor. From the moment Faith and Gunn woke them up having obnoxiously loud sex to when she first heard Clark moan. The deep baritone of the sound sending such a shock wave of lust straight to her core, she’d never felt anything like it and she was certain she couldn’t have stopped herself from touching him after that even if she tried.

God, he was built like brick wall. A very soft and warm brick wall, but a brick wall nonetheless. Training him was going to be difficult for that reason. She was incredibly strong but he was a hell of a lot stronger than her. Getting hit by him at full strength wasn’t really going to be an option. Though, she could always train him in her suit, which might actually give her a little bit of advantage against anything he threw at her. The suit itself was highly warded, to the point where she could probably get hit by a train and be able to walk it off. So that might actually be able to work, as long as he didn’t go for her head which unfortunately the full leather and Kevlar body suit did not cover. They could definitely work around that though.

 She bit her lip, remembering how good it felt to kiss him. It had been awkward at first, but he was an incredibly fast learner and eventually began to take the lead. Heat pooled in her belly at what came after though, the grinding and rubbing that ended in one of the best orgasms she ever had. He really was such a well-built man, everything about him was deceptively large from his broad shoulders to his thighs that were almost as big as tree trunks. Something she didn’t actually notice until she straddled him. The act itself had forced her legs farther apart than she was expecting. So, when he’d pulled her into his lap his cock was suddenly perfectly aligned against her clit, and boy did he feel big. Almost too big if she was being honest.

 The familiar throb of arousal hit her; her panties suddenly soaked. She vaguely remembered telling him after he got out of the shower that he looked ridiculous squashed up on her couch and to just share the bed. She was now slightly regretting that, because at this moment she wanted nothing more than to press herself back against the body currently cuddling her and grind her ass against the erection she felt poking her. ‘Yep, it was definitely time to get up.’

 She meant what she’d said earlier about not being ready for sex yet and she really did plan to stick to that. She wanted to get to know him first, find out what his likes and dislikes were, what his favorite movies were, hell even what his favorite color was. She truly did believe what Lorne had told her, but she craved the getting-to-know-you portion of the relationship process more than anything. It had been a long time since she had that. In fact, if she was being honest, she was pretty sure she never really had it.

 Angel had always hated talking about himself and she remembered very clearly spending a few hours researching him alone just to try and understand more about him. Unfortunately, back then Giles only had his pre-soul history, which probably should have been her first clue that embarking on any type of relationship with him was a bad idea. Riley had been different however, but when they started the relationship, they had both been keeping secrets. So, there had been big honesty issues there. Spike she hadn’t bothered getting to know, at least not before his soul. Oh, there were plenty of times she would slip up and ask him a question about himself, and even be cordial to him, but the personal stuff hadn’t come until those long nights spent together planning against The First. And, then again, after Angelus had killed Giles when she was basically a walking zombie. He would talk to her for hours even if she didn’t talk back just to try and snap her out of her desolation. He told her all about his life when he was human, and would even talk about some of the places he traveled with Dru. He never mentioned Angelus in those times, and she was grateful for that.

 It was in those moments that she realized why she and Spike meshed so well. He was very good at taking care of broken things and she was a very broken thing. He was created for it actually, and he needed to take care of her just as badly as she needed to be taken care of. She just hoped Clark could handle the task as well, because she had picked up a lot of the pieces of her shattered heart and soul and begun to paste them back together, but there were still several missing parts of herself that she had lost along the way. She was working on it and had been for awhile but she still had her moments of utter despair and moodiness. Buffy knew better than anyone how difficult she could be.

 She slowly tried to extract herself from his hold, but the arm that held her in place tightened. She heard a sleepy moan next to ear and then she felt his body stiffen as he came awake. Clark quickly removed his arm from around her waist and the knee that had wedged itself between her thighs and turned over on his back.

 “Sorry,” He murmured groggily.

 Buffy turned to face him, a slow smile spreading across her face as she propped her head up with her hand. He was blushing again and she found she rather enjoyed it. “I think we’re past accidental sleepy cuddling, don’t you?”

 A sleepy half smile crossed his lips at her words, "Mmm," he hummed. "So, that really did happen."

 She chuckled; he was absolutely adorable. "Unless we were sharing the same dream, I'm gonna go with a big uh-huh."

 His blue eyes met hers, and his smile stretched into a full grin. His hand reached up and he ran the back of it down her cheek.

 "Are you hungry?" He asked.

 She nodded. "I could definitely eat."

 He sighed. "We should probably get dressed then." 

 "Mmm," She agreed, rolling on her back and stretching her arms above her head. "Shower first though, and I should probably grab your clothes from yesterday out of the dryer."

 His hand reached out again, running it along the flat of her stomach. "You shower, I remember where the laundry room is. I'll get them."

 He sat up and then leaned down to kiss her, but she stopped him. "I have morning breath. I really don't think you want to do that before I brush my teeth."

 He chuckled and shook his head. "I honestly don't think I care," and then he was on her, his lips sliding against hers.

 She giggled, breaking the kiss and saying, "I think I created a monster."

 "Well, maybe you shouldn't have taken advantage of me last night." Clark said, a smirk forming on his lips.

 Buffy’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening. "I did no such thing!" She said on a laugh.

 "Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I think you did," and then he was kissing her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth before she could protest.

 The kisses suddenly turned much more serious and before she knew what she was doing her legs had wrapped around his waist and her arms were around his neck. She felt his hard length push against her and she moaned.

 "Mmm," He hummed, breaking the kiss. "I could get used to that sound."

His lips slid along her jawline, until he reached her neck where he placed a few wet kisses and then froze. He pulled away and Buffy’s eyes shot open. His eyes staring at her neck in a mixture horror and disbelief. 

 "Where...how did you get that?" He asked, his hand coming up to brush his thumb across her scar.

 Buffy's own hand came up and rubbed the area. "Vampire bite. Well, three to be exact." She saw a pained look flash across his eyes as his hand came up to cup her cheek. "What is it?" She asked.

 Clark shook his head, removing his hand and sitting back. "I just..." He sighed. "I can't help thinking how different your life might have been had I met you sooner." He looked away. “You’ve been through so much, some of it I read and some of it you told me.” He met her eyes, sadness and guilt shining in them, “And I’m guessing that’s only the half of it…and…and I can’t help thinking that I could have saved you from it all.”

 She felt her heart melt a little at his words. That was definitely up there with at least the top five sweetest things anyone ever said to her, but he shouldn’t be beating himself up for something that was out of his hands.

 She sighed sitting up, her hand reaching for his and entwining their fingers, bringing it into her lap. “As sweet as the sentiment is Clark, you can’t think like that.” She nodded, “Trust me, I’m the queen of blaming myself for things that are absolutely out of my control and the truth is, neither of us can know what would have happened had we met sooner.” She shrugged “I mean think about it. Sure, my life would have been easier but when the big stuff came up, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it as well, and do you honestly think I wouldn’t have jumped for Dawn?” She swallowed, “As shitty as the outcome was and even if I knew back then what I know now, I would do it again for her in a heartbeat.”

 “I know,” he whispered, looking down. “I just…what if I could have stopped you from having to jump at all?”

 She reached her free hand out, cupping his cheek, “Then I wouldn’t be who I am today. I would have never had the choice to take more power than I already had and have the strength and wherewithal to turn it down. I would have never found the Scythe and been able to use its power to activate the Slayers.” At Clark’s frown, she pulled away, getting off the bed and opened the closet. She unzipped her weapons bag and pulled out the Scythe.

 “This,” she said, showing him the weapon from when they first met. “It was made thousands of years ago by something called the Guardians. It was made for the first Slayer and she used it to drive the last Old One from this plain of existence. Then it was hidden until the day I found it. It’s the whole reason Willow was able to tap into the Slayer line and activate the girls. It’s incredibly powerful, and I can feel the power thrumming underneath my hand as we speak.” She put the Scythe back and walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Kinda like you.”

 Clark swallowed. “What…what do I feel like?”

 “Powerful, almost overwhelmingly so,” she said honestly, sitting back on the bed. “But not evil or demonic. Those kinda things usually feel cold, like the temperature suddenly drops and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.” She gave him a small smile, “You feel warm, like I’ve been sunbathing for hours and my skin is that perfect mixture of overheated and sun kissed.”

 He brought his hand up, cupping her chin and rubbing his thumb along her lower lip. "And when I kiss you?"

 Buffy gasped, heat building in her belly. It took everything in her not to suck his thumb into her mouth. "If I answer that," she said breathily, "we won't ever make it to breakfast."

 He blew out a breath, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against hers. "I've never felt so out of control in my life." He opened his eyes, meeting hers. "You...you make me want to lose control."

 "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" She asked, her hand coming up to rub down his chest.

 "I honestly don't know," he sighed. "But it scares the hell out of me."

 "I'm sorry," she whispered.

 He kissed her then, his hand running into her hair before saying, "Don't be. I feel more alive than I have in years."

 "I think that makes two of us then." She said softly. "You're not the only one who feels out of control or alive." She paused, "And I think if I don't get in the shower soon, I don't think I can be held responsible for my next actions."

 He chuckled, pulling away. "Then you should probably take a shower," he said moving off the bed, "because I'm pretty sure you aren't alone in that either."

 Buffy laughed, "You sure you can find the laundry room, okay?"

 "I got it," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek before grabbing his discarded sweats from last night, chucking them on and heading for the door.

 Buffy watched him go and then shook herself out of her daze. God, he had a fabulous back. Why had she not noticed it before? This was going to be incredibly hard if they were both feeling this way. She once again opened her closet grabbing what she needed for the day.

 ****<S>**<S>****

Clark raised an eyebrow, looking at her in amusement, "You really think this is a good idea?"

 She grinned, "No, but it’s cheap entertainment and they deserve it."

 They were standing in the hallway outside Faith and Gunn’s room. Buffy having the bright idea of getting back at the couple for their shenanigan’s the night before, because as she said, “This was a long time coming.”

 "Alright," he said chuckling. "Then hand me the bucket."

 "What...why?" She asked confused.

 Clark rolled his eyes, "Because I'm going to make the water colder."

 Buffy frowned. "Is this another ability you've yet to tell me about?"

 He looked at her innocently. “Maybe?”

 The look she gave him was both parts annoyed and pouty. “Okay Mr. Secret Keeper, who keeps secrets. Here,” she grumbled, shoving the quarter filled bucket into his arms.

 “I think you’ve been watching too much Harry Potter,” he said as seriously as he could, even though he knew it was obvious he was trying not to laugh.

She looked almost offended for a moment, “I have not!” A full-fledged pout finally broke out on her lips, “At least not willingly. Willow makes me watch it every year.” She sighed, “Then we get into an argument about if the Wizarding World is real or not in another dimension. It’s a thing.”

 He snorted, "You're joking."

 She rolled her eyes, "I wish," and then she shook her head. "Now hurry up, before they wake up."

 He grinned, blowing softly into the bucket and handing it back. "There, it should be cold enough now."

 She frowned at the water, reaching her hand into the bucket and touching it. Her eyes widened in surprise. 

 "Wow! That's like seriously impressive." She grinned, "This is gonna be so good." Buffy looked at him, "You ready?"

 At Clark’s nod, she said, "Alright, get ready to run." 

 He watched her take a step back and then her leg shot out, slamming into the door. The lock splintered and the door swung open, hitting the wall hard. Both Faith and Gunn shot up in alarm, suddenly alert and ready to fight.

 “Wakey, wakey!” Buffy yelled, before tossing the contents of the bucket on them.

 They both screamed when the ice water hit them. Their eyes widening in disbelief. Faith panted from the sudden shock of the water, looking at hers soaked tank top, her bed, and then Gunn before her eyes suddenly swung up to meet Buffy’s dancing ones. The look she gave them both could freeze over hell, it even managed to make Clark nervous enough to start backing up.

 “You. Are. So. Fucking. Dead!” She ground out, fury flashing in her eyes.

 “Run!” Buffy squealed, already pushing him down the hallway just as Faith shot out of bed. They were both through the living area and out the staff door in seconds, but Faith was fast and she was hot on their heels. The sound of her bare feet slapping against hardwood close behind them.

 As they approached the stairwell a giggling Buffy yelled, “Jump, no time for stairs.”

 Clark quickly launched himself over the banister, landing on the ground floor and turning just in time to see Buffy do the same. She landed on her feet and looked up in time to see a snarling Faith staring down at them, water still dripping from her hair and tank top.

 “You’re dead B!” She yelled.

 “What the hell!” Lisa said, coming around the corner a few of the girls hot on her heels just as Faith launched herself off the banister.

 Buffy was pushing Clark again and they slammed out the front door and into the cool morning air. He wrapped his arms around her just as Faith reached the door in only a tank top and boxers and shot them into the air just before she could reach them. Both of them broke into fits of hysterics when they heard her scream, “He can fucking fly!”

 “Wow,” Buffy said in between her giggles. “She’s really mad, isn’t she?”

 ****<S>**<S>****

 “Okay,” Buffy said, snagging a piece of bacon off his plate. “Favorite comedy?”

 They were in a restaurant not too far from the school. It was a very small establishment, but it was busy and the food smelt good. Buffy had recommended it to Clark, saying it was the best kept secret in Cleveland. It had taken them a little while to get a table, but now they were comfortably seated with two delicious looking breakfasts in front of them.

 They had been exchanging questions since they arrived at the restaurant. Simple things, from favorite colors, to places traveled, and now they were on to movies. Except Buffy had just stolen a piece of bacon off his plate without even asking, and it was done in such a way it almost felt domestic. Almost as if this was a completely normal occurrence and they had dined together hundreds of times.

 “Did you…did you just steal my bacon?” Clark said, raising an eyebrow.

 She blinked at him innocently, taking a bite of the salty goodness while holding back a smile, “Maybe.”

 He snorted, “Well, now I want a bite of your pancakes.”

 Buffy’s face broke into a grin, and she used her fork to cut him a piece of her strawberry and banana pancakes. Leaning over the table and holding out the bite to him, while using her other hand to protect the table from any syrup dripping.

 Clark leaned forward, wrapped his lips around the offered morsel and hummed as the sugary taste exploded on his tongue. He nodded, swallowing the bite before saying, “I should have gotten the pancakes.”    

 Buffy chuckled, cutting her own piece and taking a bite, her eyes rolling up at the homemade strawberry syrup. “I told you.” She said after swallowing. “This place has awesome pancakes for it being such a hole in the wall.”

 Clark cut into his eggs benedict and took a bite. “Mmm,” He hummed, pointing at his plate as he chewed and swallowed. “But this is very good too.”

 "What do you like better?" She asked.

 "Hmm," he said thinking. "Well, it’s not a very fair comparison. One’s sweet and one’s savory."

 "True," she acknowledged. "So, I guess the question should be, what do prefer sweet or salty?"

 He licked his lips. "That's actually a tough question. My mom is an excellent cook on both fronts, but I think if I had to choose it would be sweet. I love pie and she does make the best."

 She smiled softly, "She sounds pretty incredible."

 He nodded, "My parents couldn't have kids so them finding me was what she calls a miracle." He smiled, "When I was a kid and my abilities first started showing, she was the one who helped me control it. She taught me how to focus and block everything else out."

 "I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous about meeting her." She confessed shyly.

 He frowned in confusion, "Why?"

 Buffy shrugged, "Well, she raised you, didn’t she? Any woman capable of turning out a guy who so far has been one of the sweetest, most well-mannered men I’ve ever met, must have some superpowers of her own."

 He chuckled a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to know that."

 Buffy grinned, shaking her head. "Anyway, back to our original topic. What's your favorite comedy?"

 "Hmm," He thought for a moment. "Well right now, I think it’s a toss-up between Talladega Nights and Step Brothers." He said, taking another bite of his breakfast.

 "Ah," she acknowledged. "A Ferrell fan. He is hilarious, but I myself would have to go with Sandler or Kevin Smith. I love Dogma and Fifty First Dates is probably my favorite romantic comedy."

 He shook his head, "I've never seen Dogma. Isn't that the one that makes fun of religion?"

 Buffy's mouth dropped open, "You've never seen it! Okay that's the first movie we are watching together,” Her cheeks suddenly pinkening as she cleared her throat and added. “And yes, it does make fun of religion but in a really unique way where it sends a good message too.” She shrugged, “I think I like it because of how well it rips the Bible apart as far as hypocrisy goes. I’m not very religious, but I mean I do believe there’s something. I don’t know if it’s all the Powers or God or what really, but there is definitely something beyond all this. However, the Bible is one of those things that gets used for evil, far more than it’s used for good. Plus, I’m living proof that some of the sins mentioned in the Bible are complete bullshit.”

 He raised an eyebrow, “Because you went to heaven.”

 She nodded, “Exactly. Let’s see,” she began to count off her sins on one hand. “Lying, I did a lot of that after I was called, also definitely did not honor my mother and father, I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain on several occasions, I’ve stolen when I’ve had to, not for myself but for slaying.” She put her hand down. “Not to mention,” She whispered quietly. “I may have killed a few people who were after my sister back then, not intentionally of course but I’m pretty sure I killed at least one of them and I’m almost positive they were very human.” At Clark’s surprised frown she explained, “There were these, god I don’t even know a better way of describing it other than medieval knights charged with destroying the Key, and when we all tried to run, they attacked us.”

 “But wouldn’t that be considered self-defense?” He asked with a frown and then added, “And maybe you were allowed to go to heaven because of what you are?”

 Buffy snorted, “And how unfair is that. I get to go to heaven with the same kinda vague belief system as other people who live their lives with less red on their ledger than I have, but they don’t.” She shook her head. “It’s also kinda bullshit how no sin is greater than any other, or in Catholicism’s case it only applies to anyone in the church. I mean come on, I’ve heard of the Catholic church in particular, refusing to hold a funeral or allow burial over suicide, and yet they protect their pedophile priests like they are somehow above it all.” She sighed, a blush forming on her cheeks at her diatribe. “Sorry, I have many feelings about this particular subject.” She looked down, “I think that most religions have it wrong. It’s about our intents and choices, if we spend our lives at least trying to do good, no matter if we fall along the way or not, we have a place in heaven. If we however let the darkness that is always around us, whether we know it’s there or not, consume us, then we let ourselves be corrupted. If we begin to enjoy the pain and suffering, we as humans are quite capable of causing all on our own, I think that’s when we become hell bound.” She took a drink of her juice, meeting his eyes again, before adding. “I’m sorry if you’re religious and I offended you. I sometimes forget that not everyone thinks the same way I do.”

 He smiled softly. She was really cute when she was passionate about something. He couldn’t really help playing devil’s advocate to watch that spark in her eyes as she got indignant over the topic of religion, but it had gone on long enough. He was trying to enjoy this moment, not offend her.

 “I’m not,” He clarified. “I honestly don’t know what I believe. My dad and mom had me baptized as Presbyterian, but I think my dad might have stopped believing after they found me. My mom probably did too, but she would never admit it.”

 Buffy frowned, “Then why–”

 “Because I’m an alien Buffy,” He shook his head. “Neither of them knew where I was from or what I was. I looked human, but they both knew I wasn’t.” He shrugged, “I think they did it to teach me right from wrong the only way they really understood how. The same way their parents taught them.” He shook his head, “It wasn’t only that though, my dad used stories, his own life stories to drill into me how important it was that I always made the better choice, because for someone like me, losing my temper isn’t really an option if it’s going to hurt someone.” He sighed, “As for religion, I used to wonder why God would make me this way until my dad told me the truth. It’s very hard for me to worship a god that had no hand in my creation. In fact, I stopped going to church because I just felt like an imposter.”

 Her eyes softened at his words and she reached her hand across the table and entwined their fingers. “You aren’t an imposter, Clark. I may not be religious, but I absolutely believe in destiny and the prophecy proves you were meant to be here. That somewhere in the ether the Powers or whoever, saw your soul and found it important enough to send a vision to some unsuspecting seer here on Earth.” She smiled, “No matter what happens, don’t ever feel you don’t belong here.”

 “Yeah, for what purpose still remains to be seen.” He said, frowning slightly.

 Buffy frowned, “I thought your dad said–”

 Clark shook his head, “I’m not talking about why my parents sent me here, I’m talking about the prophecy.”

 Understanding suddenly came into her eyes and she sighed, “I’ll try to work on Wes for you, okay? I know it’s frustrating but I don’t think he’s keeping it from us because he’s trying to be malicious or hoard information.” She nodded, “I do believe he’s genuinely trying to protect us, but I’m also not stupid enough to believe that’s the only reason.”

 He looked at her surprised by her admission as he watched her take a bite of her pancakes. “What…what do you mean?”

 Buffy swallowed and licked the syrup off her lips, using her napkin to dab up the excess. “Honestly, I think they’re trying to protect me from myself. Willow said it herself that day in the ship. There’re some things in it that would seriously wig me. Lorne said we’re soulmates, and I believe him, but it’s more than soulmates and I think you feel it too.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “If the prophecy say’s that we are destined in some way and they told me, there’s a very good chance we would not be sitting here right now because I would constantly be second guessing my feelings. At least that’s what they probably think.”

 Clark studied her. She really was impressive, he found himself admiring her the more they got to know each other. “You already knew though, didn’t you?”

 “I guessed it might be that in the ship, when Willow said what she said. Earlier that day when you were in my trailer and you left your poem.” Buffy smirked, “Clever by the way.” She said, looking at him appraisingly, before adding, “When you passed me, I felt something I’ve never felt before, it was like I was on fire. It was so powerful that even Hardy noticed my reaction and I was definitely not trying to draw attention to you.”

 “Oh yes,” Clark acknowledged. “I remember over hearing that conversation.” He smirked at her, “What was it that you called me? Oh yeah, a well-built redneck with puppy eyes.” Watching her cheeks bloom with color was completely worth bringing it up.

  “In my defense,” she said, embarrassment shining in her eyes. “I was trying to get him off your back.” Then she frowned in realization, “Seriously, you can hear that far?”

 “I can hear anything on earth if I focus,” He admitted, her eyes widening in surprise. “When I was a kid and it first happened, it was like hearing everything at once. I thought I was going crazy.”

 Her eyes softened. “That must have been horrible.”

 “It was, and scary. I remember how scared I was.” He met her eyes as he thought about her admitting she already suspected that the prophecy said they were destined. “Can I ask you something?” At her nod, he continued, “Last night you said you usually fight things like this and even your friends thought you would freak-out. Why aren’t you fighting it?”

 Her eyes dulled somewhat at the question and she pushed the few remaining bites she had around with her fork. “Honestly,” She paused, looking down at her food. “Honestly, I’m lonely.” She admitted. “I haven’t had this type of connection in years and it feels good.” She met his eyes then a blush staining her cheeks, “I thought about it and decided if the Powers are gonna give me something as beautiful as you after all the crap I’ve been through, then I was okay with that. Even this, just us talking and getting to know each other is more than I’ve had as far as romance goes in…I don’t even know how long. I had no idea how much I needed this kind of thing until I met you.”

 Heat filled his cheeks at her words and their eyes remained locked on each other’s for what felt like a long time. Clark reached his hand across the table and placed it on hers.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never felt like anything like this before." He sighed, "I had no idea something as simple as eating breakfast with a beautiful woman, who I don't have to hide from, could feel so good."

 Buffy smiled softly, "We are a pair, aren't we?"

 He chuckled, and nodded. "That we are."

 Buffy’s cell phone rang the next second, her eyes glancing at the caller ID and widening in horror. "Shit," she hissed.

 "What... what is it?" Clark asked in alarm.

 "It's Dawn." She responded, staring at the phone.

 He raised an eyebrow, "And that's a bad thing?"

 "If Faith called her and mentioned you, yeah it could be bad." She answered, not taking her eyes off the phone.

 "You don't think Faith would tell her what I am do you." Clark said, worry lacing his voice.

 Buffy shook her head, "No, she's not that stupid. But I could see her hinting that you are something other as revenge for this morning." She sighed, "Which would just put my sister in a panic."

 The phone luckily stopped ringing and Clark watched Buffy sigh in relief, only to have it melt away when her text message chime went off.

 He watched her look at the message as the color drained from her face. "Shit!" She said again.

 "What does it say?" He asked nervously.

 "She said that if I don't pick up the phone, she's gonna show up here, and that I have five minutes." Buffy looked at him nervously and sighed. "Sometimes I really wish we didn't show her how to use her keyness, because unfortunately she's not bluffing."

 She looked at him apologetically, "You're about to get the full of Dawn in rant mode, so prepare yourself."

 Buffy dialed the number and squeezed her eyes shut as the other line connected and it was answered after the first ring.

“Hello, my beautiful and wonderful sister who doesn’t even bother to let me know she’s back in the amazing U.S. of A.” The sarcasm in the voice alone told Clark that Buffy was about to be chewed out.

 “Dawn,” Buffy started, but was cut off immediately.

 “So, my dearest sister, Buffy…you mind telling me why my husband is about to send one of his crew members out to fix the door and rent a fan to dry the bed in Faith’s and Gunn’s room?” An extremely sarcastic female voice said over the phone. “Or better yet, who’s this new recruit you’re getting so chummy with…hmm? Also, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were back in the states and not call!”

 Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and Clark bit back his amusement, he had no siblings so this was somewhat fascinating for him. Buffy met his eyes and glared at the amusement dancing there. “Just you wait.” She mouthed, which made his nervousness skyrocket.

 “Sorry Dawn,” She sighed. “I should have called, but I had just gotten out of quarantine and Wes was real big on me getting in touch with the new recruit.”  

“Uh-uh, you don’t get to deflect like that, because Faith already told me. He felt more powerful than she has felt in long time, but she won’t tell me what he is.” There was a moment of pause before an exasperated tone came over the line. “So, what is he Buffy?”

 “It’s not what you–” she started, but Dawn cut her off.

 “If you tell me it’s not what I think I will show up there in the middle of Breakers Breakfast, I don’t care how busy it is, now spill!” Buffy’s little sister demanded.

 Buffy looked at him and swallowed, “Seriously, this is not the time nor place to start talking about this.”

 “He’s there, isn’t he?” Came her sister’s reply.

 Buffy’s eyes widened, before quickly blurting, “Have you talked to Wes?”

 Dawn paused, “Should I?”

 ‘Well, this was mostly his idea.” Buffy answered.

 “So, Wes is okay with you boinking another demon?” Her sister’s indignant tone came over the line.

 “First off,” Buffy growled, making Clark look around to see if anybody was listening. “I haven’t boinked anybody,” she said lowly. “Secondly, he’s not a demon, and third, when the hell did you turn into mom!”

 “Maybe when I became a mother.” Dawn said exasperated. “Now give him the phone so I can give him the usual sisterly threats so he can know exactly what kinda hell he’ll reap if he hurts you.”

 “Dawn,” Buffy warned.

 “Do you actually think I won’t show up there.” Her sister countered.

 Buffy’s eyes looked at him apologetically, and he saved her the humiliation of having to ask by holding out his hand. She sighed gratefully and handed him the phone.

 “Hello,” Clark greeted.

 “Now you listen here bub,” was the first thing she said. “I don’t really care what you are but if you do anything to hurt my sister, I will open a vein and send you to Quor’toth, do you understand?”

 Clark cleared his throat. “I have no intention–”

“Of course you don’t,” She interrupted. “They never do. Now put me back on with my sister.” He blinked in surprised and shrugged, handing her back the phone.

 “I think your threat was kinda lost on him, Dawn.” Buffy said in amusement, looking at a confused Clark. “I really don’t think he knows what Quor’toth is.”

 “Well maybe you should tell him,” Came the snarky reply over the line. “Anyway, you better give me a phone call when you can talk in private, after the kids, me and Xand’s sex life isn’t exactly popping. So, I wanna know everything.”

 A blush spread over Buffy’s cheeks, “There’s really nothing to tell Dawn.”

 “Liar,” Dawn countered.

 Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll call you in a few hours.”

 ****<S>**<S>****

 They had stopped by the school to grab the rest of Clark’s things before he went home. Buffy giving him an extra backpack she had lying around to store them in. Thankfully, both Gunn and Faith were out, so they didn’t have to deal with any unwanted confrontations.

 “What time does your flight get in tomorrow?” Clark asked, adjusting the strap on the backpack.

 “1000…I mean Ten in the morning.” She answered.

 “Do you want me to pick you up?” He asked.

 She smiled shyly, “Only if you want to, but there will be quite a lot to do before we can make it to Smallville.”

 “Such as?” He asked, stepping closer and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Not really knowing how to stop himself from touching her since he knew he wouldn’t see her again until tomorrow.

 “Well,” she said, stepping closer. “I’ve gotta open the safehouse and get you a keycard to get in.” She reached her hand up her fingers running along the seam of his outer shirt. “There will probably be some sort of contract as far as payment for helping us goes, that I’ll need to print out.”

 “Payment?” He asked, confused.

 Buffy nodded, “Of course, If you help us stop an apocalypse or go on a mission with a bunch of Slayers, you get paid. The amount however, depends on how serious a situation it is.” She looked at him softly, “You didn’t actually think we would ask you to do any of this without some sort of compensation, did you?”

 He looked away and shrugged. “I honestly didn’t think about it.”

 She smiled, “You really are the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

 When he met her eyes, she had moved even closer, but this time he wasn’t scared. His arms immediately wrapped around her and he lowered his head and brushed her lips softly, not taking it any farther than that. He leaned his head against hers and whispered. “I wish I didn’t have to go yet.”

 “Me too.” She admitted, “But it’s okay, we’ll see each other tomorrow.” Then her eyes brightened and she pulled away. “I almost forgot, I got you this.” She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a cellphone. “Here.”

 “That way, you can call me if you get bored.” She blushed.

 He grinned taking the phone from her hand. “Thank you. I definitely will,” and then he sighed as he put the phone in the backpack. “I definitely need to go, my mom’s probably already worried since I didn’t come home last night.”

 “Of course.” Buffy said, smiling sadly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 Clark leaned forward and they kissed one last time, before he stepped back and shot into the air, looking below at the girl who was slowly changing his world.

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x male reader (1st person) sfw

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This was posted, completely unedited and hot off the keyboard, to Patreon at the beginning of June. It’s first person for a change, but male perspective.

Reader is the crown prince of a high fantasy kingdom, who was never expected to become king. His older brother was killed in action when he was 13 and he suddenly found himself shifting from the role of scholar to the role of soldier, a role for which the king things him ill-suited. It opens with him at aged fifteen, first meeting the orcish son of a local war chief, who accompanies his mother to the castle for peace talks with the king. Vilugh is about ten years older than the reader. The reader doesn't have it easy, and is extremely lonely, as I would imagine a lot of royals and people with important families would be, beneath all those expectations and responsibilities.

Hope you like it - I have more written and more I want to do with it. I know it's orcs, which isn't very non-humanoid (Patreon folks said they wanted more non-humanoid monsters), but I really enjoyed going with the inspiration for this one and was excited to share it with you first. Sorry for any mistakes - as I said, it's still mostly unedited.

(The orc’s name is pronounced ‘vee-lug’)

I was fifteen the first time I saw Vilugh, and my jaw dropped the moment he entered the castle bailey beside his mother. They both rode enormous war boars with tusks and ears as decorated as their orcish riders, and his mother’s had a great, spiked chain that dangled between them.

The War Chief swung down from her mount, landing light as a sabre cat in the rocky outcrops beyond the castle, though the myriad ornaments adorning her head gear and garlanded around her neck jangled and clinked. The blade of her double-headed axe flashed silently in the holster across her back. Bone and steel, ivory and gold flashed in the sun. Beside her, astride a colossal, russet boar with a great bristle-back mane and flashing, mismatching eyes, rode her eldest son. The orc was huge, even for young adult. With orcs and humans ageing at about the same rate, he had to have been in his mid twenties, in the absolute prime of life, and I was awestruck by his presence.

Silent, built like a bulwark, and with eyes that took in everything and revealed nothing, Vilugh glared around the courtyard. While many orc’s eyes were light as amber, his were a deep, colourless black from that distance, and I licked my lips as my heart rate shot up like a winter solstice arrow into the sky. He stared straight at me, unmoving. Evaluating me, with my scrawny arms and less than impressive physique, no doubt. He quickly dismissed me, assuming I was some kind of page boy, no doubt. His surprise when I was formally introduced to them later as the Crown Prince was certainly enough to draw a tiny, knowing smile from my lips.

They were here to begin peace talks, and, to everyone’s surprise, they went astonishingly smoothly. Few humans made snide remarks about the orcs, and none of my father’s people were decapitated in retaliation.

The orcish party came, spent hours walled up with my father and the royal council, I lingered around the door and behind the wood panelling in the great hall, scuttling along the wainscot like a stray castle mouse, sneaking scraps of conversation instead of cheese.

I couldn't take my eyes off Vilugh though. He sat with the presence of a dormant volcano; all that power barely contained within each gesture. Like his mother, he wore a mix of leather and fur, with a swathe of his large, green-skinned chest exposed beneath the cross of leather that just about covered his nipples and went up over his huge traps and down his back to meet at the waist of the loose leather riding ‘skirt’ favoured by orcs. Really though, it was more like rough linen covered with tattered layers of studded, off cuts of leather.

As a gesture, everyone left their weapons outside the doors, and as I passed by - bored after two hours of talking - I paused and stared at them. A royal guard eyed me cautiously, as if I were about to cause mischief that would get her into trouble, and her orcish counterpart standing on the other side of the small weapons cash narrowed his eyes at me. This orc was older than the others in the chamber, and stood at seven feet tall, with colossal shoulder muscles. Perhaps the most startling thing about him to me at that age was the fact that he had only one arm, and one of his tusks was missing on the same side.  He sneered down at me and I balked. I’d never seen anyone with injuries like that, and it shocked me deeply that someone could endure something like the pain of losing an arm.

I’d known orcs were tough, but that somehow helped to drive it home to me.

I had made it no further than six steps down the corridor that led away from the Great Hall when the doors creaked open and my father strode out, the orcish War Chief at his side. Trying not to look like I was on the verge of crapping my pants - which, I am ashamed to admit I probably was - I watched the party file past me. My father gave no indication of having even seen me, and marched past me as if I were no more than another rusty suit of armour gathering dust in the miles of castle corridors.

Vilugh, however, turned his gaze sidelong to me as he followed in silence, brooding as a thunderhead and twice as frightening. I managed to conjure a smile from somewhere, and he looked away. Everything about him looked dangerous, from the sheer size of his boar-like tusks to the massive curve of his shoulders, the definition of the muscles visible on his back and sides, the black rope of plaited hair, thicker than my two balled fists put together, that hung down to his backside, and the predatory set of his gait. Oh, and the two-handed axe now strapped to his back didn’t help much to soften him.

The orcs stayed in the castle - a first, I was informed in passing by Rigmore, the castle steward - but I didn’t eat with them. For some reason my father seemed ashamed of his scholarly son. My late brother would have been perfect for this; he’d been the warrior prince, the kingdom’s golden boy, the one destined to rule after father was dead. But Dannan was gone, and the kingdom had me now. I’d taken after my mother, apparently, though she’d died birthing me, so that was another thing my father seemed to hold against me.

I had expected to spend the rest of the day alone in the library, since it was the one day in the week when I wasn’t expected to be out in the training ring with the castle’s master at arms, trying to bulk up a body that didn’t want to take on muscle the way my brother’s had. Big burly Dannan with his head of golden curls and his biceps as big as an orc’s… Then there was me. The scholar-son. I was lean and toned after two years of trying to fill boots that would always be too big for me, but I showed no signs of developing any brawn to go with my brains. Too much of my mother’s side of the family in me, or so my father said.

With my head bent over a tome on the ancient language of our distant forbears, I didn’t hear the door open, but when a young page boy cleared his throat and squeaked at me, I jumped and spattered ink up my arm and onto my dark green linen shirt.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” the boy chirped, nervy as a sparrow.

“It’s fine,” I smiled, trying to reassure the kid. He was probably not even half my age. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he said, bowing. “His Majesty says you’re to ride out with them. They’re going through the castle gardens and out into the deer park.”

“Oh. When?”

The boy grimaced. “Now.”

“Now?” I cursed and the boy blushed. “Thank you. I don’t supposed it would have killed my father to give me a little warning?”

The page boy didn’t know what to say to that, so I thanked him again and dismissed him, folding up my notes into the book and hurrying to my chambers to change into my riding leggings and something a little warmer.

By the time I jogged out of the main gates into the castle bailey, the party was just mounting up, my father swinging easily onto his enormous grey stallion as the beast pranced by the mounting block. My father was a soldier-son, first born and in the saddle before he could walk. I’d started a little later, but I wasn’t too bad. My mare was brought out to me, gleaming and brushed and black as midnight. The orcs were mounted on their boars and, despite the horses innate fear and hatred of the beasts, there wasn’t too much fuss about that.

The stable boy who led Starling out to me didn’t take her to the mounting block but brought her directly to me at the foot of the castle steps. Lean and light and fifteen years old, I sprang into the saddle and took the reins from him with a nod of thanks, nudging her forward with the merest squeeze of my lanky calves to join the others.

“Took your time, boy,” the king growled at me.

“I came as soon as the message was relayed to me,” I retorted sullenly. “I was in the library.”

“So I see. You’ve got ink on your lip,” he said as he reined Spectre around sharply. “Try to keep up and don’t fall off.”

My face heated at the comment but I ground my jaw. There was no point arguing. I risked a glance at Vilugh and found him staring with his unreadable expression at me. I flashed him a wide, boisterous, childish grin and asked Starling to go from a standstill to a fast canter with one easy command. She leapt forwards, following my father as he cantered away over the flagstones and out onto the sandy track that led from the castle around to the apple orchards and formal gardens, and beyond them, the deer park.

We were clearly not hunting that day, since no servants joined us, but the orcs still wore their axes strapped to their backs. Three joined us in total: the War Chief, her son, and the one-armed orc I’d seen outside the chamber. I’d obviously underestimated his significance, thinking him little more than a servant as he’d guarded their weapons and not been party to the peace talks within, but for him to be selected over the others in the party indicated otherwise. My trained mind quickly refiled the information and put it to one side.

My hair was growing floppy now that I had stopped cutting it. No one had noticed, and it now brushed my shoulders if it wasn’t tied up. In the library, I’d scraped it back into a ponytail where it bobbed playfully like a young plant’s first leaves, and now as we rode, it came loose, the little leather strap falling away to get trampled by the enormous hooves of the giant boars behind me.

Starling flew like her namesake, wild and graceful, turning at the slightest touch like a bird on the wing. I loved riding. I wasn’t permitted to go out alone, and no one ever had the time to escort me, so I only got to do it when my father decided he needed to skewer something deadly to let off steam, and now as we all picked up our paces, the horses keen to stretch their legs, I couldn’t keep the savage grin off my face. I felt feral for just half a moment, and it was glorious.

When we finally reined our horses back after a lovely canter along the smooth grass of the orchard road, I sat back a little and Starling responded by slowing her pace to a steady walk. I gave her her head, letting the reins fall loose and dangle, while Spectre pranced and jogged up ahead, snorting and tossing his head. My father always kept his reins too short, thinking it made his stallion’s crest of muscle look bigger. All it did was irritate the horse, but far be it from me to correct a king.

I glanced back and saw Vilugh’s boar raise its huge, pierced snout and let out a scream of what seemed to be like joy as it trotted along behind. My father’s horse spooked a little, and Starling skittered sideways. I went with her, absorbing the motion with my hips before she settled under my palm and voice. “Easy, they’re our friends now,” I crooned to her, and caught the flicker of her ears as she picked out my familiar voice. “There, see… just a big piglet. Nothing to worry about.”

At that, I heard Vilugh snort behind me and turned to grin at him.

“Shh,” I said conspiratorially. “She doesn't need to know what they can really do.”

His harsh face cracked a little at that and he nodded with a little smile. He probably saw me as a little child, I realised, and my face flushed again. I looked away and didn’t try to speak to him for the rest of the ride.

The orcs’ visit was brief, but it marked the beginning of an uneasy peace with their kind. I grew in my duties, becoming ever more isolated. I had no friends among the court, my father ignored me until he required me to be present for something, I trained, I rode my horse, I studied, I ate, I slept, and I read. For three years, the orcs did not return to the castle, though my father made one trip alone to visit them on neutral ground somewhere out on the plains.

When he returned, he seemed pensive, and I caught him staring at me a few times over supper that night, which unnerved me.

The year I turned eighteen was the year I discovered my new nicknames among our people. The “Silent Prince” and the “Royal Monk” had become my monikers, and my father hated it. Personally, I thought it rather fitting. I was still skinny, unable to put on muscle no matter how much meat I was given at supper or how many boars my father sent me to bring down. Of course, I couldn’t bring one down alone, but I managed once or twice with the help of a retainer or two. I wasn’t a complete disappointment. But I wasn’t Dannan.

My twenty first slid by, and my father showed no signs of slowing down. He expanded his territories to the east, and I saw war for the first time. Of course, I didn’t see it from the front lines. What I saw was strategy and numbers in the tents, and my tactics and suggestions won us three battles. They lost us one too, but to my surprise, my father started to take note of me then. He never said anything different, but he included me more in his business than he ever had. My hair grew a little longer, though I had it routinely hacked off when it got below my shoulder blades. It was nothing like the luscious head of curls my brother had had, so I could wear it long without it looking feral. Dannan’s had practically been a halo for him.

One morning, over our habitually silent weekly breakfast together, my father cleared his throat and announced, “Son, you’ll be heading off to train with Khraxh and her war band.”

I choked so hard on my scrambled egg that a servant actually had to step forwards and slap me on the back. “What?” I croaked the moment I had air enough in my lungs to articulate the word.

“You heard me,” the king said, his grey-blue eyes drifting down a list in front of him, the contents of which he had not deigned to share with me. As usual, I had brought a book with me to the table to entertain myself until he rose and left.

“I did, but… why?”

“I believe it will be good for you. Her son, Vilugh, will be here tomorrow to escort you.”

“I’m going alone?” Stupid question. I was always alone.

“Yes,” father chimed carelessly. “It’s time to toughen you up properly. Six months with them ought to do it.”

My mind went blank. “Six… Six months?” I stammered. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? You have something better to do than enhance our diplomacy with those beasts?” he sneered.

I was in the middle of translating one of the great Eddic collections of our people into the modern tongue for one, but I didn’t mention that. “Apparently not,” I said coolly, rising from the table after one last swig of water to wash down the startled remnants of my breakfast from my throat. “Excuse me,” I said, not waiting for his permission to leave.

Part Two

___

Please let me know if you’re interested in more! Some of the patreon folks were also interested in the one-armed orc, and don’t worry, he’s got more of a role to play too in the future.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier!

__

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[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 22

Chapter 22 is here. This is number one of the three important chapters. i wrote it a while ago and i edited about 8 times. It's a big chapter (in every sense, almost 7k words) for our two lovebirds.

WARNING: This chapter contains smut not heavy but yeah... hot times... and definitely a wall :)

Aelin and Rowan  finally have their getaway. Oh yes, and there is also a tons of fluff.

Now... I am terrified at the idea of posting this chapter. This is the first time for me writing smut. I have read plenty of it but never written it. So I am panicking, I really hope it's not too cringy because this chapter means a lot and i want it too be good.

I really, really hope you will love this.

As usual, thank you to everyone who so far liked or reblogged my story <3 Love you all.

Rowan sings a song to Aelin and it's this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfDtTHC8BoY. Please listen to this beauty, and you will understand Aelin's reaction.

We also get to know Malcolm, Aelin's second at the hospital. He is amazing and I love him already. Hope you will too.

Enjoy the chapter.

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

A few months had passed and summer had given way to winter and November had arrived. Aelin had slowly settled into her new job and fell in love with it. It was not as fast paced as London but that was a positive. She had the time to get to know properly all her colleagues and realised they were like a family. It was a small team and she could not believe that they were all getting along. In London with a much, much bigger team she had to deal with constant drama and dislikes. They had welcomed her in the group from day one and that had made everything easier. Malcolm, her second had showed her the ropes in the first few weeks while she was adjusting and since then he had been an amazing support. She had also discovered he preferred men and had a massive crush on Rowan and Aelin still laughed sometimes at the image of when Malcolm saw Rowan for the first time. 

He had walked straight into the A&E glass windows because he was too busy staring at her boyfriend. She and Malcolm had become great friends as well and he was slowly turning into the male and islander version of Lysandra. She was also impressed by the man’s skills. He had served as medical officer in the Navy and he was basically impossible to scare or to disgust. He was incredible in an emergency situation and Aelin loved the way he could keep his head straight. She had also taken under her wing an intern that reminded her a lot of a younger self. Finally after a long time she actually loved again going to work in an hospital and that had made all the difference. Not working in the bookstore felt weird and on a couple of occasions she had spent her days off there with Rowan. Her shifts were not crazy and they could easily see each other, a part from when she was due to work the night shift. But she had realised that somehow their relationship was getting stronger. They began cherishing a bit more the moments they had together. They still hadn’t done the deed but Rowan’s excuse was that if she wanted snow in their getaway they had to wait for winter.

That morning in late November her alarm went off and she slammed it shut quickly. It was Sunday and Rowan was not going to work. She made a move to get out of bed but an arm pinned her down. “Where are you going?” He was sleeping on his belly and his face was smashed in the pillow and his eyes were still closed. “Some of us have to go to work.” He grunted in response. Aelin leaned over and kissed his disheveled silver hair. She tried to move his arm but he pinned her down a bit harder. “Ro…” He grunted again and finally sat up and Aelin smiled. She loved seeing him in the mornings. He was always prime and proper during the day but mornings with his sleepy face and his messy silver hair, were her little treasure. The man was sex on legs even after waking up. “You don’t have to wake up for me.” “I got something for you.” Aelin gave him a questioning look. He smiled and gave her a piece of paper. She opened it and saw a name and dates. “Our getaway. That’s the name of the location and the dates I’d like.” He explained with still a sleepy voice. Aelin heart hammered in her chest. It was in a week. She had to make sure she could get time off. She waited months for this she and had no intention to postpone. “There are quite some cool lodges for holidays.” He smirked and heat polled between her legs. “I’ll make sure I get time off. I’ll beg Malcolm but I’ll have those days off.” “Good.” And he collapsed back in bed. “Go back to sleep.” She kissed him and left for a shower. A big grin on her face. Finally.

Aelin in the end had managed to get time off. Malcolm had offered to take her shifts after she had explained why she needed the time off. As a thank you she had offered to work two of his weekends and the man was even happier. Aelin and Rowan were now in the car toward their destination. They had taken the first ferry of the morning and were now back on the mainland. During the night it had snowed a lot and that’s why Rowan was at the wheel. Aelin had found an amazing cottage for a wonderful price. Being low season and all. They got a lodge in an isolated location with quite some luxuries. One of them was a working fireplace in their room. They had a massive kitchen according to the pictures but most of all, she was excited to try the small pool. Yes, in the back on the cottage there was a room with a small heated pool, with a floor to ceiling window. She had some plans already on how to use that room. They arrived an hour later. The place was near Lochinver. The town was covered in snow and Aelin was excited. They stopped in the village for food and then set off again. Once they arrived at their lodge Rowan complimented Aelin for the choice. There was nothing around them but woods and it felt like the perfect place, just like they had agreed. Aelin got off the car and was glad Rowan had convinced her about getting proper winter clothes. It was cold and she was looking forward to spend the four days in bed with him or cozying up in front of the fire. If they never left the lodge for nothing but food she would be happy. That’s all she needed. They took their luggage and entered the house and Aelin’s mouth fell open in surprise once she was inside. The place looked even better than the photos and everything was in wood. The bed looked like the ooziest place on Earth with thick fluffy blankets. “I love it.” Said Rowan stopping behind her and dropping his bags “You have good taste, Fireheart.” Aelin removed her shoes and ran to see the pool room. Once she got there she stopped “Rowan.” She shouted for his attention. He was at her side a moment later. “I have so many naughty ideas that you can’t imagine, Buzzard.” Rowan laughed and held her close “We’ll make sure to cover them all.” A soft kiss “Thank you for this. It’s the perfect birthday present.” She looked sternly in his eyes “No more hesitations.” Her finger wiggling in his face “This is our romantic getaway. We have snow and nature. All the conditions have been met. You promised.” He kissed her deeply and lifted her in his arms “I promised.”

They spent the afternoon outside. Aelin had convinced Rowan to do a snowman that now lived in front of their cottage. He took her out walking and they went for a very late lunch at the pie place in Lochinver. Eventually they got back to their accommodation and in the end they had a quiet afternoon and evening. Rowan had moved the big comfy chair in front of the window. She sat in his lap and they read for the rest of the day, watching the snow fall. Rowan was tired from the driving, he had done it before but the heavy snow made driving more challenging. so they had decided to relax as much as possible. It was later on that they decided to call it a night and Aelin smiled wickedly. She grabbed something from her suitcase and ran for the bathroom, locking the door. When she came out she noticed that Rowan was already in bed, reading. He finally noticed her and she loved his stunned face. She was wearing the most outrageous nightgown she had been able to find. It was black and lacy and covering very little of her body. Underneath she was wearing a flimsy lacy pair of lingerie leaving very little to the imagination. He had seen her naked already but she enjoyed the reaction. “What is that?” “Oh, I left Cookie Monster at home.” She said leaning sensually against the wall and she saw him straighten his back. “I thought this was more appropriate for the occasion.” Rowan got off the bed an in a couple of steps he was in front of her, staring down at her. She cupped his face and he covered her hand with his. For a moment it seemed like he was having an internal debate on what to do. Then in a swift motion he lifted her and he stopped in front of the fire and kissed her with a passion that sent Aelin reeling. “In front of a fire… is one my fantasies…” he told her in her ear. Aelin did not waste time and pulled him down on the plush carpet. The fireplace had a protective screen to prevent fire sparks to escape. In a house that was entirely made of wood, a fire would be a disaster. “Nice and toasty down here.” He hovered above her and her arms went around his neck. She pulled harder but he stayed where he was. “Patience. I am going to savour each minute of this night. I will not rush into this.” Aelin almost begged him. She didn’t want to wait. She needed him. But Rowan definitely had different plans. He gently lowered his body on hers making sure his weight was not crushing her. His hands trailed along her arms stopping at her wrists and pushing then her arms above her head. His mouth slanted on hers and with a keen tug of his mouth she opened for him. At the same time his hands began trailing back down again following her shapes and pausing at her hips. Rowan grabbed the hem of the nightgown and started lifting very slowly, taking great care in kissing every single bit of skin exposed. Aelin was on fire. She arched her back and moaned and the ache between her legs increased. He was barely touching her and she was ready to crack. The nightgown disappeared beyond her “For as much as I loved that nightgown of yours, I still prefer you naked.” And his mouth closed on one nipple, sucking, nibbling while the other hand was playing with the other one. Aelin shook and moved her hips to grind against him but he blocked her with his weight. She felt him hard against her and her hands landed on his back and nails definitely left marks. His tongue was doing devilishly things to her now hard peak and she pulled him even closer, inflicting more marks on his back. She squeezed her legs as she felt wetness spread and he had barely started. Oh, that wicked tongue of his was doing wonderful things and she imagined the same motions between her legs. The mere thought of his mouth on her was enough to make her moan. Gods, she was going to combust very soon. He lifted his gaze and stared at her. While never averting her stare he flicked her nipple with the tongue and in that instant one hand landed between her legs. Tempting, teasing, exploring. “Hmmm…” he had probably felt how ready she was. His mouth began its journey downward, kissing and licking and stopped at the band of her underwear. A black lacy piece of garment that covered very little. Teeth slowly lowered the garment “Lift.” She lifted her bum and allowed him to remove the piece of fabric. She was now bare in front of him. They had seen each other naked and they had explored each other bodies, but for some reason it still felt new. “You are stunning.” He breathed. His mouth landed on her inner thigh and from there he trailed down to her knee. He kissed the back of it and began his journey back with his tongue. The whole thing was mirrored on her other leg and Aelin almost whimpered. She placed her legs on his shoulder and he smiled as she spread her legs even more. He looked up to Aelin and saw her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open. His face disappeared between her legs “So, so, needy for me.” He whispered against her centre. Her hips rolled in an invitation but his hands pinned her down. “I will take,” a kiss at the edge of her folds “my time,” a mirror kiss on the other side “one kiss,” his thumb repeated the motion “at a time.” The thumb followed the same path as the mouth. His tongue finally took a long lick of her and Aelin screamed at the feeling. Lick after lick she started saying his name like a prayer and she had no idea how much longer she could resist before she was going to shatter under his ministrations. “Ro —“ she could not finished the thought. One of his finger slid into her and his tongue hit again that one magic spot and another loud moan left her. A second finger slid in and Aelin screamed as he hooked them inside her, brushing that deep secret corner of hers. Gods the man had skills. The moan that escaped from her almost undid him. “Rowan, please—“ she begged him arching her hips to grind against his fingers. His thumb replaced his tongue at her apex and she was now whimpering, the sensation becoming almost too much to bear. His fingers were now pumping hard in and out of her and Aelin was glad they had no neighbours. Her body jerked and he felt her core tighten around him and he knew she was near. His pace picked up a bit more, tongue and fingers dancing to bring her pleasure. “Gods, Ro I—” and the world exploded around Aelin. Fire spread through her body, up her spine, down her legs as they jerked, shaken by the powerful climax he dragged out of her. She kept repeating his name in a whisper as her hips rocked riding her high until there was nothing left of her but a limp mess on the carpet. Her eyes closed and an expression of pure bliss on her face. Once he was satisfied he sat back on his haunches between her legs and when she caught his eyes he brought his fingers to his mouth and slowly licked them clean in a gesture that almost gave Aelin another orgasm. “Damn it Whitethorn, get down here and kiss me.” She was breathless and she was not sure her cognitive functions were fully back yet. “I love how you look right now.” She grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss and tasted herself on his lips “I think I have scratched you back.” “I don’t care,” he said softly kissing her neck “I’ll bare my scars with honour.” His hands sneaked under her shoulders and grabbed the side of her face kissing her gently. Aelin’s arms wound around his back again. He went back kissing her and his hips started rolling against her in a suggestive motion. He needed her badly. He wanted to claim her in the most intimate and wonderful of ways. “Why you are not naked yet, Whitethorn?” He smiled against her neck “I was otherwise occupied.” He pulled back and stood, finally removing his clothes one at a time with intended slowness. He was now standing towering over her all naked and she thought she could never tire of the view. She noticed his hardness and her mouth went dry at the view. He was magnificent. As a provocation she put her hand between her legs and could not believe that she was still so ready for him. “I don’t think so.” He kneeled and picked her up and once in his arms she wrapped around him. “Someone requested a wall, if I remember correctly.” His voice a mere whisper against her ear. She looked in his eyes and she had a feeling his control was hanging by a tether. The lust and desire in his them were enough to reignite the fire in her. While walking to a free side of the wall her hand slid between them and she grabbed him but he growled and slammed her back against the wardrobe “Stop it or we’ll never make it to the wall.” She teased him again and a moment later she felt her back slam against the wall, his hand behind her head in protection. His mouth was hard against hers. Another gentle brush of his tip with her thumb and his hips slammed into her “Fuck, Aelin.” She knew he had lost it as she had never heard him swear or even curse very mildly. Her hands trailed from his back and with a gentle caress she brushed his wide shoulders. She wanted to kiss every centimetre of his body. She slid down slightly until she felt his tip nudge her entrance and in response she angled her hips just enough to allow him easier access. Rowan groaned, burying his face in her neck and with gentle rolling thrusts he finally slid into her. She heard him mutter something in Gaelic and his mouth almost bit her on the neck. “Gods, Aelin this is—“ but he did not finished the sentence as he slid into her again with a bit more force this time. Rowan moaned. She felt perfect around him. She rolled her hips once again and Rowan pulled out and his thrusts became a bit harder. Aelin’s nails left more marks on his beautiful skin. He pulled out again and thrusted in once more adding again more force. He repeated the motion a few more times and Aelin pushed her hips forward to increase the contact with him. “I dreamed about this for a while. How it would feel to finally join with you.” His accent now thick once again and she desperately searched for his mouth. His hand gripped her butt so tight she will probably have bruises the next day but she could not care. His rhythm picked up and Aelin could feel her release building up in her core once again and she heard herself moan savagely as one of his thrusts hit her most sensitive spots. She was about to give in to another earth shattering orgasm when she noticed he was nowhere near close to his climax. Damn, the man was not joking when he said he had stamina. “Tha gaol agam ort.” he whispered to her, kissing her neck “Tha gaol agam ort.” he repeated it like a prayer. One of his fingers dipped between her legs and Aelin’s legs tightened around his back and this time she screamed as her climax built up to a point she knew she was going to combust in his arms. And when his mouth found her again and his tongue did devilish things to her, her release finally exploded and rippled through her body, shattering her. And as the savage release wrecked havoc in her body, she lost recollection of time and place and of her own name. The wild climax spread to her back and down to her toes making them tingle in pleasure. And when she felt like she could finally melt in his arms, she realised he was not done yet. His rhythm had picked up once more and she almost whimpered when she felt another orgasm built up pretty quickly right after the other one. “Shit, Rowan I—” and her mouth closed on his skin to muffle the scream that broke free from her while she reached her high a third time. Rowan grunted and his hand cupped her butt harder and finally, in one final powerful thrust he reached as well his release. His hips rocked until he was spent and Aelin went limp against him her chest rising up and down in a desperate need for oxygen. She heard him pant as well and for a moment, neither of them tried to move, him still deeply seated in her. He took a big gulp of air and then kissed her shoulder and then her mouth until his forehead rested against hers, his eyes now on hers. He was breathing hard. Aelin’s hands cupped his face “You look exhausted.” She kissed him gently. He shook his head “I am just—” another gulp of hair “I never felt like this before.” He pulled her closer into an embrace and pulled away from the wall. Slowly, his legs still shaking, he walked back to the bed and with gentleness he deposited her on it and leaned forward for a kiss. She pulled him down to her and once he was at her side she nestled against him. “ 's ann leatsa a tha mo chridhe gu brath” a shy kiss on her cheek “You said something similar at Callanish.” He shook his head “same thing.” “What does it mean?” Her hand splayed on his chest. “My heart is yours forever.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Did you forgot your name?” His voice was soft and his accent still so very thick. “I did,” she chuckled. “I love your accent just now and while we were busy. It gets thick and it’s very sexy.” He nibbled at her ear and muttered something unintelligible in what she knew it was Gaelic. It was a song. He was definitely humming something. “What is it?” “S mi fo bhròn 's tu gam dhìth. Ged nach eil sinn fhathast pòsd’. Tha mi'n dòchas gum bi. Fhad' 's a mhaireas mo dhà dhòrn, Cha bhith lòn oirnn a dhìth.” Aelin’s eyes almost welled with tears. She caressed his face and he closed his eyes. “That was beautiful. Whatever it was it was…” he kissed her. “I am sorrowful without your company, although we are not married, I hope we will be. As long as I have my two hands, we will want for nothing.” He translated for her and then kissed her “The song is called Fair love of my heart. It’s the story of a lonely man and his tale about this woman he loves who then tells him her destiny is with him.” “I love you.” Her face leaned on his chest on his heart “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.” Her hand twined in his. His arms went around her and he pulled Aelin on top of him. She smirked at him and kissed his mouth, dragging her tongue across his lips. Then her hand slipped down between his legs and she loved his expression morph into pleasure as she stroked him gently. With a couple of stroked of her hands he was almost hard again and Aelin appreciate the luck of having a man with stamina. “I guess is my turn now…” Her tongue trailed along his chest and disappeared under the thick blanket he had draped on top of them. “Aelin you—“ Rowan’s back arched and closed his eyes at the first feeling of her mouth on him.

When Aelin woke up she had the biggest smile on her face. She turned her head and noticed Rowan at her side. His arms as usual over her in a protective gesture. They were both still naked. They had fallen asleep not long after their lovemaking and clothes had been forgotten. The blankets were still at the bottom of the bed and she was freezing. The fire had died out and the heating hand’t gone on just yet. She grabbed the duvet and hid under them snuggling against Rowan. He was always warm. “Morning,” he told her kissing her deeply. She grinned back at him. “I love you,” he whispered and she kissed his nose. “I am cold.” Rowan laughed and got out of bed to switch on the heating. Then he looked at the clock and realised it was past nine in the morning. “I think we need breakfast.” He had said simply, as if he cooked naked every day. Aelin pulled herself up on her elbows and stared at him dreamingly as he gave his back to her. His glorious back side was rock hard and she had a mad desire to bite it, while caressing that wonderful broad back of his. Even just looking at his naked body was enough for heat to pool between her legs. Her mind went to what she did to him under the blankets or to their adventure against the wall and she almost moaned. “Are you okay?” He asked, half turning while preparing their breakfast. “Nothing.” She cleared her voice in hopefully a subtle way. She landed back on the bed and covered herself with the duvet. One hand went between her legs and she discovered she was super wet again. “Fuck.” She whispered. “What are you doing under the blankets like that?” And light hit her when she noticed he had pulled the duvet from over her and when Aelin looked up his eyes were wide and locked on her hand and what she was doing. “I… You…” her mouth could not form a proper sentence “It’s your fault, you walk around naked.” He laughed and lowered on her and kissed her hard and a hand joined hers. Aelin was about to remove hers “No, keep it there.” He said instead. His hand covered hers and they moved together until Aelin felt an orgasm rise very quickly. He moved faster until release came and he muffled her scream with a kiss. “Food is almost ready.” Was all he said as if nothing had happened and walked back to the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a bed tray and placed it on her lap. Then he did the same for him and sat down beside her. “Never had a sexy breakfast in bed before.” She took a bite of the food and she realised she was starving. “What, police guy never made you post sex breakfast?” He asked while drinking his coffee. Aelin scoffed “I am just realising that we didn’t have the most exciting sex life.” She confessed biting a piece of bacon “Maybe I really was the one who drove him to cheat on me. I have been asking myself if I actually really loved him. If I stayed with him just because it was easy.” She sighed and Rowan grabbed her hand without interrupting her “Before it went downhill he was a good man. And I guess I felt something, but now with hindsight, comparing it to what I feel for you, I realise that I never felt anything ever so powerful for Chaol.” She put her fork down “He was horrible in the end. It hurt. But I think I stopped caring for him before I served him with the divorce papers.” Rowan pulled her to his shoulder and kissed her head. “Sorry,” she apologised “We just had a wonderful morning and I am ruining everything by moping on my failed marriage.” Once they were done, Rowan took the trays with empty plates and placed them on the floor, then grabbed Aelin and he pulled her down in bed, her face to him and covered them both, cuddling tenderly. “Lyria and I probably had just one year of true happiness.” He confessed “Then talks of the Olympics started and I knew that all of a sudden she was more interested to be with me because of who I was. But I still felt something for her. I proposed like a fool, but some of my friends had told me it was a bad idea. After the accident I knew she was bored of me. But I ignored the signs I just kept her with me.” He kissed her forehead “We both had relationships that failed. Horribly.” He grabbed her hand and dragged it to his chest “But now all of that doesn’t matter anymore. We, you and I, matter now.” Aelin nodded. “Just you and I.” Then in a swift motion Aelin got off the bed and pulled the covers at the bottom of the bed. She had enough of moping and sad stories. They were there to have fun. “What are you doing, you menace?” “Remember the pool?… fancy some post breakfast swim?” She stared at him and sensually brushed her hand on her abdomen, while a finger almost reached between her legs. She definitely had his attention now. Rowan stood and a moment later she was in his arms, being carried bridal style. He walked with purpose to the back of their cottage where there was a small pool. The pool was slightly larger as Rowan was tall and probably over a meter and a half deep but she would take it. Rowan climbed down the steps and entered the water with her still in his arms. She climbed down and realised the water was warm and it felt spectacular on her body. She submerged and saw Rowan do the same. When she came up for air he was on his knees in front of her. He then moved to the side of the pool that was slanted allowing people to lean in the massive tub. Aelin stood and with her naked dripping body and walked until she stopped in front of him. She removed the band from her hair and undid the braid, shaking her head to free it. Rowan stared up at her and his stare turned predatory and when she looked down she noticed he was ready for her. She sat down and straddled him, her thighs just below his length. She leaned forward and nibbled at his lips and he moaned lightly. Aelin grabbed him in in her hand and Rowan gasped hard. Once she was sure he was really ready for her, Aelin fully straddled him and lowered on him with maddening slowness. He closed his eyes and his hands went to her hips. Half way through Aelin pulled up and she heard him growl and at that sound she seated hard on him, taking him all in, in one swift motion. “Aelin—“ but her mouth was on his before he could finish the sentence. “Pool sex, another one my fantasies…” she licked his neck and Rowan grabbed her hips harder and let her set the pace this time.

It was over an hour later when they were again a breathless mess in each other’s arms. The first time had been hard and fast, but the second time they had taken their time and it had been much gentler. So slow that he made her come four times. Rowan sat and she took her place between his legs and cuddled while watching the snow falling outside. They remained in the pool a little longer enjoying the view. Then Rowan pulled her out of the water. Aelin went back to the room and it dawned on her that it was late afternoon and they really had spent the whole day making love and in each other’s arms. They had dried themselves and she grabbed her nightgown still scattered on the floor but Rowan stopped her. “No clothes allowed.” He kissed her. “Who am I to complain?” And she threw the garment back on the floor with the rest of their clothing. “We can have a late lunch if you are hungry.” She gently bit his shoulder while her hand cupped his butt “Hungry for you, always.” He laughed and went to the kitchen. “I was not joking, Buzzard.” She sat on the bench near the table crossed her legs and pushed her chest out “We should be naked at home as well.” He had his head buried in the fridge and turned to her “If we do that we risk never leaving the house ever again and we both have jobs.” “Spoilsport.” She stood and walked around the room swaying her hips. “You really are a menace.” An hour later Rowan had managed to put together a meal and they finally sat on the bench at the table. Aelin’s legs extended on his. In response to the provocation, Rowan had decided to eat his meal with one hand since the other one had been buried between Aelin’s legs. Once she was done eating she lowered her legs at each side of the bench opening for him. “Are you going to do something or not?” She teased him. Rowan accepted the challenge and ten minutes later Aelin lay on the bench breathless and with his name on her lips. Once they were done, and Aelin recovered she stood and cleared the dishes from the table then went back to him. She climbed on the table and sat down in front of him, her legs on both side of him. She spread them wide and leaned backwards a bit. She licked one of her fingers and briefly touched herself knowing he will enjoy the sight. “Wicked, wicked woman.” He stood and in a second his finger was in her “I guess I can have dessert tonight.” A second later Rowan had gripped her and flipped her on her stomach and bent her over the table. He had feasted on her and after that he had taken her from behind and Aelin was again very glad they had no neighbours.

By they time they got back to their bed Aelin was exhausted. “I think we will need a holiday to recover from this holiday.” She leaned back against Rowan’s chest and grabbed her book. Eventually they had decided to take a break and relax with some reading. “Hm.” Said Rowan who was all intent on reading his book. One hand up to eye level holding the book, the other in her hair, playing with it “You should have dried your hair better.” He said in his usual protective tone, and then went back to his book.

When Aelin woke up the next morning she felt like death. She had a splitting headache and was shivering from the cold. She snuggled as much as possible against Rowan and groaned in pain. “Hey,” he said when he felt her shiver. “I am so cold.” “The heating is on. I put it on a timer.” He drew her closer and noticed that Aelin was uncharacteristically warm. His mouth was on her forehead and he felt she was burning. “You are running a fever.” He got up and went to the bathroom to see if they had a medicine cupboard. Quickly he grabbed his clothes and got dressed, and raised the heating a notch. A moment later he sat on the bed beside her “I am going to the village to the pharmacy.” “I am fine…” she croaked. “You are not fine.” He kissed her forehead. “Be careful, please. The snow.” “I will be very careful.” He left and Aelin buried herself under the blankets.

Rowan was back a while later from his trip to the pharmacy and found Aelin hiding and shivering under the duvet. “Hey,” he pulled the blankets back and noticed she was still naked. He swore and ran to her suitcase to see if he could find clothes more useful than her flimsy nightgown. He sighed relieved when he found her Cookie Monster pyjama. “Aelin,” she groaned in reply. He pulled her up to a seated position and started pulling clothes back on her. Once she was ready he put her down again and covered her. He removed his winter clothes and got back to his more comfortable house slacks and then began looking after her. He had bought a thermometer and first of all checked her temperature and his worry increased when the digital screen told him 39C. He took the medicines and followed the instructions the pharmacist had given him. He placed a wet towel on her forehead. “Aelin,” “Hmm.” “I need you to take these. They will help to lower the fever.” Gently he helped her sit up a bit and she took the pills and then the water he offered. “Good.” Once she was lying down again he went to plan two. He filled one of his water bottles and placed on her bedside table so that she could drink as much as possible, then went back to the kitchen and started making soup. Carrot and coriander was light and easy and he knew Aelin loved it. An hour later the soup was ready and exactly as she liked it. He poured the contents in a bowl and walked the the bed and placed it on the nightstand. “Can you eat something for me? I made you soup.” “Which one?” She muttered, eyes half open. “Carrot and coriander.” “My favourite.” “I know.” He smiled and then grabbed his pillow and helped her sit up. “Everything hurts…” she complained. “You have a high fever. It’s normal.” He set the wet towel aside for now and kissed her forehead. Then sat in front of her and grabbed the bowl. He tasted a spoonful to check whether it was too hot. “Come on.” She complained that she could feed herself but he was in full fussing mode and there was no way to deter him and she had no strength to fight him. Spoon by spoon she ate the full bowl and Rowan smiled proudly. Once he was done he helped her again to lie down and tucked her in. Finally he moved the big chair near her side. He grabbed a book and plopped down, stretching his legs on the bed. With one hand he held the book, with the other he held her hand. He stared at her until she fell asleep then went back to his books.

Aelin woke up later in the evening. She turned and was disappointed in finding the other side of the bed empty. She sat up and noticed Rowan still on the chair at her side. He was sleeping and had a book on his lap. Then her gaze turned to the nightstand and noticed a thermometer and pills and she remembered. She had waken up with a savage fever and he had looked after her. She felt a bit better but the dull headache was still there and some aches as well. She took her temperature and noticed it was still in the low 38C. She took more medicines then her stomach growled. She was starving. With shaky legs she left the bed and noticed she had Cookie Monster pyjama on. She smiled. Then grabbed Rowan’s hoodie and put it on as well and went to the kitchen. She grabbed some bread to be toasted and went to the fridge for her jam and grabbed as well the large bottle of orange juice that Rowan must have bought. Caffeine was definitely a bad idea. She was eating happily when she heard Rowan approaching. “Aelin?” “Kitchen.” She said. “What are you doing out of bed?” He sat on the bench beside her. “I was starving.” “You could have woken me up.” He brushed her hair with his hand and touched her forehead “You are still warm.” “I know. But I need food.” “Go back to bed and I will bring it to you.” Fine, let him fuss. He was so adorable. Five minutes later he was carrying a tray with a plate with a few slices of bread with jam, a couple of his oatmeal biscuits and orange juice. Aelin protested at the biscuits but he said that she had to eat light and her ones were not approved yet. “Too much time outside in the snow, then the pool and then you did not dry your hair properly. That’s what you get.” And kissed her nose tenderly. “I ruined our getaway.” “No, you didn’t.” He smiled “At least you got sick after.” And he laughed. They spent the rest of the day in bed, then they had taken a warm bath together but Rowan was adamant in avoiding any illicit activity. And then he was the one who dried her hair complaining that she did a bad job the day before and got ill. That night they sat in the big chair, Aelin on his lap and a thick blanket around them and watched outside the window. Rowan’s app alerted him of a possibility of Northern Lights and the sky was clear. They had switched off all the lights in the cottage and were now waiting patiently. She was about to fall asleep when Rowan nudged her and pointed at the window. Aelin gasped in amazement and snuggled closer to him. Together and in silence they held each other and stared at the magnificent show outside.

Two days later it was time to go back home and Aelin was sad. Their getaway had been perfect. Even with her illness they had a wonderful time. “We just have to come back.” He said kissing her cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me.” “I will always take care of you.” They locked the door behind. Returned the keys and got back in their car. And home they went. To their adventure.

[nikkyshows]

Heart Trade

DISCLAIMER: reposted here to the new blog

So a while back I used an old caffeine challenge as a prompt and this is what came of it. I believe it was like #23 or something. First line and image prompts used (coffee shop).

I’m also like 93% sure that this only took like 45 minutes tops to write, with a bit of editing cause I had time. It was a productive session and fits in the hour mark that caffeine challenges are, even though this is an old one. It’s exactly 2k words which makes me happy.

Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but I think it works??? Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It all begins (ends) on a normal Tuesday. All the terrible, tragic things do. It had been a normal Wednesday night when your life first crashed around you, but that’s not a concern. Not now. Now, it’s a Tuesday evening and you’re waiting for him to come home. He’s late.

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

He comes home six minutes after the clock ticks 9. He’s three hours late and a part of you is surprised – you hadn’t been expecting him at all. He smiles sheepishly at you, still sitting at the dinner table with the plates still out. Your eyes search instinctively for lies, scanning the lines next to his eyes and the dimple in his smile.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

But you do and you don’t want to inspire suspicion, so you stand from the hard-backed chair you’ve been worrying in and fret over him. You push his jacket over his shoulders, onto the floor and you kiss him, pretending not to notice the peach-colored smudge on the curve of his throat.

Part of you expects this kiss to be different, for you to be able to taste infidelity on his tongue or sense guilt in the purse of his lips, but there’s none. He’s kissing you and it feels like any other kiss he’s given you before.

That stings a little, heart clenching in his suit pocket on the floor. Perhaps that was another sign, that he keeps your heart in a place where it is easily forgotten and left. But that’s how it goes. You don’t notice the red flags and warnings until it’s too late. It’s idiotic how that works.

The two of you head to the bedroom, both of your hearts laying carelessly on the lower floor. You have to lie when he sees the single tear slip down your cheek and your heart, discarded, bristles as you realize that you’re even in the lies you’ve told. 

For now. 

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

Finger tracing the rim of your ceramic mug, you curse him for being late. There’s a difference between him giving you time to prepare and time to change your mind. You won’t, but your conviction wavers.

Then he walks in, smooth-gaited and as confident as the day you met him. Now, you think there’s a reason for that. He sits in the chair opposite yours and smiles as he takes a sip of coffee that he obviously doesn’t taste – it’s black and he takes his with sugar and a dash of hazelnut creamer. It’s another pointless test, but a part of you still hopes he’ll notice the rings you’ve been making him jump through.

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November. 

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

The next morning you are praying that he won’t notice the change in your heart, the drop in temperature, but you are also hoping that he will. If he notices, he cares, but your phone sits silent in your pocket and his heart, still sitting on the table, blackens a little more.

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

That night, after he’s passed out in your bed, you take his heart and can feel his love pouring out. You lock it in a drawer in the kitchen and swear you won’t unlock it until the end, until your hearts break and your side of the closet is empty.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But the way his eyes widen as you place his heart on the table, you know he doesn’t. He hadn’t even realized that you’d left it sitting in a locked drawer for five months before that morning, like he didn’t realize you knew yours was in a drawer in his office and that the heart in his pocket wasn’t yours.

He never held your heart in his breast pocket. It’s stupid that he thinks you wouldn’t notice. You did. Maybe it’s because of experience, from the bubbly, waxen burns present on the heart you gave him, but you knew.

You know this just like you know last time was a mistake, this — this is too big to be an accident. This is a web of lies, both yours and his. Talking about nothing, your eyes linger on his soft hair and you wish it didn’t have to be this way, that love didn’t have to end in tragedy and shattered trust.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

You’ve been burned before, have felt the backlash of a Heart Trade gone wrong and you used to think that made you clever, but two weeks after the lying began, you’re still dancing with him, pretending nothing is wrong. The fire only made you dumb.

Last time, you didn’t know. You were oblivious and you were pardoned, but that only works once. This time, you know. You know, but you want what you didn’t get at first, you want the happily ever after you’re supposed to have. What if you can change it? What if you can undo what he did and bring him back?

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

He’s stunned, when he sees the splotches his lies and cheating have left. His shock appears genuine. He’s naïve, like most. No one knows the marks left on a heart caused by love lost until they’ve lived through it. His naitivity isn’t the flaw here, your knowing is.

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

The weight ages him, lines deepening as he begins to get the gist of where this meeting is going. He’s wrong. You haven’t told him everything. He knows you know he’s been lying, but he doesn’t know that you know who it’s been with, that you can only find one person who wears the shade of lipstick you’d found smudged on his neck that first day.

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You won’t tell him. November is a secret that dies in your grave. You lied then, too. You also bought the plot of graveyard you will be buried in, beside the old heart you’d left. You’re too emotional, too attached to what you’ve lost, too poetic in how you’ll die, but there’s a kind of romance in it. A Shakespearean tragedy known only to one.

You spill a little more, that you know the nature of his lies. You explain the way of the Heart Trade. He doesn’t notice the long pause between tellings. He confesses his lack of knowledge, that he thought you’d never know. You stonily inform him that you would have, even without his heart in your hand. You’ve been through this before, remember. The heart is simply a screaming, neon sign that you can’t ignore.

Smiling, you crack a joke or two (maybe three) about the flaws of a Heart Trade. You don’t tell him everything, keep some secrets to yourself. You don’t tell him that you were doomed from the start, that one can’t really commit to a Heart Trade if they’ve gone through one already. You can’t give your heart away twice. A part of yours — the old heart, unblemished and unburned, lays in a cherry coffin.

It’s not for the best, but you know it’s a lesson best learned from experience. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. He’d probably spout some nonsense about never loving you and that’s simply not true. The Trade wouldn’t have gone through if it was. You loved him too, at the start.

Wearily, unknowingly, he laughs along. You tell him you’re ending it here. You push his heart across the table and he sees the watercolor staining your fingers. That’s what happens when you break a deal, you explain. The other is left marked, tattooed in his failure to love only one.

Another unfair deal. You had done nothing, yet you’re the one that can never escape. Reddish-purple blotches and separate locked drawers will always haunt you and that’s okay. They can get in line. You have other demons, far bigger and scarier than neglected hearts, lies, and the shadow of a coffin engraved in your head.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

The shocked stupor you’d left him in with the unspoken promise of never seeing him again is another demon you’ll never outrun. Your things are already packed and gone from the house you shared. Packing had hurt and so had your meeting, but not all endings are bittersweet. Some are just bitter.

The chill makes you tug your sleeves down a little, covering some of the red splotch that runs down your wrists. You’d lied to him, sort of. The mark is as much on you as it is him. It appeared when you let him stray, when you let it bleed on your hands because damn you if you didn’t still love him.

But as you walk away from the crowded coffee shop where you broke your lover’s heart and left him reeling, you swear that you’ll never give your heart away again. You’ve lost twice. You won’t risk a third. (But things always come in threes, so maybe you will.)

This time, you swear you’ll keep your word. But a locked drawer is easy to unlock and holding his heart had made you feel better, like you weren’t about to lose him, like you hadn’t already lost him.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

@caffeinewitchcraft hope it’s okay that I did this and tagged you. Sorry if not, but I think this is a decent piece? I mean, I’m not too fond of parts of it, but as a whole, I think it’s pretty cool. Hope you liked it!!!

I think this is a pretty cool world. Maybe I’ll revisit it again one day, but its not a priority. The Soul Keeper world and Hero worlds have priority.