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megamindsecretlair · 2 months ago

Text

I'll Be Seeing You

Pairing: Jack Reacher x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. PIV, Cursing, SMUT, ANGST, fingering (fem receiving), nipple play, Sorry if I missed others. No spoilers for the show.

Summary: When Reacher reached your town, he was lucky enough to meet you the first day. You made him feel things he’d never felt before. And though there was the sad tug of goodbye in every interaction, he couldn’t help but stay one more night.

AO3 Link

Word count: 2,253k

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, @kiwi-jelly-mochi! LOL. I rewatched Reacher tonight. Need that man badly! This is what my brain considers a drabble. Enjoy! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Reacher had a lot of adjusting to do when it came to you. He was a man that prided himself on being as free as possible, never sticking anywhere for too long. He didn’t stay in the same place twice. There was too much world to see and his boots were made for walking.

However, when he blew through your hometown, he saw you sitting outside of a local coffee cafe, nose deep in a book and sipping on hot coffee. A glance was all it took for him to know that he had to meet you. Talk to you.

It took some convincing. You kept saying you didn’t usually go for “white guys”. Like you were trying to convince yourself not to say yes to him. That only made him try harder. Stick around the town longer than usual, actually finding the place relaxing for once.

No matter where he went, trouble always seemed to follow. Not here. Not with you. It was like you cast some type of spell over the town, warding it from any evil intent swinging through. If he believed in such things, he’d firmly believe you cast a spell on him.

It could explain how his chest grew tight whenever you looked at him. Or when you smiled at something small like when flower petals landed on your hand or when you heard children laughing. You were so sweet all the time. So full of love and optimism besides all the horrors in the world.

He strangely found that he didn’t mind it. He wanted to soak up more of it. Be around it. Around you. Interested in the way you make him feel. Stirring up feelings he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

His favorite thing so far was when you called him your robot. He knew he wasn’t the most expressive, the most welcoming. He’d been called everything under the sun by men twice your height and weight, upset that someone treated them like an adult for once.

He would be lying if he didn’t like your attempts to make him smile naturally. Doing funny impressions, making funny faces at him, bumping your shoulder with his. He played along, doubling down on being a robot but that was okay.

He liked that you were the beauty to his brute. You made him feel like Fred Flinstone whenever you blinked those cute eyes at him. You let him turn his brain off, live in the moment.

Speaking of, you were sitting on your couch, drinking your favorite drink and listening to old vinyl records your grandmother left you. You weren’t really into the music, but listening to it made you feel closer to her. Mourn the relationship you never had. Okay, so maybe he couldn’t always turn it off.

In his mind, details mattered. He wanted to bask in all of your details. The moles, the scars, the lines in the palm of your hand. You’ve lived and that made you the most interesting thing in the world to him.

Cool jazz music played, Billie’s voice crooning, and you lightly bobbed your head, looking at him. He smiled at you, loving the soft way your eyes crinkled. You took another sip and tilted your head at him. “What you thinkin’ about Mr. Robot?” You asked. You reached out and tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You,” he said, seeing no reason to be coy.

“What about me?” You asked.

“How pretty you’d look in my lap,” he said.

You giggled and shook your head. But you placed your drink down on the coffee table and scooted closer. “You’re gonna make it hard when you finally say goodbye,” you said, your voice wobbling. You kept on a brave face, smiling despite it all.

He told you that he wasn’t the sticking around type. The more he stayed here, the more he gained familiar haunts with you day by day, he wasn’t so sure that was true anymore. Wanderlust was his first love. Needing to roam thanks to his military background. Never putting down roots. Never staying in any one place long enough to make connections. Just a mean right hook and an itch whenever he saw injustice.

Yet, whenever he thought of leaving, his chest would seize and he’d have to sit there and breathe through the panic. He knew he was in too deep already, but he needed one more night. One more day to wrap himself inside you and pretend to live there. Pretend to claim you. Pretend that you’ll always remember him when you’ve found the love of your life and forgot all about him.

Just one more. That was all he needed. Then he’d be strong enough. Then he’d be the only one strong enough to leave you.

For now, he pulled you by the hand to come sit in his lap. You giggled, scrambling across the lush blue cushions to climb into his lap. He also loved it when you got excited. The way you lived out loud, expressed emotions clearly and vividly. So much so, even a brute like him could pick up on it. Become infected by it. Feel it latch onto his bloodstream and never let up.

He pushed your black flowered dress up your thighs as you settled into his lap. He grabbed two big handfuls of your ass, squeezing it hard just like you needed it. You growled, rolling against his crotch like a needy slut.

You weren’t wearing panties and he chuckled as he gripped your ass, giving it a light smack. “No panties this time?” He asked.

“They just get in the way. Someone has a penchant for ripping them,” you said, pointedly looking at him. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his. He hummed, licked his lips, and leaned in for another kiss. You indulged him, bringing your hands to cup his strong square jaw and scratch at his stubble.

“You’re right, they’re in the way,” he said, grinning naturally, just for you. Your eyes lit up and you squirmed in his lap.

His dick was throbbing with your movements. With the subtle friction from your breasts pushed into his chest. He squeezed your ass again, giving it another smack. He began to kiss your neck, licking the pulse in your neck and causing you to purr. You melted in his hands, falling against him as he moved further down.

He used his teeth to pull down the cups of your dress, freeing your breasts and humming in satisfaction. Fuck, he loved your breasts. Loved how they were the perfect shape and size. He leaned down, needing to feel your soft flesh in his mouth.

He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard. You squealed, hitting his shoulder. He chuckled, sucking harder. He tortured the little nub, feeling it peak beneath his tongue.

“Oh, fuck, Reacher, I could write entire books about this mouth,” you moaned, throwing your head back. You poked your chest out, giving him full and complete access. Just as he liked.

“Please do, I’d love to read it,” he whispered against your titty. You chuckled, bouncing in his lap and rubbing against his dick. He felt lightning strikes straight to his balls, getting heavier with a thick load just for you.

He let go of your titty with a wet pop, leaning back far enough to admire his handy work. Satisfied, he moved on to the other, suckling it and moaning as you rubbed in just the right place. Just enough for him to buck his hips.

“I need you, Reacher,” you whispered into his hair, kissing his head.

“I got you,” he said. For now. For this moment. For this brief interlude in between towns when he discovered all there was and planned to move on to the next. The next people. He wouldn’t find another you, however.

He picked you up effortlessly, scooting you back on his thighs so that he could free himself. He groaned as his dick was released from his jeans, pressure finally eased. You leaned over to the end table, grabbing a discreet foil package.

He’d been here an entire week and he’d fucked you every single day. Never without a condom. He wished to feel you completely. To soak his dick with your slick. Your essence. The very heart of you. He wanted it. And that was exactly why he couldn’t.

If you were an old blues record, you were one of the rare, more optimistic ones. The ones that hurt his heart and made him think at the same time. You sounded like forever in every ring around the record, the delicate scratch of the needle. You needed someone to handle you with care. With love. To play you every Sunday right as the sun went down, fresh glass of lemonade beside. To protect, to hold.

And that was why he never forgot the condom. Neither did you. You handed it to him and he opened it, rolling it on, and he used his fingers to gauge how wet you were.

Fuck, you were dripping. He groaned and went back to kissing your chest. Working his way up to your jaw, to the corners of your mouth, kissing you fully on the lips. Heat washed over him, a burning fire under his ass to get inside you as quickly as possible.

He played with your clit as he lined himself up, sinking you down on his dick. “Unf, fuck,” he moaned. You didn’t even grimace or cry out that time. A week was all it took for you to get acclimated to his size.

“You’re killing me,” he said.

You giggled, pressing kisses into his face. He fucking loved it. Your hands went around his neck, starting to lift up and down onto his dick.

Your breathing was shaky but you persisted, lifting all the way off of him and then sinking right back down. You groaned as he seemed to hit some kind of spot inside of you, rubbing his thick mushroom head along your inner walls.

“Shit, fuck me, Reacher. Fuck me, please,” you begged.

Reacher hooked his hands under your thighs and sped up, fucking you onto his dick with a little more speed. You cried, soaking his dick. He could feel it, but he couldn’t really feel it.

“Oh shit, right there. Right there, Reacher, right there,” you whimpered.

He listened. He kept the same pace, the same thrust, spearing you on his massive dick. “Let me hear you,” he said.

You cried harder, whimpered longer, moaned in a tinny voice that sent more lightning strikes to his dick. He seemed to swell just hearing how needy you were. Felt how wet you were for him. He pretended that it was only for him. That you would only ever get this wet for him. To bless him with this side of you. This unregulated, wholesome, completely authentic part of you.

“Louder, louder,” he said, panting, thrusting up to meet you bouncing on his dick. You felt amazing. Perfect. So perfect.

Your cries got louder, moaning battling the music still crooning in the late afternoon. Your living room was small but it suited you. Everything about the space was warm and comforting. Even the couch. He sank pleasantly into it, firm enough to meet your sopping wet pussy.

Your titties bounced in his face. He watched your pert brown nipples dangling like sweet berries in front of his face. He resisted the urge to suck on them again, instead looking up at you.

Your mouth was open, tongue peeking out. Your eyes were low, spaced out, and the most beautiful sight of all. Better than any piece of artwork. Any genius masterpiece. Your nails dug into his shoulders. He barely felt it.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to not feel pain, but he was a big guy. He could take a punch and he could certainly take the way you gripped onto him for dear life. “Oh, Reacher, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, diving down for a kiss.

“Let me feel it,” he said, looking into your eyes.

You tightened your hold, gritted your teeth before your jaw went slack and you shook on his dick. He kept bouncing you, felt how your pussy tightened and pulsed on his dick. He moaned, wanting to keep looking at you but also wanting to let the sensation take over.

Sensation won out as he dropped his head back against the couch cushion, smacking your ass as you moaned from your orgasm. He was close. Now that you came, he could take it a step further. Slide in deeper. Bounce you quicker.

His balls tightened as he finally climaxed, hot sperm shooting into the condom. He moaned, grabbing onto your ass for an anchor point. He grunted as he finished, looking down at where you were connected.

Your skin was slick with sweat, chest heaving with breaths. He grinned at you, couldn’t help wanting to make you smile. He was going to hate himself when he had to make you sad.

“I think I’m gonna stay one more night,” he said, bringing you into a kiss. He licked your lips and you gasped and he slipped his tongue inside, needing to taste more. Do more.

“Okay, but only one more,” you said, against his lips. You got an evil glint in your eye and he wondered if you weren’t up to something devious tonight. He couldn’t wait to find out.

There will be more! The Secret Jack Reacher Files

Taglist: @planetblaque @chaos-4baby @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui

@we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake

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#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Jack Reacher Files #Jack Reacher x Black!reader #Jack Reacher x Black reader #Jack Reacher x Fem!reader #Jack Reacher x Fem reader #Jack Reacher x plus size reader #x Black reader #x Fem reader #x plus size reader #Jack Reacher fanfic #Jack Reacher fan fic #Jack Reacher fan fiction #Jack Reacher fanfiction #Alan Ritchson #Reacher fanfic #Reacher fan fic #Reacher fanfiction #Reader fan fiction

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just-french-me-up · 3 months ago

Note

If you'd still like Dreamling kiss prompts, how about 7 or 17?

@martybaker asked : Hello, your fics are so lovely! May I humbly request ‘A kiss to shut them up’ if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈 @anonymous asked : Thoughts on dreamling 7 or 17 (to shut them up or to distract - maybe even both at once?) for the kiss prompts?

We're shutting him up, yall! This is a Retired!Dream one, in which Dream struggles with the human body and human condition, and can't see how he can measure up to his old self in Hob's eyes. Angsty you say? Deceivingly horny I raise you! I kept this sorta M rated but... hey if there's more to come *winkwink* who knows?

The human body was a curious thing. It required constant attention, fluids, fuel, maintenance, care. And yet it was so... limiting. Morpheus could still remember how it felt, to think of a place and feel the ground shift under his feet without ever having to move. There had been no hunger then. No thirst. No itching, for his skin had never had the notion that it could be too dry.

If he had ever felt those things, it had been because he had chosen to.

Now the world imposed itself to him, there wasn't much of a choice.

Urges baffled him the most. The dryness coating his mouth on a particularly hot day, his mind conjuring up images of cold, condensation-weeping bottles. The drowsiness taking hold of him after dinner, weighing on his eyelids. The burning, devouring heat flaring in his abdomen as Hob would step out of the shower, a towel lazily tied around his hips, the line of hair trailing down his navel guiding Morpheus' gaze downwards.

It was a strange thing, to be overcome by such sensations. An infuriating thing, really. He ought to be able to resist them. He had been able to resist them, once, to ignore them, dismiss them into nothing if he so chose. How vexing it was, to be a creature of wants and needs, when your existence had been nothing but careful control.

He would not tell Hob, but he could not help but feel... lesser. How clever could his mind be, now that he only had access to his own? How good could his hands be, he who had been able to breathe life into dream clay, fashion lands and castles with a single thought? How pleasing could his touch be, now that he was barred from his lover's unconscious? How could he compare to who and what he had been, once?

They had not made love ever since his encounter with the Kindly Ones. Hob had never pushed, reading Morpheus far better than Morpheus ever could, now. There had been times, here and there, when Morpheus had thought they would, with lingering kisses growing deeper, embraces in bed tighter, but something had held him back. Some bitter gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. Yet another thing he could not seem to control.

Yet he wanted. Desperately, frustratingly so. The most mundane things would strike him as the most erotic sights he could fathom. Hob drinking his coffee in the morning, his Adam's apple bobbing as he'd swallow. Hob reading the day's papers, his gaze intent, focused. Hob reaching up to grab this or that from a cupboard, his shirt riding up and showing his navel, while his tired pajama bottoms hung from his hips, revealing the slight dips there, a hint of hair...

Morpheus' body would betray him often, subjecting him to fantasies and erections that, much like the rest, he held little control over. Unlike food, lust was a hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It only grew.

If Hob had ever caught him staring, he never said anything. Instead, he was highly skilled at noticing when Morpheus' mind would start spinning on itself, feeding the loop of existential dread looming over him. He had taken to giving Morpheus tasks, then, something to focus on. Although it would not quite clear the storm, it muffled it somewhat.

Perhaps he'd sensed another one of Morpheus' spirals that night, when his voice rose from the bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks! Love? Might need a hand here."

As he stepped inside the bedroom, Morpheus found Hob standing by the mirror, struggling with his button-up. He flashed a quick contrite smile at him, emphatically tugging at the fabric.

"Can't manage to button those buggers off," he explained.

"Allow me."

The human condition was one thing, but buttons he could handle. Morpheus' touch was methodical, surgical almost, as he focused on the task at hand, yet three buttons later, he could not help but feel his focus slip. He could feel Hob's warmth under his fingertips. His heartbeat. As he breathed in, Hob's scent filled his lungs, distracting him further. By the time he was done with the shirt, his mind had gone elsewhere.

Hob wore an undershirt, a thin, almost see-through thing. It required barely any effort to see his chest in spite of the fabric. Morpheus' eyes trailed down, heat flushing his cheeks. Mindlessly, his thumb traced the line of hair down Hob's abdomen, his mouth filled with want. He could feel hot breath against his lips. Humans were not meant to withstand such hunger.

They were kissing before Morpheus could articulate another thought, Hob's mouth warm and soft against his, the coarse brush of his stubble adding fuel to the fire overtaking him. No doubt Hob had meant for this to be tender, but Morpheus was famished, taking, and taking, and taking all that was offered until his lungs might explode. He found himself gasping against Hob, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Hey," Hob whispered, gentle to a fault. "It's okay. There's no rush."

Morpheus swallowed hard, feverishly catching his breath. Hob's palm was invitingly cool against his cheek.

"I will keep," he continued. "We don't have to―"

"I want to," Morpheus rasped, weeks of frustration pushing the words out of him. "I want you. I just―"

"Just what?"

The patience in his voice was the lifeline Morpheus held onto as he sighed, embarrassment flooding through him.

"This form, it feels... finite. Flawed. Lacking."

Fallible, he did not say. He watched as Hob's eyes grew round, ridicule joining embarrassment.

"Duck―"

"I am not as I once was," he continued, overcome with the need to justify himself. "I am no longer suited to anticipate your every want. I can not satisfy you to the degree I once could. Everything I have to offer is bound to disappoint in comparison."

Hob's stare felt heavy, too heavy for Morpheus to hold, but as he looked away, Hob took his chin between his fingers, directing his gaze back to him.

"Love, I―. Sex is not about making some kind of... of ranking."

"Your unconscious would rank it, regardless."

"Fuck my unconscious. It's my conscious self who wants you, magic dick or not."

The corners of Hob's mouth twitched at his own joke, but seriousness soon took over.

"I love you," he said, prompting Morpheus to look away again. "I love you. I would love you Endless, I would love you human, I would love you if you were a tentacled monster and hell, you've been that before if you'd recall!"

Morpheus fought back the smile creeping up on his lips.

"I never cared how we'd fuck. Well, I did, but― I did because it was you. I wanted to be with you. I still do."

Hob sighed, and they stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"At least now we know that mind of yours is well and truly yours and not a Dream of the Endless exclusive."

"An unfortunate discovery."

Hob's hand settled on Morpheus' waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt.

"I do want you," he said. "Whenever you're ready. If ever. But I don't want you holding back because you've convinced yourself I may not enjoy it well enough, according to some cosmic standard you've set for yourself."

Morpheus nodded slowly, his own thumb back to tracing the happy trail on Hob's stomach.

"I have always found you pleasing enough, after all," he dared, shooting a tentative look at Hob. "As human as you are."

Hob made a face, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Your compliments need work, duck. But I do think there's a silver lining to this whole human condition you are overlooking."

"Is that so?"

Hob smirked at him, fully conscious of how devilishly handsome that made him. He had had, after all, centuries to hone those skills. How long would it take him?

"You no longer have access to my unconscious, right?"

"I do not."

"Which means you can no longer anticipate my every want, as you said."

Now that was rubbing salt into the wound.

"Yes," he conceded with a frown.

"Well imagine how arousing it is, my love," Hob said, his eyes darker by the second, "to be able to surprise you."

A warm shiver went down Morpheus' spine, sending his pulse into a frantic race. He swallowed thickly, holding Hob's gaze.

"How arousing?"

"Very. Cock-achingly, one might say."

Morpheus glanced down, finding Hob's trousers tight, his hard cock pressing against the fabric, making his knees weak. The human body truly was weak in the most delicious way.

"I could dare you to surprise me," he teased back, his breathing loud in his ears.

"You could."

Gods, that mouth of his, Morpheus was quite certain he could be undone from that tone alone. But still.

"But should you find me displeasing, you ought to―"

The rest of his words were swallowed into a kiss, unheard and discarded, replaced by tender sighs and wanting hands, and after a while, Morpheus found he'd forgotten what they even were, his mind blissfully blank save for pleasure.

The human body was a curious thing. A highly pleasing thing, at times.

Send me a kissing prompt?

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withahappyrefrain · 4 months ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where … Venus is in the Navy and there’s where she and Jake meet each other (she doesn’t need to be a pilot but I’m dying to see how it would be if she were a fellow Navy personnel)

k bye love you

Fe the way this has been marinating in my brain! This an amazing idea I love it!

"This is so fucking stupid," Jake muttered as his squad gathered together. It was only the fourth time he had complained about it today, but fourth time’s the charm, right?

Even if he was silent (rare but possible), the annoyance practically radiated off of him. Gone was that signature smirk and in its place his lips were drawn in a thin line, eyes narrowed as he kept his arms firmly crossed over his broad chest.

"You realize that this has nothing to do with whether they think we're good or not, right?" Natasha asked, rolling her eyes.

"And see, that's where you're wrong because it absolutely does. If they thought we were good enough, they wouldn't think we needed training from them," Jake explained, his voice coated in a vexing tone.

"It's their whole job, you do realize that? Right?" Reuben asked, shaking his head. The whole squad had gathered outside the doors, wanting to come in together before the first meeting. What they didn’t think about was that it meant being forced to hear Jake.

Most of the squad was fine with the Star Warriors coming in to help with training. Some were even excited.

And then there was Jake.

Jake who could only shake his head as he clenched his fists and rolled his eyes, "I don't care whether it's their job or not. It's the fact they think we seriously need training that's insulting."

"Well, I'm excited to meet them!" Bob piped in, hoping to break the tension, "I've heard great things about the Star Warriors."

"Yeah, really great things," Bradley said a bit too gleefully, ignoring the death glare from Jake, "Did you know on the Star Warriors is Venom, the only other pilot-"

"Knock it off Bradshaw,” Jake snapped, his tone sharp.

"of this generation that has an airstrike kill? Therefore, breaking our beloved Bagman's record and making him eternally jealous?"

"I am not jealous!" Jake snapped, "Besides I read the report. It was all pure luck, not much skill, if any."

Sure, it hurt a little, truly a miniscule amount, when Jake learned he was no longer the only one who had achieved such a rare accomplishment. But after reading the report, he knew he was still the better pilot.

No jealousy at all. That would be ridiculous to hold against a person he’s never met, never even seen before.

"So you're jealous," Phoenix smirked, "Well I'm excited because it has the highest number of women in a Navy squad and frankly this place needs more women.”

"If you tell anyone I said this, I'll deny it. But," Bradley's voice dropped to a whisper, "Mav had a fling with the Captain of the squad back in the day."

Everyone gasped, well, everyone except Jake.

"There's no way Mav was able to pull Penny Benjamin!" Natasha whispered, "Dude, I had her picture on my wall when I was a kid!"

It was purely because Captain Penny Benjamin was an idol for all girls who wanted to join the Navy. Being one of the first female pilots to fly in a combat mission will do that. Nothing to do with her looks.

Maybe a little.

“It was before she enlisted. But yeah, that's why he told us to all be on our best behavior,” Bradley explained, reveling in the fact he could contribute to the hot gossip for once.

Mickey snorted, “He has been looking like he's about to shit his pants at any moment.”

Javy looked over his shoulder just in case the short instructor was looming by, “You think he still wants her?”

“Considering he’s been trying to follow Cyclone’s orders for the last couple days? I’d say so,” Bradley smirked.

“We should get in there before they take the front tables,” Jake said, crossing his arms. That, combined with the small pout on his face made Jake resemble a child that had been told there was no more cake.

At least that’s how Bob saw it. Not that he would say it out loud (yet).

As the squad went inside, they stopped when they noticed the front four tables had a piece of paper on them, each saying ‘RESERVED’ in bold letters.

“He reserved the front tables for them?” Jake whispered, not even bothering to hide the disgust in his voice.

“Oh, he wants her bad,” Mickey chuckled as he took a seat next to Reuben.

“You think?” Bob muttered as he got out his paper and pad. He didn’t mind the seating change because it gave him a better chance to observe. An act of subtlety that Jake would probably never learn.

“Careful Seresin, there’s steam coming out of your ears,” Bradley whispered as he sat down at the table across from Jake and Javy.

“It’s just some tables, don’t worry,” Javy assured his best friend, internally praying that Jake would be able to keep his cool for once. Today, of all days, was not the time nor place for Jake to lose his temper, or worse, push others to do so.

Jake sneered, ignoring Bradley’s comment as he got out his notebook. Checking his watch, he already felt better- this supposedly ‘amazing’ squad was five minutes late.

Maverick said something about issues with parking.

“Typical,” Jake muttered. This supposedly ‘elite’ squad couldn’t figure out parking?

“Maybe they could have parked if your car didn't take up three spaces,” Bradley remarked, as if he could read Jake’s mind.

“My car is not that big,” Jake defended. Some called his Jeep Wrangler an ‘eyesore’. Jake didn’t think his colleagues had any right to judge his car, Bradshaw in particular.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Your parking is heinous. How many spots did you take up today, Seresin?”

“One!” Jake rolled his eyes, “And a half.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

The sound of the door opening saved Jake from further scrutiny. There in the doorway stood Penny Benjamin and her supposedly elite crew. He saw the captain of his squad straighten up, clearly hoping to add a few inches to his height.

There were many women, more than one usually sees in a Navy squadron. That alone was enough to turn one’s head.

But one in particular stood out to Jake.

She was right behind Penny, standing tall as she walked into the room. She was striking with her amber eyes and dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. There was an air of confidence about her; she had no trouble standing tall in the front of a room full of strangers.

“Thank you for your patience. My squad and I are honored that we get to work with you,” Penny Benjamin smiled as she addressed the group, “We've heard many great things about this squad.”

“And we've heard many wonderful things about yours,” Maverick said. Jake fought the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting to stop looking at this mystery girl. Her plush lips had formed into a tight smile as her eyes continued to scan the room. The dark green of her flight suit was striking against her sun kissed skin.

When they landed on Jake, he was ready with a bold wink and a dazzling smile. Laying on the Texan charm, as he always did.

She rolled her eyes, whispering something to the blonde haired woman next to her.

Huh. That usually did the trick.

Jake wasn’t nervous. He liked that she remained strong. It spoke volumes of her focus.

Oh fuck, she smiled.

Whatever the woman next to her whispered, it made his dream girl’s eyes light up. Her cheeks rounded as a grin overtook her face. It was one, if not the, most beautiful sight Jake had ever seen. And he had seen sunsets and sunrises all over the globe.

Shit, he was nervous. He shifted in his seat, looking down at his boots. His face felt warm, was he blushing? She didn’t even smile at him and he was blushing.

Fuck.

“I’ll let my team introduce themselves. This way we can all be some sort of name basis, be it callsigns or our government names,” Penny explained, earning a chuckle from Pete that Jake would normally gag at. Instead, he remained poised, eyes remaining on the beautiful woman that was standing next to Penny.

The first woman to step forward had long blonde hair swept into a ponytail and eyes bluer than the sky. She was striking and normally what Jake would go for. But today was proving to be different.

“Lieutenant Camellia Garcia. Callsign Cielo,” She said with a sweet smile, her eyes remaining on Mickey.

He returned the smile, ignoring the playful nudge Reuben was giving him.

“Wait, is that your wife?!” Javy blurted out, earning a giggle from Penny’s squad, along with Natasha, Bob, and Reuben. It was known Mickey’s wife was also in the military, though he didn’t make her area widely known.

“No, they just have the same last name for funsies,” Natasha commented, forcing Bob to stifle a laugh. Bradley continued to look bewildered (not that Nora minded).

“Yes, we do have a pair of lovebirds together. But after Penny and I discussed it extensively, we realized it shouldn’t be a problem,” Pete explained.

Camellia turned her head to face the smaller Captain, “It was never a problem Captain.”

“That’s my Cielo,” Mickey muttered under his breath, making zero attempts to hide how pleased he was.

A woman with military issued glasses was next to step forward. Her doe eyes had been scanning the room while Penny spoke, always alert. “Lieutenant Nora Anderson, weapon systems officer. Callsign Birdie.”

Bradley’s ears perked up upon hearing her callsign. Immediately, he straightened up, leaning forward as his eyes remained intensely on her. He might as well have cartoon hearts in his eyes.

Birdie definitely noticed, looking away immediately after locking eyes with the mustached pilot, a red flush overtaking her face.

Amateurs, Jake thought. After that brief moment, he regained his composure, arms crossed as he moved his toothpick around with his mouth. You never make it obvious.

He was very obvious.

After Birdie, a woman with curly hair stepped forward. With her shining hazel eyes and bright smile, the only word that could best describe her was adorable.

“Lieutenant Maeve Castellanos. Callsign Athena.”

Great, now Bob was staring. Fucking Bob, Baby on Board, of all people, with his cheeks bright red and blue eyes having turned into the living embodiment of hearts.

They were all falling one by one. Soon Jake would be the only one standing strong. He could only shake his head at his coworkers before diverting his attention back to the Goddess that was next to Penny.

Finally, she stepped up. She smiled confidently as her eyes scanned the room before speaking in a self assured tone, “Lieutenant Commander Danica Morales. Callsign Venom.”

Oh.

As Penny’s crew moved to sit down, Jake’s coworkers turned to him, expecting an annoyed look plastered on his face.

Instead, his eyes seemed to be…shining? Rather than a scowl, his lips had formed into what could best be described as Jake’s signature ‘shit eating grin’.

“Huh.” Was all he let out. It wasn’t one of confusion, if anything it reeked of satisfaction, which was odd considering how irritated he was 15 minutes ago.

“Do you have something you’d like to add, Lieutenant Seresin?” Penny asked, much to everyone’s dismay- Pete’s particularly.

Jake straightened up, leaning forward over the table, resembling someone who was about to sweet talk a bartender rather than a Captain.

“I’m just honored to be working with you all, particularly Lieutenant Commander Morales. You know, it’s not every day the best meets the best.”

If looks could kill, Jake would already be dead. Not just from Danica, but from the eyebrow raises and baffled looks from the rest of his squad. If it bothered Jake, hell, if he even noticed, he wasn’t letting on. He simply smirked, eyes remaining on who he once described as his rival.

“However, I do have to say something,” He began.

“Please don’t,” Bob muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose to prepare himself for whatever bullshit was about to flow out of his coworker’s mouth.

“They made a mistake with your call sign. Venom doesn’t suit you,” he explained as if it was obvious.

Maeve scoffed, “Clearly you’ve never heard her over comms.”

Bob now owed Nat ten bucks after claiming there wasn’t a girl on Penny’s squad for him.

Jake ignored the comment, continuing to talk much to everyone’s dismay, “It should have been Venus. After your beauty.”

The room was so silent, you could hear a pin drop.

Danica tilted her head to the side in an attempt to comprehend Jake’s words. Whereas the 45 degree angle tilt seemed to help her cat, Rugelach, understand things, it did not when it came to understanding Jake fucking Seresin.

“Is he….” Nora turned to Maeve, absolutely bewildered, “....on something?”

Maeve rolled her eyes, “Unfortunately no, he had to pass a drug test to be here.”

Nora’s eyes widened, “So he’s….he just said that sober?”

“Welcome to the club, it doesn’t get better,” Bob muttered. Maeve gave him an apologetic smile, making the bespectacled WOS blush, eliciting an amused smirk from Natasha. The moment was a great reprieve from the fuckery that was their blonde teammate.

Bradley leaned over, “If you want Nora, I can give you the rundown on Seresin after this briefing.” He could barely hide his excitement as a blushing Nora timidly nodded her head. If Danica hadn't been twitching over Jake's words, she would have given her WSO a knowing wink and nudge.

Camellia turned to her husband in disbelief, “Does he do this often?”

Mickey shook his head, “This is new for all of us Cielo.” His words brought little comfort.

Penny turned to Pete, lips drawn in a thin line as she contemplated filing a sexual harassment charge. If looks could kill, Jake would have died by Pete Mitchell if Danica hadn’t already killed him with her glare.

“You….” Danica started, closing her eyes for a brief moment to prepare herself, “You’re honored to work with me?”

Jake smiled, showing off his bright veneers teeth, “Of course. How could I not be?”

“Even though my achievement was just, in your words, pure luck?”

The echo of his past words caused the smile to drop from Jake’s face, his brow knitting together in confusion, “I’m sorry darlin’, I don’t understand-”

“That’s what you’ve been telling everyone. That it was all pure luck, no skill,” her lips curled into a confident smirk, eyes narrowing as she continued to stare at Jake, “Word gets around Lieutenant Seresin, especially with a mouth as big as yours.”

With that, she simply turned around, ignoring the once cocky pilot who now had a gob-smacked look on his face.

As well as a raging erection, but she didn’t need to know that.

Jake couldn’t tell you what the rest of the briefing was about. What he did know was that Danica Seresin had a beautiful ring to it.

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

@gretagerwigsmuse @blue-aconite @princessphilly @mxgyver @wildbornsiren @perfectprettypisces @percyjackson1d @cinderellasmissingshoes @imdreaminghere @idontcare-11 @rae-gar-targaryen @satans-firstborn @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year ago

Text

Day 6: Boot Worship w/ Simon Riley

i work until 11pm so pls enjoy and let me know ur thots

Kinktober Masterlist

“Lieutenant.” The greeting is brusque and brief. “At ease.”

Your foot slides out, hands clasping behind your back as you acknowledge his order with a small dip of your chin. Simon sits back from the stack of papers he had been bent over and he takes in the sight of you. Stress lines your eyes, your jaw, your shoulders. You hide it well, but not from him. Never from him.

“Close the door, lieutenant. Lock it.” Your body moves on autopilot to comply with his orders. When the metal bolt slides smoothly into place, you turn around to face him once more. He’s still seated. Large and foreboding, Simon Riley nearly took up the whole length of his desk with the broad width of his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair and regarded you carefully.

In the field, he was your equal. He was the muscle and you, the brains. You kept the team on track, fielded information, and analyzed the data. The two of you had entered the military at the same time but drifted apart during those few awful years when he became Ghost and you became John Price’s top intelligence officer. When you reunited, it was rough and bumpy. He wasn’t the Simon you knew. You weren’t the bright-eyed young woman he had kissed behind the barracks. You clashed, much to Price’s dismay, and rarely spoke outside of tense briefings.

A mission gone wrong threw you headlong into danger and Simon followed without question. The two of you spent a week in a Siberian cabin and when Soap, Gaz, and Price were able to extract you, they found the two of you the same but different. The bond between you had snapped back into place. Where you two had been deadly before, together you were now lethal.

It was that connection between the two of you that made you so easy to read in Simon’s eyes. He saw the tension, the need for release. He nodded at you once and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Who do you need right now?” You wanted to sigh at the confirmation. He would help you. Hell, you don’t know why you were wary or questioned if he would. Simon would move heaven and hell for you.

“Ghost, sir. I need Ghost.”

His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow before he nodded once, his face impassive. When he spoke, his voice was a little rougher. A little more commanding. To anyone, it would have gone unnoticed. To you, it spoke volumes.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. You sank to the ground gratefully. Your shoulders were already relaxing under his command. Ghost turned in his chair and gestured for the empty space under his desk.

“Crawl. Like the little bitch you are.”

You preened under the degradation, your mind already growing fuzzy on the edges. You slipped under the desk and his gloved hand came down to fist in your hair, holding you in place. He made sure to look you in the eye, the only part visible from his balaclava, and you swallowed at the molten brown eyes that met yours.

“You tap out if you need to,” he said softly. You nodded against his almost painful grip and he released you before settling back in his chair and spreading his legs. You assumed he would pull his cock out, maybe fuck your face a little, but he surprised you when he tapped the toe of his boot on the ground.

“Hands behind your back. Clean them.”

You swallowed roughly against the sudden dryness in your throat. You looked up at him with a question in your eyes and he responded with a level stare that held a question in response. You two had tried plenty of things in your complicated, twisted dynamic but this was new. He was giving you a chance to back out. He could find something else to pull you out of your head.

No. No, this was something you wanted. The idea of posturing yourself below Ghost like this caused something to loosen in your chest. You bent down, gathered the spit in your mouth, and spat it onto the leather of his boots before dragging your tongue across it.

You should be revolted. Years of training and education only to place yourself on your knees before a man and lick his boots clean. It was disgusting, degrading, and it made your body burn in a way you had never imagined.

Your mind slipped away into that fuzzy, warm place that you craved. All of the tension in your body leaked out of you as you finished with one boot and eagerly switched to the other. Your nose brushed against the rough fabric of his fatigues and you inhaled the bitter, acrid scent of motor oil, cigarettes, and sweat.

What would everyone think if they knew their top analyst was just a little slut for the Ghost?

When you were satisfied with your work, you sat back and nodded up at Ghost. He grunted in response. “Hands flat on the ground. I need to check your work.”

You slid seamlessly into the stance he demanded and he roughly settled his boot on your back, inspecting your work. He set one foot down and then raised the other. Ghost let out another grunt, agreeable this time, and you felt him lift his other foot off of your back.

And then a gentle hand, free of gloves this time, touched your cheek and brought your gaze up to meet his. This wasn’t Ghost anymore. Simon studied your face and nodded to himself. He patted his thigh and you climbed up, fitting yourself into his lap.

“Good girl,” he murmured. His thumb stroked a path along your jaw and you shut your eyes at the delicate touch. “Ready to talk about it now?”

“You put on a clean pair of boots,” you croaked out. “You knew I would come.”

“You didn’t eat lunch,” he noted. “Figured you were having a bad day.” His hands slid down to your waist and he pulled you up and onto his lap. “Pilfered some food from the canteen for you.”

You hadn’t noticed the small collection of snacks on the corner of his desk, but now they caught your attention. One of your hands wrapped around his shoulders and the other went to rest on his mask. Simon nodded and you pulled his balaclava down, fingers tracing the scars that he kept hidden behind the fabric, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dipped his chin and kissed your palm. Simon never knew what to say to your gentle words and praises. The two of you were an enigma to the outside observer. But it was easy to explain.

You were whoever he needed and he was whoever you needed. It just worked.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #cod x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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dawneternal · 5 months ago

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Yes, Valkyrie

₊⊹ Gwynriel one shot

₊⊹ Gwyn is inspired by a scene in her current read. Of course, she begins conspiring to reenact this scene, with a little help from Azriel's shadows. Somewhere along the way, she discovers a persona she had no idea was waiting under the surface.

₊⊹ Word Count: 2.8k

₊⊹ Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors DNI. Established relationship. Gwyn is in charge, Az is tied up (kind of) p in v, shadow play, wing play.

(listen I don't write that much smut so idk how to tag this, if I missed anything pls let me know)

₊⊹ Read on AO3

₊⊹ Divider by tsunami-of-tears

Gwyn snapped her book shut and set it on the table in front of her. She took a long sip of her iced coffee in an attempt to cool her warm skin. The story was getting a little too salacious to read in public. Nesta or Emerie would probably keep reading, though they were both better at masking their emotions.

She glanced at Azriel, who hadn't noticed a thing, engrossed in his own book. She wasn't sure if it was something he was reading for fun or for work. They all tended to look the same, thick and weathered with a million dog-eared pages and notes in the margins. As his mate and a librarian, Gwyn should probably know. But she wasn't often thinking about books when she was with him.

Like now, as she found her eyes wandering from the long-winded title on the spine to his long fingers, poised to turn the page. Her gaze slid up, tracing the outline of his form. It was his day off and he wore a black shirt that hugged his muscled arms and torso. His black curls were perfectly messy, tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on his nose. His shadows buzzed around him like sleepy bees on a sunny day - a sign that he was actually relaxed. Even while he focused, brows furrowed and bottom lip poked out in concentration, he kept a claiming hand on Gwyn's thigh.

He did not notice her scent change as her thoughts turned back toward her book, replacing the love interest's features with his. The love interest of this story happened to have wings like Azriel, and a few specific lines were echoing in her mind. He had let her touch his wings before, but nothing quite like the scene she had just read.

Gwyn swallowed a wicked grin and stretched her arms up and out, letting out a long, pretend yawn. She let her fingertips brush the edge of his wing as she brought her arms back down. He started, shadows darting into action as his wings tucked into his body with a snap. He turned his head toward her slowly with a wide-eyed look that read are you crazy?

"My bad," Gwyn smiled innocently. Azriel blinked at her for a moment before returning to his reading. But she felt it, the flicker of heat he had sent through the bond as her fingers had brushed his wing.

✦✦✦

When they returned to the House of Wind, Gwyn quietly trailed Azriel into their shared room. His shadows were on her side today, choosing not to alert him to the fact that he was being followed. She was the only one who was silent enough to sneak up on him.

She closed the door with a thud, leaning against it, and that wicked grin returned. Azriel jumped, head whipping to look over his shoulder. The shadows danced with amusement at their clever trick.

"Yes, Valkyrie?" He huffed a breath. Her gaze lingered on his backside, meandering up to meet his gaze as he turned around fully.

"I have an idea," Gwyn said.

Her voice was a note deeper than usual and it had his attention. He tilted his head at her, eyes gleaming with interest.

"Do you trust me?" Gwyn continued, and she watched his eyes darken.

"Yes," His voice was a little breathy and the Valkyrie grinned.

"Wings only," She explained, pushing off the door and stalking closer until they were nearly chest to chest.

Azriel's eyebrows shot upwards, but Gwyn did not miss the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Yes," He said again, after a moment.

Gwyn reached out, sliding her hands under his shirt to lift it from his body. He let her, utterly still as she pulled it over his head and began a constellation of kisses, connecting his tattoos and battle scars. The bond was humming, pulsing with warmth at every touch, doubling the thrill of anticipation. He watched in adoration, fingers tangling in her ponytail as she unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and underwear to the floor.

"Kneel on the bed," She ordered, blood singing with anticipation as she looked up at him. His cock twitched at the command and he obeyed, crawling into the bed and kneeling in front of her. Arms loose at his sides, muscular thighs spread, his body was on full display.

Gwyn let her hair down, the white ribbon that had been tied in a bow now dangling from her fingers. She circled around to the other side of the bed and gently grasped his wrists. His breath hitched as she bound his hands with the ribbon, but he did not protest.

"Good boy," Gwyn murmured, pressing one chaste kiss to his shoulder before moving to face him again.

She caught his gaze dragging over her as she stood before him, and she let herself admire him in turn. His smooth bronze skin, slim hips and absurdly defined abs, and strong arms that could break through the ribbon any time he wanted. But judging by his blown pupils and hardening cock, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Gwyn peeled her clothes off slowly, holding his eye contact as she did so. She let her breasts bounce as she pulled off her bra, chuckling as his shadows rushed forward to caress her bare nipples.

"Keep your shadows to yourself, pretty boy," She murmured, swallowing a gasp at their cool, light touch. Almost reluctantly, they returned to their master, swirling around his head like a dark halo.

Free of her clothes, Gwyn moved to stand before him, eyes flicking over the sweat already beading at his brow. She lifted his chin with her fingers and smirked as she bypassed his lips, leaning to press soft kisses down his throat, drinking in the rapid beat of his pulse. She traced his body with a gentle touch, running over the lines of his tattoos and the grooves between his muscles. It was a routine she could not bring herself to break, mapping his body with the affection he deserved. She heard his breath hitch again, wings rustling behind him as they untucked and spread.

The Valkyrie climbed onto the bed and moved behind him, peppering the back of his neck and shoulders with open mouthed kisses, tongue sliding over his skin. Avoiding his wings just yet.

"Are you ready?" She leaned forward and purred into his ear, breasts pressed against his back.

"Mhm," He murmured, chest rising and falling.

"Words, shadowsinger."

"I'm ready," He stammered, as if it were hard to conjure words in this position.

"You'll tell me any time you want to stop?"

"I promise."

Satisfied, Gwyn began, dipping her finger into the inside seam where the velvety dark wing met his skin, facing toward his shoulder blade. The skin was especially soft, protected from wind and sun. He let out a quiet moan, arching his back into her touch.

"So responsive," Gwyn murmured, circling her fingers around to the other side, stroking along the thick base of his wing.

"I can't help it," He groaned, shivering again.

"No?" She asked, leaning forward to run her tongue over the spot where her fingers had just been. The base of the wing was fuzzy, like the skin of a peach.

"Fuck," Azriel grunted.

"So my book wasn't lying?" She asked, her voice like a sultry song. Her hands continued their exploration, up the solid arches of his wings toward the shining talons.

"I should've guessed this came from a book," He ground out.

Gwyn wanted him incapable of speech, not taunting her. So she pressed harder, raking her nails back down the thin membrane as she licked a stripe up his spine. His wings shivered, trembling with the effort of deciding wether to lean in or move away. A conflict that Azriel often subjected her to, and now she could get even.

"What were you saying?" She crooned, and smirked when she got no answer. Only the shadowsinger's heavy breathing, his shadows pulsing around him.

She touched every inch of wing, memorizing their beautiful shape, adding every curve and texture to the map in her mind. Every seam had a dip the perfect size for her finger to drag through, the skin so delicate, the structure so intricate and lovely.

His body shone with sweat as worshipped without mercy, savoring the salty taste of his skin as she pulled moan after and moan from his throat. It almost seemed as though those wings were built purely for pleasure, the way his body reacted to her touch, the noises he made purely sinful.

By the time she had returned to her starting point, having licked, nipped and stroked everything she could reach, Azriel's entire body shook.

She rose up on her knees and peered over his shoulders to catch a glimpse of his face, contorted in pleasure, and his cock, red and weeping. A few times, his shadows swept in toward her and then backed away, just barely brushing her skin. As if Azriel had begun to reach for her and then remembered the rules.

"Tell me which part you like best," She let her breath brush over his ear again, reveling in the goosebumps spreading in response. He was so close to falling apart, one foot in a realm of pure pleasure.

"The-the," He swallowed hard, a groan escaping in between words as he answered, "The inside, near my shoulder blades."

Gwyn hummed, watching his muscles tighten in anticipation as her fingertips moved back toward that inner seam. The sounds he released as she found that hidden spot lit a fire in the Valkyrie's stomach. She didn't have to look to know that her arousal was dripping onto the bed beneath her. As if she cared, right now.

"Fuck," He groaned, "I can't...I need...."

Gwyn was driven wild by the glistening muscles flexing against the ribbon that bound him. She threaded her fingers into his dark curls and tugged, not very gently.

"Come for me," She commanded, voice low and wicked and she dug her fingertips in deeper.

The moan that he released was nothing like his usual gutteral groan. This was higher pitched, soft and breathy and elicited from some deep and desperate place. Gwyn did not know that a noise could make her cunt throb the way it did.

She gave him barely a moment to come down from his high before she was crawling around to face him, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him fiercely. He chased her lips with his, emitting broken sounds into her throat as her tongue swept in.

Pulling back to look at him, panting, she wasn't sure she had ever felt this desperate. Azriel was entirely undone and at her mercy, his chest slick with sweat and painted with his cum, hands still tied behind him as he panted. His hair stuck up where she had pulled it, his eyes dark and full of desire. And something new, that she hadn't seen before. She was sure he'd seen it often. It was desperation, like he was one kiss away from begging for what he wanted.

"Do as I say and you'll be rewarded," She said, leaning in to graze his lips as she spoke. She kissed him again, softly. Agonizingly slow, even as he tried to speed up.

Gwyn pulled back, dragged two fingers through the stripes of white dripping down his torso and pushed them into his mouth.

"Suck."

His cock twitched against her thigh, already hard and aching again. He kept his eyes locked on hers as his warm tongue swirled around her fingers, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"Good boy," She murmured, and the whine he let out was against his will.

Gwyn had been in charge before, but she had never dared to be this bossy. It had not even come from the book that had inspired this whole thing. This had emerged from somewhere deep inside her, and it set every inch of her skin on fire. Azriel's eyes burned into hers as she took her fingers from his mouth, tightening his lips so her fingers made a pop upon release. He watched as she reached between her legs with those fingers, coated in his spit, for some relief.

She bit her lip, swallowing a moan, cheeks reddening in desperation.

"Can I touch you?" Azriel croaked, pulling at the ribbon that Gwyn had almost forgotten about.

"Remember your manners," She said, fingers still circling between her legs.

"Can I please touch you?"

Gwyn reached around with her free hand and pulled the knot undone. Immediately, one strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his lap to straddle him. And his other hand pushed hers aside, dipping a finger into her soaked cunt.

She was lost to it for a moment as relief rolled through her body. The shadowsinger took the opportunity to attack her neck, kissing and marking with fervor. She closed her eyes and basked in his touch for just a moment before she remembered her task. She would not let her control slip away so easily.

Her eyes snapped open, and she felt a wave of satisfaction as the shadowsinger shrank, just a little. His plan had not worked. The shadows shuddered, as if giggling at their master's foolishness.

"You promised to do as I say," It was almost a growl. She pushed his shoulders until he was laying down, legs straightening out before him as she straddled his hips. "And you tried to take control from me."

Gwyn lowered her body, movements fluid and graceful like a predator, until her chest was pressed against his and they were nose to nose.

"I think I deserve an apology, don't you?" She purred, hips circling and spreading her arousal over his length.

"Yes," He breathed, the amber of his eyes barely visible behind his pupils, "I'm sorry."

"Yes what?" She demanded, sliding her hand up around his throat and pressing the lightest amount of pressure against the sides, "I'm sorry what?"

His eyes widened and for a moment she thought she had gone too far, but then she felt a moan in his throat, vibrating beneath her palm.

"Yes Valkyrie," His voice was broken, body softening like putty under her hands, "I'm sorry, Valkyrie."

"Good boy," A grin spread across Gwyn's face. She sat up, keeping that hand wrapped around his throat as she rose up and aligned them. The other braced against his chest. She did not bother with a slow entry, sinking down on his cock in one motion, thighs flush against hips. He let out a hiss as she paused to let herself adjust.

The world around her was fading as her desperation grew, her body aching almost painfully. It would almost be a mercy to relinquish control again. But she craved the rush of this position as much as she craved release.

"Let your shadows touch me," She choked out the words, beginning to move her hips. Azriel obeyed, letting his shadows loose. They circled her body and attacked, swirling over every part of her they could reach.

Her high was approaching fast, urged on by the sight of Azriel below her, face flushed and lips parted. She pressed against his throat and chest harder, using him as leverage to angle herself deeper. He watched, mesmerized by the rhythm of her body, and grasped her hips, fingertips digging in as he urged her faster. Every rise and fall of her hips made an obscene slap, echoing through the room.

With a shadow attached to each nipple and one moving over her clit, she was soaring close to the edge. She slammed down harder, a grunt escaping in time with each smack of her ass against his thighs. Azriel reached up and squeezed her breasts, rolling both nipples between his fingers.

The change from the shadows soft touch to his firm hands pulled her over. Her head fell back as she roared, louder than she had ever let herself. Azriel's hands slid down around her waist to keep her moving and extend the waves of bliss. The hand around Azriel's throat finally loosened, nails dragging down his chest in time with a long, breathy moan.

Finally, she slumped forward, letting her body fall against his as she closed her eyes. Azriel wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. He let her lay still for a long moment before whispering, cautiously,

"Is this still the Valkyrie or is this my Gwyn again?"

"Gwyn," She murmured against his skin. Whatever vixen that possessed her had retreated, leaving her spent and sweaty.

"Good," He said, his voice dropping a note lower. She squealed as those strong arms flipped her around and she found herself laying underneath him, staring up into his smirking face.

"But...." She whispered, suddenly shy, "Did you like her? The Valkyrie?"

"I think I'd have to meet her again to be sure" Azriel murmured, nosing at the space between her shoulder and neck, breath hot against her skin, "But for now it is my turn."

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ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

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Battle Scars // Bob Floyd

-> An Official Flight Deck Blurb

Summary: Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

Warnings: Mentions of parental Abuse. Mentions of Child Neglect. Foster Care Systems. Mentions of family trauma. Bob Floyd x Female!reader.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author Note: Day Nine of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Scar reveal’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

People have secrets they keep close to their chest. Some are small enough to not cause a ripple effect onto others, and some are big enough to destroy lives, crush dreams, alter realities.

Bob Floyd wore his secrets across his chest. Scars that made his torso look like the Rocky Mountains. Littered with small to medium size scars that healed wrong, healed over, or healed with anger.

They weren’t pretty. If anything he wore a roadmap of abuse on his body that was hard to face in the mirror every morning. He never wanted to subject anyone to the sight of his scars, some red and raised, others faded but turned a deep purple in the cold.

“Mornin’ gorgeous—“ Bob's morning voice was something you’d never get tired of hearing. Those lazy Sunday mornings where you’d wake up to find the Naval Aviator already awake and reading whatever book he brought with him in his overnight bag were starting to become your favourite thing. “How’d you sleep mama?”

“Like a log.” You yawned, creeping closer and closer to where Bob sat on the opposite side of your bed. His T-shirt clad back pressed up against the headboard while his legs stayed covered by the sheets and covers of your warm, inviting bed. “I thought I had an early body clock.” Being a single mum and small business owner left little to no time for sleep-ins, which usually meant you were up before the sun got a chance to kiss the horizon good morning. “But here you are, Mr Military Man with your internalised alarm system.”

Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle as he closed his book and placed it on the bedside table you cleared just for him. Whatever this was between you and Robert Floyd you really liked it. He was the first man you’d ever paid attention to since your fiancé died. Bob was like a breath of fresh air and so was North Island. No one knew you, no one judged you, no one cared about the demons that haunted you.

“Force of habit I guess.” He shrugged before he sunk lower and lower, meeting your eyeline once again as you both settled in under the warmth of the covers. “How long do you think we have before Oliver wakes up?”

“Hmmm—“ You tried to hide your eagerness through a hum that kept your lips pressed together in a fine line. “He knows Sundays are bacon and egg roll mornings.” You began as your arms wrapped around Bob's shoulders.

His lips were hot against the supple skin of the juncture of your neck, in response your body ignited, sending waves of energy through your body that only Bob could create. He was just different.

“So like, five? Ten minutes maybe?” Bob looked up from where he’d been leaving small

but affectionate kisses against your collarbone and met you with a lust filled gaze. He was falling head over heels in love with you. “Because I only need like two—“

“Oh well in that case we have time for two rounds.” You teased before rolling yourself up and over to straddle Bob's waist. He let you easily. If he wanted to, he could have fought back. The thing with Robert Floyd was that he had a sleeper build. He wasn’t as buff as some of the other Naval Aviators that frequently stopped by the Flight Deck for their morning or mid afternoon caffeine hit. With the amount of sugar and caramel syrup you dosed Hangman with on a regular basis you weren’t entirely sure how he managed to maintain his muscle density.

But for as much as Bob was a gentle soul, he was strong and fast. He enjoyed a long run every now and again. But for all intents and purposes—he let you be on top. He liked the view. After all, he was just a simple man. Boobs were pretty cool. Especially your boobs.

“Can I ask you a question?” You cooed all the while Bob's hands trailed up your hips. You wore nothing but one of those silk nightgowns that made you look like an angel. The bed hair was cute, Bob liked you first thing in the morning. It was a side of you only he got to see. The side before the makeup, before being put together– he liked it. The authenticity. For what it was worth, Bob just really liked you.

“Depends what the question is?” Bob replied as his hands squeezed at your hips, rolling you gently back and forth over his boxer brief clad length. “I’m kidding, ask away.”

He had been expecting the question sooner rather than later. And with how things were going between the two of you Bob knew he would have to come clean. He was just afraid of what you might say. What you might think, and if his scars would be a deal breaker. They were, after all, a part of him that he couldn’t get rid of.

But even expecting the question to come didn’t make it any less hard to hear.

“How come you never take your shirt off?” You wanted to approach the question as politely as possible. “You don’t have to tell me, if you aren’t comfortable, I just—I’ve just noticed.” You saw the hesitation in Bob's baby blue eyes as he searched your face for any kind or fear. “Again, you don’t have to tell me.” You reminded the man lying beneath you as his hands stilled on your hips. “But I want you to know that if you’re hiding some sort of third nipple under there—I’m all for it.” You tried to make the conversation a little more lighthearted, Bob could appreciate that. He smiled softly at you while his hands needed at your hips like dough.

Bob didn’t say much after that, he simply laid beneath you stroking his hands up and down your exposed thighs as his mind ran rampant with memories. He hated his scars, but most of all he hated the people who gave them to him.

“You’re a waste of space!” The memories were all too prominent even after all these years. “I wish I never gave birth to you!” His mothers words were as cruel as she was violent and unpredictable.

“You’re the abortion I wish I fucking had.” The abuse Bob endured went with him everywhere, even well into his adult life. He learned not to complain, to cause a scene. “Stop crying for fucks sake kid.” He learned not to show emotion when it wasn’t asked or needed.

“You did this to yourself, if you had stayed out of the way, none of this would be happening.” But most importantly he blamed himself, for hiding his scars that clearly showed how strong he really was.

Bob sat up to meet your eyeline. For a man haunted by so many scars he certainly had the softest of eyes. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a fleeting kiss against your forehead, all before he reached up and over to take his shirt off over his head.

What you saw rendered you speechless for a few moments as you took in the terrain that was your, well, you wanted to say boyfriend but Bob wasn’t even officially that, torso—littered with scars he surely would have called ugly on the best of days.

“It’s a lot.” Bob whispered just barely above an audible level as he chucked his shirt off to the side. “But they’re not going away, ever.” It was almost as if Bob had struggled with that notion himself. He wished he could have them removed—expunge from his record. The tales of parental abuse he suffered before collecting more in the foster care system.

“Oh Bob—“ You tentatively reach out to glide your fingers over one of the many scars that were angry, red and what seemed to be risen. “You don’t have to hide these from me, ever.” Bob's heart was racing a million miles inside his chest, no one had ever touched him the way you were now. With so much love, with kindness, with understanding. “What happened here?” Your fingers gently glided across the scar down near the waistband of Bob's boxers. Right above his hip bone.

“One of the kids in one of the foster homes I was in.” Bob began, you could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it, but you didn’t stop him. You knew if anything he would stop if he didn’t want to talk about it. “I think his name was Ryan, had an old bow with those barbed edges on it.” You knew where the story was going. “It got wedged in there deep when we were playing around, but our foster parents didn’t have insurance, so they weren’t gonna take me to get it removed—so they ripped it out and poured bourbon over it.” Your heart sank into your stomach. “I was nine.”

“That must have hurt a lot.” You replied gently as Bob laid back down in your bed with his hands resting behind his head. His roadmap of scars on full display. “What happened here?” You moved your hand to the longer scar across his left peck. It seemed less angry, more healed, but the story attached was just as heartbreaking.

“When I was eighteen I went back to see my parents.” Bob's eyes were tearing up. He hadn’t ever spoken about this to anyone. Not even the people he trusted with his life. You were the only one. “It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have, but I needed some closure.” Your fingers gently ran the expanse of the scar that had never been touched but another person. Bob wanted to stop you out of fear you’d leave—but he willed you to continue because it felt comforting to be touched with such warmth. “My dad ran at me with a knife the second he saw me—I remember he was rambling on about how I broke my mum's heart when I went with CPS. I’m lucky it was only a graze, he still got me good enough to leave a scar though.”

“Bob, honey, I don’t even know what to say.” You were a mother yourself. You couldn’t ever imagine doing anything of the sort to your son. Bob reached up to guide your hand across his torso to his wrist—you’d seen those small circle cluster scars time and time again but never bothered to ask what they were from.

“These are from where my mum and my foster mum would put their cigarettes out on me.” Again, it made your heart sink, but Bob never faulted as he guided your hand around his body, back up to his stomach just above his belly button. Ridged abs peaked through the softness of his skin. “This one is from when I had to have surgery after I got an infection. Doctor said I could have died if my friend and I didn’t walk ourselves to the emergency room.”

Bob wanted you to touch every last scar that littered his body, he wanted your gentle touch to heal his old wounds. So you let him guide you as your straddled his waist and looked down at the roadmap of torture.

“These smaller ones are from when my dad swung the whipper snipper at me, I was in his way, I shouldn’t have been there, I remember they wouldn’t stop bleeding and ruined a bunch of my shirts.”

“None of these are your fault.” All his life, until he joined the Navy and ran as far away as he could, Bob had been told every scar he collected was his fault. The abuse he suffered as a child, from his parents and in foster homes, was his fault. “Someone who loves you doesn’t do this to you.” You reminded the man who laid beneath you. He could hardly breathe with how hard his heart was hammering in his chest as your hands trailed over the expanse of his torso. “Bob I don’t know your history, but from what I can gather about you in the present you are all but the problem.” You were the first person to ever tell him he didn’t deserve the scars he wore, the scars he hid.

“You’re a really good person, you know that right?” Flashes of your own war blinded your vision for a moment. The lies and haunting rumours that had you running as far away as possible could came flooding back to you in a blur as Bob sat up to kiss your lips softly, tenderly, and all so lovingly. “You don’t know how much you mean to me baby.” The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine you weren’t expecting. But you welcomed it nevertheless. Bob was a dream, your new beginning.

“I reckon you’ve got about three minutes to show me.” You teased, deciding now was not the time to bring up your dead fiancé. “With the shirt off—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #bob floyd x female reader #flight deck // bob floyd #bob fliyd angst #Bob floyd whump #bob floyd x reader #top gun bob #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #tw: parental abuse #tw: mental health #tw: scars

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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years ago

Text

slow dancing in a burning room - one

word count: 5.3k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, smut, fluff.

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

prologue << please read this first.

six weeks earlier.

You had only just stepped out of the shower when you heard the apartment door slam. As Bradley’s heavy footsteps entered your bedroom, you sighed and started towelling your hair.

“Love, you here?”

Popping yourself out of the ensuite, you gave him a gentle smile as he sat on the bed, loosening his boots and socks, and lining them up neatly, the socks both naturally landing perfectly in the hamper as he tossed them. “Do I dare ask how today went or should I just stay in there a while longer?” you teased, thumbing towards the bathroom but weren’t really in the mood for another evening of Bradley’s bad mood with Maverick’s return.

It was early, thankfully he wasn’t kept back like he had been the last few days. He’d come home like a bear with a headache each evening, and as much as you loved him, you were growing wary of him returning home to play ‘guess Bradley’s mood!’, his internalising, the deep loathing. You weren’t sure how to help him aside from distracting him and trying to help him feel good. Things were strange, not between the two of you, but he was a little rougher, shorter, a little gruffer… and for a few days, you were incredibly turned on about it. But you’d be lying to say it was just leaving you a little on edge.

He could only shrug as you fastened your robe around yourself and approached him. “Better, worse, same,” he admitted as you stood before him and caressed his rosy cheeks, leaning down to kiss constellations of freckles around his hairline. He looked up with a faint grin, a pleased hum escaping his lips. “Hi. Missed you today.”

You twirled his perfectly styled tendrils around your fingers, the strands of sun-kissed hair soft under your touch. “Missed you too, handsome.”

He huffed a tired chuckle, his hands coming to rest on your hips, his head resting on your belly, you could hear him take a deep inhale before looking up to meet your eyes. His stealthy palms moved to the belt of your robe and slowly pulled it wide, your beautiful body all curves and soft skin on display for him. The same visceral response he always had; your body called to him in ways no one else had before.

He bobbed and kissed between your ribs, his large hands disappearing under the terry towel material to your ass, his touch light and pulling you to his lap. “Come here, sweet girl,” he said, his exhaustion evident in his voice. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, centring himself against your skin. “Home,” he said so faintly you almost missed it.

Your heart lurched. Sometimes you wondered if he meant to say things like that out loud, but he was never embarrassed if you heard him. Your nimble fingers started to make light work of his khaki shirt, strained over his broad chest and shoulders. Hands drifting to his waist and quiet giggle as you tickled him, you withdrew the hem from his slacks, your hands bunching the material as he reached for a lingering kiss. Your tongue tenderly traced his full lips as he smiled, gratefully deepening the motion, his arms tightening around you.

“Really missed me, huh?” his voice a little rough.

“Sue me, the khaki sure is something…” you murmured against his jaw.

“Despises the Navy but fuckin’ butter for the uniform,” he goaded with a tsk.

“I like your flight suit too. You just don’t wear it home as much,” you confided as he chuckled louder, his head lolling with joy and you’d swear it was the heartiest laugh he’d revealed all week.

“You don’t need me coming home reeking like jet fuel and sweat, sweet girl,” he admitted.

Buttons finally all undone, you pushed the khaki from his shapely shoulders. “I know the push-ups have been hell, but Jesus boy…” you fingered the ribbons of bugling muscle as he kept his steadfast gaze on you and surprised him by pushing him back on the bed, he landed with a huff. “I really am the luckiest,” you said as he propped himself to his elbows as you undid his belt and painstakingly, delicately downed the zip. He willingly raised his hips as you took his boxers with his slacks.

Bold and truly on display, Bradley Bradshaw was a delight to the senses. If someone asked you to describe him, you weren’t sure where you'd start –

He waved to regain your attention. “Where are you? You’re like a million miles away,” he asked, his lips quirking in amusement.

“Lost in you,” you slipped out before you could stop it.

He held out his calloused palm and you took his hand, crawling up the bed. You straddled his tummy, tracing the peaks and ridges of his abs and ribcage. “Good,” he pushed the robe away and pulled you to him, skin to skin.

“Are you good, sweetheart?” you asked, quietly.

“Today was okay,” he admitted.

“And Mav is still in one piece?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Great! That covers our Maverick discussion for the evening,” you announced as he frowned. “We’re not talking about him tonight,” you reiterated as he nodded.

“Fair. Never wanna talk about that motherfucker,” he breathed. “So, let’s just stop talking,” he gave you that gentle smirk, his tongue running over his lips before kissing you to shut you up. He knew how worried about him you were, but Pete Mitchell was a situation he could handle.

Albeit, he knew he was coping pretty shitty at this point. His rage was completely out of check, he felt he was running on adrenaline - and the worst part? No one in the squad knew. He knew he was coming across as a petulant asshole in classes and worse, in the air. But he was dealing with it as well as he could. He knew he was not his usual self. But he was doing everything he could to not bring work home to you. He knew that wasn’t working either… but it was only another few weeks of training with Mav, getting on the boat, being or not being a part of the mission, and get the fuck back home. Move into your new home together and start living the rest of your lives without Peter fucking Mitchell.

But it wasn’t just Mav... the more he’d started to learn about the mission parameters, the more anxious he got and it was only compounded by seeing Mav every day. There was also the fact he didn’t know how to tell you how dangerous this all was. It didn’t compare to a single thing he’d done in his life before.

It was weighing on him.

“Kiss me. Put that pretty mouth to use,” you told him with a hint of demand as he chuckled, pulling your thigh into his palm and rolling you so he was hovering above you. You adored his body weight on you, the strong muscle and his bulk comforted you.

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered quietly as he kissed your nose, his soft lips slowly making their way around your face as your eyes fluttered closed and he took his opportunity to kiss your closed eyelids. He loved you wholly and knew he’d work hard every single day for taking a chance and falling in love with him.

He smiled against your skin as you giggled gently beneath him. You were overcome with his attention to you, his sweet kisses just making your head spin. Your head fell back and you laced your fingers in his sort waves. You didn’t think you’d ever felt this more in love with anyone in your entire life.

As he nibbled your earlobe, he whispered, “I love you, sweet girl.”

You cupped his face, eyes opening to his handsome face. “I love you too, Bradley Bradshaw. Come on, make love to me, big boy. Been needing you all day.”

He nodded softly, adjusting his hard cock between you, hard, proud and wanting. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he whispered, quite content to just make out. You'd never be able to fully translate how good a kisser Bradley was. At first, his moustache was a thing. You’d admit it, it tickled, and you had to find ways to hide the irritable rash that came with hours in his embrace. “You good and wet for me?”

“Always.”

“Good,” he said decisively as he kissed you, his lean, strong body caging as you welcomed him between your legs, his cock pressing impatiently into your core but he dared not enter. “You’re so soft, so sexy. All mine,” he grunted as he tangled his legs with yours. His palm cascaded down your side and crudely open you to him, his long finger skimming your labia, skirting across soft skin and tenderly pushing within you as you sighed, blissfully. He grinned at his favourite sound in the world (a close second was the roar of his jet) and kissed you again. “I really could have you anytime I wanted, couldn’t I?”

Pulling his face to yours, you replied, “You tell anyone what my body does around you and I’ll deny it.”

He laughed loudly. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby. If it makes you feel any better,” he admitted, lowering his voice. “You know you’ve got me on a string, chasin’ you round like a little puppy.”

You smiled as he grinned back. “A manly puppy,” you replied smartly. He shook his head and adjusted his cock, swiftly pressing in in retaliation, filling you up fully as you writhed in pleasure below him. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“Sweet Bradley,” he corrected you rolled your eyes, a mix of irritation and sheer pleasure and he rolled his hips that way that made you cry out.

“So fuckin’ good,” you managed as he wrapped his arms under you, raising your hips and changing the angle just enough for you to moan together.

“Okay?” he pressed his lips to your throat, his tongue tracing and leaving its mark. You could only groan his name in response.

“God, I love you,” you confided. “I love you so much, Bradley.”

And Jesus, did he know. He’d never felt so content thinking about forever. Sure he’d had a girlfriend here and there, never any long-term, more one-night stands than he’d ever care to admit, and dated plenty. But none of them made him feel like this. Like he was with the person he was supposed to live the rest of his days with. The thought excited him more than anything else. Someone to build a life and a family with. Maybe marry (although he wasn’t entirely sure where you stood on that matter. At Harvard's wedding a few months back, you’d slipped and talked about ‘our wedding’, which he downplayed but knew that when you said the word... he’d give you everything). But a life together consumed him. He never used to be like this, but he’d never met anyone like you either.

The girl down the street who had a schoolgirl teen crush on him in high school that grew up and grew into the woman he’d come to love unconditionally. It was an added bonus that you were his friend first, so fucking smart, hilarious, and self-deprecating occasionally. He adored you.

And dear God, so fucking hot. You didn’t know how gorgeous you were, but Bradley knew he was batting well above his average with you on his arm.

His hips ground into you punishingly slow, taking every ounce you were giving back as you met his thrusts, he was so hard and begging for his relief. He wanted to cum so dreadfully, but you still hadn’t and there was no way he would before you. He moved away from your mouth and looked down where your bodies met, his skilled fingers sweeping circles on your pained clit. Your body shook beneath his as he begged you to let go.

When your pussy started to throb, he could swear he saw stars, the drag of his cock thundering, wanting you to milk him for all he had. He groaned low, his head was thrown back as your core drenched his begging cock. “Fuck, you’re so good to me,” he managed to get out as your beautiful body shuddered, he was so deep within you and you knew he was so close, hard and heavy. He needed his release, and you were only too happy to deliver.

His hips roared into you, pace heady as your orgasm dragged out his and he palmed your breast, tongue swirling your nipple wanting more as you writhed below him, the pleasure now too much in your post-orgasm glow and you brought his panting mouth to yours, hungry, wet kisses covering each other as he came with a growl. He spilled into you and before long, he stuttered to a close, his lips kissing your face and caressing your breasts, his tongue lapping at his bite marks and leaving delicate kisses in the places that stung.

For a moment, he lay on you, gathering himself, peppering tender kisses along your clavicle as he came down from his high and breathed deeply. “I never want to move,” he teased as you raised an eyebrow and watched as he reached for his discarded undershirt, gathering it between you both as he pulled out and you leaked the proof of your lovemaking all over the bed. He tenderly tidied you up before doing the same and discarding the shirt to the floor. He gave you a tender kiss and helped you wrap yourself back up in your robe, his body resting tenderly against yours, keeping you close and warm.

“You’re very good at that, Bradley,” you said, absolutely 100% fucked out just like he liked it.

He laughed quietly, raising his knuckles to dab. “I got a very good partner.”

That exhaustion from the day reared its head again as you yawned as he played with your fingers against his strong chest. “Wanna go for a drive?” Bradley said a while later.

“Dinner or something?” you could go with dinner. Workout done; your stomach growled on command. He chuckled quietly.

“…or something. Then dinner,” he said a faint smile ghosting across his striking features. You shrugged. You didn’t have anywhere else to be. You shrieked as you were suddenly pulled to your feet and into Bradley’s arms. “I don’t know how to say it, and I hope it never becomes redundant, but I love you.”

You would never be tired of his sweet, honest words. “Knock it off, Shakespeare,” you teased as he blushed a little. “Me too, baby. You are the love of my life.”

And as always, Bradley’s gift of the gab single-handedly brought you to your knees as you pretended to lose your footing, faint. He chuckled, catching up and smothered your face with his soft kisses. “Never leave me.”

“Never.”

“And this would be our room,” Bradley smiled, opening the door to the master bedroom, the setting sun leaving the last hits of gold on the wooden floorboards as you followed him in. This is where your evening drive brought you: to his parent’s house he’d finally go the keys to and couldn’t wait to discover through your eyes.

He couldn’t remember a lot about the home, he remembered spending time at the beach with his mother, maybe faintly his dad playing the piano in the living room. He recalled photos of it, and maybe his memories were blurred because of it. But he remembered mornings when his dad was off work, and he’d sneak in as an early-rising three-year-old to creep between his parents and go back to sleep before Carole would make her men their favourite banana pancakes for breakfast.

Bradley sighed. He didn’t recall having banana pancakes much after his dad died.

He watched your every step, watching your brain work and considering what could be done with the room, the house, the kitchen you absolutely, fucking despised. He’d never seen you turn your nose up at something so quickly, it was hilarious to bear witness. Then your grin when you said you were going to enjoy taking a sledgehammer to that room the most. He liked that deviousness in you.

“My God, it’s huge,” you said, a little overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” he joked as you rolled your eyes, pulling you into his arms and burying his face into the curve of your neck, his silken tongue dragging across your jaw. “So… what do you think? Can you imagine growing old here?” he murmured into your skin and eyes peering up at you, shyly.

Hopefully. Desperately.

“You let me destroy that kitchen and the guest bathroom downstairs and I’ll be here forever,” you said, taking in his delicious lips and drawing his mouth to yours, your hand slipping to the front of his jeans, a rough grope of his cock jolting his entire body awake.

“Wow, easy there tiger,” he huffed a laugh, appreciating your initiation. “Jesus, that feels so good,” he admitted as your palm continued to grasp him.

“Wanna christen the place?” you asked curiously as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Fuckin’ A. Yes,” he chuckled quietly. “But there isn’t any furniture yet – ”

“I don’t care,” you told him, guiding him by the hand to the bay window, the sheer curtains wafting with the gentle breeze from the ocean. He saw where you were gazing, the reflection of late afternoon gold on the waves. “Beautiful view, huh?” he asked his voice dropping to sinful levels, thinking you’d been enraptured by the ocean.

You simply shrugged as he watched you raise your dress over your head and drop it at his feet, strapless bra covering your breasts and a barely-there thong.

“Oh. I…” He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and words lost to the air as he watched you unclasp your bra and slip off your underwear. “Love....”

“Gonna join me?” you asked, not nervous, not feeling on display, but feeling the radiation of Bradley’s desire washing over you. He nodded dumbly, letting his necessary ceremonial Hawaiian shirt hit the floor and slinging his wifebeater off with it.

He reached for the buckle on his belt. But not before one last request. “Make sure you’re good and wet for me, love,” he looked down to unlace his boots and remove his socks, almost choking as he gazed back up to see your hands flit around your breasts, tweaking your nipples and a moan so sinful he could come right then and there. “Keep going, don’t let me stop you,” he smartened up, his arrogance that the show was just for him, his jeans at his ankles and he kicked them away, leaving him and his strained half-hard cock in his boxer briefs. Pushing them away from his hips and dropping them to the floor, he stroked himself, growing in his zealous, calloused palm and moved to you quickly.

“Hey, roomie,” you whispered as he peered down to watch you touch yourself.

“Please don’t stop,” he grunted, taking your wrist and guiding it, and not letting your hand leave your pained clit. “Fuck, that’s so beautiful.”

“I need you, Bradley,” you told him.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said softly as he watched you get to your knees. “Oh, baby, you don’t need to – ”

You raised a finger to silence him. “But I want to.”

It was something he’d never deny you. You were so giving when you went down on him, and he would never turn you down because it gave you the power and he loved when you were in control. Of course, you consumed his mind, body and soul so it was just an extension of that, but he simply could not get enough.

“Love, I’m gonna cum real fast,” Bradley said pained as your warm inviting tongue swirled around his head, tasting him on your tongue. He sighed, digging his heels into the floorboards, desperately keeping his balance as he watched his cock disappear in the back of your throat. “My sweet girl, you deserve an award. No one has ever given me head like you do. It’s better,” he strangled out, his body shuddering. “It’s better every time,” he had to laugh when you gazed up and gave him a comical wink before returning to the task at hand. He swept your hair from your eyes and cupped your cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

The teasing and taunting had gotten too much, and he grasped your jaw just that little bit tighter as his hips stuttered. You had taken him so deep, you probably had never gone down on him as devoutly as this, and he’d never felt so turned on.

“Baby, really,” he grunted. “I’m gonna paint the back of that beautiful mouth of yours. Tell me if you don’t want it - ” he muttered. God, you loved when he spoke to you like that. It wasn’t often, but when that carnal part of him escaped, it only made you want to please him further.

You contemplated him like he hung the moon. A whine escaped as your pretty lips and hummed around his raging cock, and he had to remember to breathe. He watched your fingers disappear and you touched yourself again, your chest rising and falling as you felt your orgasm tempting to push you over the edge. There was something incredible about seeing Bradley so turned on. The power Bradley Bradshaw had over your body was truly astonishing. And the dirty talk? Jesus fuck, the sexiness never seemed to end with him.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so beautiful when you touch yourself, love,” he strained, his abs clenching and he maintained his balance, his powerful quads taking the brunt of the assault. “Are you gonna cum for me too?” he begged. You nodded but refused to release him and started to cry out, your body exploding, and he could hardly stand it, your body quaking and dear god did he love the magic your body performed when you gave in and let yourself release like that. He knew he was gonna lose your mouth on him as you lost your train of thought to your pleasure. He held himself steadfast as you struggled to stay with him, gripping his hamstrings to keep yourself on your knees. “I can’t – I have to – ” he tensed as he fucked your mouth roughly and he jerked himself thick, salty and deep in your delicious, slippery willing mouth. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed as you continued to swallow him down, the sensitivity just too much for him as he grunted low and ragged. “Take it all, love. That’s my sweet, sweet girl,” he gasped, as he forced the last thrusts out, a low grunt and he spilled into your heavenly mouth.

He palmed your cheek and tenderly wiped away your stray tear with his thumb as you swallowed satisfied. He pulled you to your feet, kissing you silly, tasting himself on your tongue. He held your jaw, his long fingers slinking into your mussed hair and deepening the kiss as he kept you on your feet.

He was so fucking proud of you.

God, you made him feel so fucking delirious, he just didn’t realise how lucky he was. “Sometimes I don’t think you understand how much I love you,” he said, his tongue tracing your lips. “Each day I think I couldn’t love you more and then you remind me that I’ll always be capable of loving you so much again,” he gently chewed your bottom lip in his gleaming teeth and kissed you again, soft and tender.

You smiled up at him, your small, soft hands caressing his strong sides, encouraged. “It’s wild, right? I feel the same,” was all you could manage, giggles bubbling as he couldn’t resist and laughed with you.

“There’s like 13 other rooms with still have to baptise, love,” Bradley hinted with a tease. “You got another round in you? You’ve already been so good to me tonight. I understand if you’re done...”

You didn’t know what it said about you, but you were always capable of another round with Bradley. He may have been the elite, but he took you with him every time. “I’m okay,” you promised.

“Good,” he smiled, taking a seat and laying on the floor, opening his arms for you to join him. You lay across his chest and he covered you with his discarded shirt. “We got time,” he said as you lay your head on Bradley’s clammy chest and he twirled your hair in his fingers, giving you all the adoration in the world. “That was the sexiest thing you have ever done for me. Watching you finger yourself… bordered on obscene. I’m beginning to think you have this little deviant side within you that you have yet to fully embrace. You about to 50 Shades me?” he asked jovially.

“Not tonight,” you laughed. “Unless you want me to?” you said so straight-faced that he looked up, eyes bulging as the room continued to darken and your eyes danced full of mirth, giving you away as he chuckled and relaxed back.

He couldn’t resist and replied, “I will try anything once.”

“Colour me surprised,” though you really were not surprised. “I guess I just don’t feel as shy with you as I used to. I am not stupid, I know you’ve had a lot more sex with me, but I want to please you, Bradley,” you said the last part cautiously.

“I’m glad you’re comfy, sweet girl. But I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to prove anything to me.”

“Well, yeah… but I know I’m probably not the most adventurous sex you’ve had either.” Uh oh.

He shrugged. “Untrue, but that is neither here nor there for me.”

“Am I boring?” you asked, suddenly very exposed as he shook his head sincerely. Panic washed over you as you tried to sit up as he sighed, and tenderly cast you back against his chest. He kissed your hair soothingly.

“No, love. You’re fucking perfect. I am extremely satisfied, trust me.”

“If you’re not, you’d tell me, right?” you asked, kind of worried about his answer still, as he sighed, shaking his head.

“Love, don’t get in your head. I’ve had sex. Some I remember, some I don’t. You? Every kiss, touch, caress. You’re the only person I want to be with. Sex is different now. It means something. That’ll always be the most important thing to me.”

You tried not to feel too smug; he surely had a way to make you feel like the only person that mattered. Bradley Bradshaw truly had the gift of the gab.

“You’re the last person I want to have sex with – think you haven’t ruined me for anyone else by now?”

You rolled over and smirked at him. “Jesus, Bradley Bradshaw. That is a line.”

“What?” he couldn’t hide his bubbling giggle. “It’s true, right?”

“Better fuckin’ be,” you agreed, crawling up to kiss him. You palmed his flushed, smooth cheek. “I love you, Bradley. And it’s going to take something really terrible to change that.”

“Fuck yeah,” he agreed softly, blushing a little. He pulled you flush to him. “I’m never gonna let anything happen to you, got that?”

Warmed to your bones, you smiled, and he grinned right back at you. All teeth and dimples, a little bashful under your affectionate gaze. You loved that generous smile when he gave it to you. “I hope not.”

For a while, you just lay there, occasionally something in the room giving you some spark of inspiration and mentioning your ideas to Bradley. You didn’t want to overstep the mark – this was the house Bradley grew up in. You knew he wanted to give the place some love, but you weren’t sure how much he was determined to change that was his parent's influence. That was the crux, the heart of it all and you didn’t want to overstep the mark. “Love,” he said after a while. “We can’t stay here tonight. There’s no power, bed, hot water.”

“That’s okay,” you rested your chin on his chest, your nail tracing the wiry skin of the scar on his Adam’s Apple, and he swallowed hard from the sensation as it made him break into goose pimples. “I guess I’ll go home all dirtied up then.”

“Well, I’m just going to filth you up when we get back to your apartment, anyway,” he figured. “What’s the difference?”

“The sheer fucking arrogance of you,” you could help to laugh. “You are so self-satisfied, it is ridiculous.”

“Oh, yeah, you really fuckin’ hate it,” he mocked you, licking his top lip and smirking wickedly. “I think you like my ego. My confidence is one of the things you like most about me.”

“You’re very sure of that.”

“Very sure,” he concurred. “You can tell me I’m wrong at any time…” he waited. And waited a little more before more cackling. “Yep, that’s what I thought.”

“Wanna know what I love about you?” you said after a while.

“Ooh, love. Yes, I’d love to know,” he laced his muscular arms behind his head and settled in, ego primed for steady stroking.

“Your good heart,” you kissed the left side of his chest, his heart racing under your lips and you could feel his ribs swell under your touch. His sharp intake of breath, while he waited for more, told you how surprised he was, thinking he was getting his body, his so impressive body that he dutifully dedicated hours in the gym to, loved on. “How incredibly funny you are,” you kissed between his pecs as he sighed and released a hand, to smooth your hair, giving you a heartening tug. He was so warm. “How talented you are, musically, creatively. I love those things you only let me see. When you’re so relaxed and at ease… I love when you walk around barefoot and your boardshorts hang low, your hair all wild and curly after a run. When you dance your gorgeous little ass off in the kitchen when you’ve had a good day.”

“Wow,” he breathed, heart swelling, self-esteem abated for the moment.

“And when you surprise me at work.”

“You liked that? Thought I embarrassed you…” he confided with a bashful chuckle; he cupped your chin.

“You turned up in your khaki’s with a dozen long-stemmed red roses. It’s all the mothers have spoken about since you did it. Are you aware your khakis are a little bit tight?”

Straight-faced, he replied, “Pretty sure they got me laid earlier tonight actually,” he said, the melody of humour in his voice as you hid your face. “But yes, the uniform is a bit snug at the moment. All that amazing food you cook me. Biceps are aware, seat is aware… cock, aware. Very well aware.”

“You’re goddamn shameless, Bradshaw.”

He laughed again. “Yes, love. Shameless for you,” he said, the cheese laid on thick.

“Take me home, big boy,” you tenderly kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close. “Got hours before sunrise.”

“I’m gonna fuck you all damn night until you beg me to stop,” he murmured, pressing his lips to yours. And you weren’t surprised when you found yourself bent over the bay window and he fucked you from behind while he clutched and teased your breasts before he spilled into you again, hard and hungry, telling you over and over that you were the only one that he’d ever love.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

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nurse-floyd · 4 months ago

Text

Little Moments of Comfort

Bob Floyd x Reader

Reader has a tough day and Bob looks after them (heavily implied as ND!reader but it isn’t specifically mentioned).

Age regression is NOT the same as age play. This is not meant to be read as sexual and is not a kink. This fic is purely for comfort.

Work had been awful; there was no other word for it. As the day came to an end, you found yourself retreating further into your mind and recognizing the familiar signs of regression that usually came when you felt like this. The stress and overwhelm from the day had you wanting nothing more than to be home safe with Bob. You tried to ground yourself, to hold off the sensation that was creeping over you, but it was becoming harder with each passing moment.

Bob had always been attentive and understanding of you. He loved each and every part of you unconditionally and knew you even better than you knew yourself. He recognized the subtle changes in your behavior as soon as he stepped through the door and saw you on the couch. He noticed you clutching your bear tighter, the way you avoided eye contact with him, the slight raise in the pitch of your voice, and the way you seemed withdrawn.

He took a seat on the sofa next to you. “Hey, sweetheart,” he kept his voice low, “you had a rough day, didn’t you?”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes as you kept your eyes on the bright colors of the cartoon on the screen. You hated feeling like this, so small and so vulnerable, but Bob always made you feel safe.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

You shook your head. Words were too hard right now, and you felt too little to explain.

“That’s alright, you don’t have to speak right now. Can I touch you, sweetheart?” Bob asked, not wanting to overwhelm you but also wanting to provide as much comfort as he could.

You leaned into his side, letting him wrap an arm around you as he pulled you a little closer.

“How about we do something else? Something to take your mind off things. We could build some Lego? Or maybe color?”

The mention of coloring brought a small smile to your face. You loved coloring and had a stack of books and various pens for days like these.

Bob gave you a wide smile back, his eyes filled with nothing but warmth and love. “Coloring it is then.” He got up and fetched your favorite unicorn coloring book and box of pens and crayons and even grabbed a dinosaur one for himself. He set it all up on the coffee table in front of you and sat with you while you both colored together, the only sound coming from the cartoon you had playing in the background. “You’re really good at this,” he said, watching as you picked out a bright purple glittery pen and began to fill in the lines.

You could feel yourself begin to calm. The repetitiveness of the task helped in regulating yourself, as well as the presence of Bob, quietly coloring by your side and occasionally helping you pick out new colors.

After a while, Bob spoke up again. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he reassured, smoothing back your hair and placing a kiss on your temple.

Bob’s words were enough to soothe your frayed nerves as you leaned into him and his arm wrapped around you. He could tell you were slowly starting to feel better, but he knew you still needed him. “How about we get you into your PJs, sweetheart, and get you some dinner?” he suggested gently, standing up and offering his hand.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief at the thought. You took his hand, and he led you to the bedroom. Bob had always been good at knowing what you needed without you having to say a word. He opened the dresser drawer and pulled out your favorite soft, pastel pajamas and a pair of fluffy socks.

He handed them to you, then turned his back to give you some privacy. “Let me know if you need any help, okay?” he said.

You managed to change into your pajamas, feeling the comforting fabric against your skin. “All done,” you said softly, speaking for the first time that night. Your voice sounded younger than usual, and Bob’s heart broke a little.

Bob turned around and smiled at you. “You look so cozy,” he said, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “How about we head to the kitchen, and I make us some dinner? How does mac and cheese sound?”

You nodded, your eyes lighting up as you smiled at the mention of one of your favorite meals.

Bob chuckled softly and took your hand again, leading you to the kitchen. “Come on then, sweets.” He started to prepare the mac and cheese as he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. You watched him from your spot at the kitchen table, another coloring book open as your eyes flocked between him and the pages, feeling safe and content.

As he cooked, Bob chatted with you, keeping the conversation light and soothing. “Did you know that mac and cheese is probably one of my favorites too? It always makes everything better, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, feeling a little more like yourself with every minute that passed.

Soon, the delicious smell of cheese filled the kitchen, and Bob plated up two servings of the pasta. He brought the plates to the table and set one in front of you. “Here you go, sweetheart. Just how you like it,” he said with a warm smile. You looked at him with tears in your eyes as you spied your plastic children’s plate, the one you used in times like these—another added comfort.

You picked up your fork and took a bite, the familiar taste bringing a sense of comfort and normalcy. Bob watched you with a gentle expression, clearly relieved to see you eating and looking more relaxed.

After dinner, he suggested another movie to wind down the evening together. He put on your favorite animated movie and wrapped you in one of his soft blankets, one that smelled just like him. You snuggled against him with your teddy and felt completely safe.

As the movie played, you felt the last of the day’s stress melt away. With Bob’s arms around you and your favorite movie on the screen, you knew that no matter how tough things got, you would always have him by your side to help you through.

Later that night, when you were tucked up safe with him in bed, you drifted off to the sound of his voice as he read you a story. He’d picked one of your favorites and kept his voice low and gentle as he read to you. By the time he’d finished the chapter, you were almost asleep, snuggled up against his chest.

“Night, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Remember, I’m always here for you.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #beth writes #mine

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springseasonie · 2 years ago

Note

i love your works pls write something for winwin,,,, im thinking stepcest maybee,,..,.!/!/£!??/£2£ SOMETHJNG ANYTHING i never see him being written abt 😭

Couldn't wait

Warnings: sexual content, oral (male receiving), dacryphilia(if you squint), spit (not too much), asphyxiation, rough dom winwin, step sister/brother dynamic, proof read (kinda. sorry for any errors)

Word count: 1,2k

A/N: had to restart this cuz it was bad lmaooo. Hope you enjoy it tho

"You couldn't wait till dinner was over?"

Sicheng's hands raked over your body roughly, squeezing and pinching every bit of skin he could get his hands on. His mouth was on your neck, kissing your skin messily. You closed your eyes, taking in the feeling of his hands on your body, moaning softly.

"You can't play footsies with me under the table like that and expect me to be okay." Sicheng lifted your dress, hands immediately going to your ass. He groped you roughly, making you whine in pain.

"Not so hard Sicheng," you whined softly.

"I'm sorry," he said against your skin. "I need to fuck you so bad right now."

"We can't, we have to go back downstairs."

Sicheng noticed the disappointment in your voice, lifting his head looking at you with a sudden serious expression. "Can you suck me off?"

You laughed softly, amused by his sudden change in disposition. "And will I get anything in return?"

"I'll give you the best sex you've ever had in your life." Sicheng looked at you with pleading eyes. He pulled you closer, making you feel his straining erection.

"And how will you do that with our parents home," you asked, raising a brow.

"We'll figure it out later." You opened your mouth to speak, but was interrupted with the feelings of his lips on yours. He kissed you deeply, biting your lip softly before pulling away. "I promise Y/N."

You give him a small smile before dropping to your knees. You didn't have many weaknesses but he was definitely one of them. You don't know when these feelings for your step brother developed, but it was already too late before you could try and get rid of them. Sicheng always liked you in a way he shouldn't have, but he really couldn't help it. He knew your father would likely kill him if he found out what you and Sicheng did behind closed doors, but that was apart of the fun.

Sicheng watched as you pulled the drawstring of his sweats, staring up at him with big innocent eyes. He loves that look on you, how ironic it was for the both of you. He gulped when your fingers hooked on his pants and boxers, pulling them down with no effort. Usually, you would tease him a bit, get him worked up. But you had no time for that. Sicheng clenched his jaw with a pained expression when you took all of him in your mouth, deep throating him with ease.

"Fucking hell," he mumbled. "I remember when you couldn't do that without gagging."

You pulled yourself off him, a line of silvia connecting your lip to his tip. "I know," you say, wrapping your hard around his shaft. You stroked him, eyes never leaving his as you wrapped your mouth on his tip, sucking him hard. Sicheng's hand flew to your head, fingers already tangling in your hair.

"Holy shit," he breathed out. "If you keep that up, we're gonna get caught."

You gave him a small chuckle, the look in your eyes changing. You sunk your mouth into him again, removing your hand. You bobbed your head, cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head. His pants were filling the room, small curses constantly leaving his lips with each movement. Sicheng closed his eyes, throwing his head back at the overwhelming feeling. If he kept looking at you and your big pretty eyes, he would definitely cum a little too early.

Sicheng's grip on your hair tightened, his hips now moving entirely separate from his body as he began to thrust in your mouth. He knew how much you liked this, how much you liked being used like this, especially with your parents only a staircase away.

"You like this don't you," he groaned quietly.

Your brows furrowed, moaning around him. The vibrations from your sinful sounds almost make him forget what kind of situation he's in. He just wants to take his dick out your mouth and fuck you right there on the floor. Sicheng starts fucking into your mouth faster and rougher smirking when your eyes screwed shut.

"Is it too much for you," he said, chuckling darkly. Unsatisfied when you didn't respond, he pulled himself out of your mouth sharply, pupils dilating when you came off his length coughing. "Answer me."

"Y-yeah," you said, nodding slightly. There were small tears in your eyes and your lips were a bit swollen from the stretch.

"Good."

No matter how tired or how too much it was, it was never enough to make you want to stop pleasuring him. You needed him so bad. You loved knowing that it was you who he always ran to, it was you who he would release all his stress onto. If only your parents knew what kind of unhealthy obsession you had with him, it would only get worse from here. But what could be worse than his dick in your mouth?

You happily dropped your jaw when he put himself back into your mouth, fucking you even rougher. Sicheng could tell you were having trouble breathing at this point, but he couldn't stop. Not when there were small tears flowing from your eyes onto your pretty lips. You looked up at him, expression full of lust and desperation.

"If only your father could see what a good girl his daughter is," Sicheng gritted through his teeth. "I'm close, Y/N."

He let go of your hair and pulled himself out your mouth quickly. Sicheng wrapped his hand around his shaft, pumping himself quickly. "Your mouth or face?"

"M-mouth." You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. Sicheng's gaze never left your pretty face. Spit on your chin, eyes glossed, tears staining your cheeks, but you're still willing to drink every bit of him up. He would take a picture, but unfortunately he left his phone downstairs.

"Fuck..Y/N.." Sicheng gave himself one more tug right before placing his tip on your tongue, cumming into your mouth. You let out a sigh of relief feeling his release on your tongue. "Swallow."

You closed your mouth, batting your lashes at him doing what he said.

"Show me." Sicheng smiled to himself when you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. You were so obedient it was almost cute. "You did good. You can stand up now."

You stood up, knees stinging a bit from being on your hard floor. You looked down at your knees, cringing at the sight of them. There was no way they weren't gonna be bruised later. Sicheng lifted your chin and kissed you, tasting his own cum on his tongue.

"I don't know how I'm gonna go down like this," you said, voice raspy.

"Yeah, you sound like a guy," he joked. The both of you laughed softly, leaning into each other's bodies. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tight. "I promise I'll fuck you so good tonight," he whispered in your ear.

"I'm holding you to that."

"Just make sure you come to my room quietly okay? We don't want to almost get caught like last time."

You cringed at the memories from the other day when your father saw you trying to sneak into Sicheng's room in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear. It's a blessing you were a good lair, because if not, a divorce would be on your hands right now. "Won't happen again," you said.

"Good." Sicheng let go of you, kissing your forehead before he backed up. "I'm gonna go down first okay? Don't miss me too much."

Before he opened the door, you kissed him softly. "Love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"Love you too."

#nct #nct u #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct oneshot #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv x reader #wayv fanfic #wayv smut #winwin #winwin oneshot #winwin smut #winwin scenarios

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gretavanbear · 1 year ago

Text

The Professor

Joshua Kiszka x Reader x Jake Kiszka

[I felt bad to keep you guys waiting... here's a little something for rn and next chapter/part will be out today!]

warnings: oral (m receiving)

Screening # : ?

Your jaw hung low as you felt his lips make contact with the sensitive skin of your neck. “If you aren’t going to answer me then shut your mouth, honey. You’re tempting me to fill it right up.” His low voice rang in your ear as you felt your heart flutter. You obeyed and shut your mouth as he pulled away. His fingers danced against the material of your pants, drawing little circles and lines.

“You haven’t answered me, still. It’s rude to make a man wait.” He said, his fingers continuously dancing against the material of your pants. He dipped his fingers inside and slowly dragged them down to your ankles, leaving you in only your underwear covering your bottom half. You watched as his eyes fell down to the increasing wet spot on them.

“Yes. Please, sir.”

“Oh! Please? You must really want it, huh?” He said, his brown eyes catching your every move, and his look shifted. “Too bad.”

“Get on your knees for me.” He spoke with an authoritative tone and you obeyed him, not wanting to see what he’d do if you didn’t listen. As he unbuckled his belt above you, he kept deep eye contact which was broken by a sudden noise. You placed yourself in front of him, yet he nestled his foot between your legs. You rested against his extremely expensive leather boot without a second thought.

You darted your glance to your cellphone which sat on the arm of the couch, the contact name reading “J”. Your heart sank for a couple seconds and then you felt his hand on your chin.

“Do you really want to answer?” He said as he turned your head for you. You stared at Jake with a blank look, he already knew the answer. “Good girl.” He said.

“Sir..” You sighed, your chest feeling like it’s on fire, and the goosebumps traveled all over as he slowly moved his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing right under your eye.He took one more look up at you before caressing your lips with his tip, as a nonverbal way to ask you to open up for him. Silence filled the room until your phone rang once more.

“He’s a bit clingy, isn’t he?” He chuckled and you nodded nervously, his tip resting against your flat tongue. His smile faded softly as his hand made it’s way to the back of your head, guiding himself inside as you took him in slowly. You didn’t want to close your eyes, you wanted to save this moment in your mind forever- watch him feeling good because of you.

You hummed quietly as you closed your lips around the base of his cock; your tongue circling around his length which made him breathe out a shuddered breath. You watched him mouth ‘fuck’ as you swallowed around him, bobbing your head up and down on him, his hand now nestled in your roots; guiding your head on him as he pulled your hair slightly.

“Oh- Fuuuck.” He breathed out as he began thrusting his hips into your mouth. “Relax for me, darling.” He said as he guided your head closer to him, making you take his cock fully down to your throat. You breathed out and let him bury himself as deep as he wanted to be. Subconsciously, you rubbed against the hard material of his boot for some sort of friction- and he noticed.

“Soak my fucking boot like the dirty girl you are.” he said, fucking your throat with a faster pace and you just hummed and grinded harder, holding onto his thigh as he used your mouth. Your quiet moans caused vibrations to bring him closer and closer, your cunt definitely dripping through your panties and all over his shoe.

“Swallow.” He spoke before his thrusts became out of rhythm and sloppy, his cock twitching in your mouth as his cock left it’s heavy loud inside it. He caressed your head and breathed heavily until the last drop.

Once he pulled out, you sat back up on the couch and watched him put his bottoms back on and sit down next to you. You couldn’t help but look down at his shoe which was, in fact, soaked. Feeling your cheeks get all hot out of embarrassment, you felt his hand on your thigh.

“You’re such a sweet girl, doll.” He said, before getting up from the couch and grabbing his guitar case. He took one more look at you before saying, “See you this friday.” with a smirk; and soon enough he was gone.

J: Sorry for calling twice, doll! I missed your voice. 12:46am

J: I reserved us a table at my favorite restaurant. I really want you to meet Jake. See you friday. 12:46am

Shit.

{@joshsbadussy @alyson814 @ageoffleeet @ashabeannn @schleeble @kennygvf @brokenbe11s @gretavansteph @l0vep0ti0n @welllauragvf @misshunnybee @succeedingsigns @myfavfics01 @whorefourjakekiszka @not-a-hypochondriac @myleftsock @leedleleedlelee003 @beth-gvf @jordie-gvf @joshkiszkas @oksydneyy @weightofstar @flo-gvf @myownparadise96 @indigokiszka @spark-my-nature @stardustofman @malany-gvf @carbonwrittingthroughtime @groupiegirlie08 @fwzco @nicoleghost18 @andromeda-raine-gvf @sarrrahhh @ren-ni @otherworldlyautumn @Timeless—classics @zoe-tally06 @hippievanfleet @hellowgoodbye @aminaalilyy @gvfcinema @joshpaperscissors @dammittjanet @enchante-em @austinbrry @meetingthestarcatcher @Samkiszkaspinkietoe @spinthehemmo @stonecoldmo @fitalich @justcarsonngvf @tearsofjakey @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lexii-nv-c @bailey747 @streamofgvf @cherryzo @brokenbells11 @gvfpal @gvfmarge @ejoygv @Suzi107 @Jakeygvf21 @Timeless—classics @dharma-divine33 @Myleftsock @Lexii-nv-c @iffypanic @hellowgoodbye @Risingwiththeheatabove @fakeplastiqtree @beckahvanfleet @lek-gvf }

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xtaketwox · 1 year ago

Text

I'm Betting It All On You

Summary: Lucien is tired of living in limbo. He has a proposition for Elain. One kiss and if she still doesn't want him, he'll leave her alone forever.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

@elucienweekofficial

“I have a proposition.”

Elain looked up from the rosebush she was pruning, a basket of flowers at her feet. Her heart—the traitor—sped up at the sound of his voice, the familiar swooping sensation hitting her stomach the moment she looked at him. He took a stepped closer when she held his gaze, and her breath caught as the sunlight glinted off his hair.

“A proposition?” she asked, ignoring her body’s response to her mate.

Lucien took another step towards her, and if she hadn’t seen him clench and unclench his fist, she might have thought he was perfectly at ease.

“I—we can’t continue to live in limbo like this.” Lucien stopped two feet away, forcing Elain to tilt her head up. “We need to settle our bond, one way or the other.”

She froze, shock beating like a pulse through her body. In the years since the bond had snapped, they had both abided by an unspoken agreement to pretend the bond didn’t exist. Lucien had stopped giving her gifts, had stopped seeking her out at all. Elain didn’t know what prompted his hesitancy to get to know her, and she hadn’t questioned it. Out of all the bad luck their bond had brought her, at least Lucien had felt as disinclined to pursue her as she was to pursue him. She couldn’t fathom what would prompt him to disregard that unspoken agreement now.

“What are you proposing?” It was all she could think to say, though she was already prepared to turn down whatever suggestion Lucien made. She wasn’t being intentionally cruel by neither accepting nor breaking the bond; she might not want Lucien, but that didn’t mean she wanted to risk him going insane from a broken bond.

Lucien’s gaze dropped to her lips for a prolonged moment, stealing the breath from her chest.

“We kiss.”

Whatever Elain had expected him to say, it hadn’t been that.

“No.”

Lucien sighed, as if she had reacted exactly as he expected. “It will help us decide if we’re even compatible.”

“I already know we are,” Elain said, crossing her arms and looking away. It was Lucien’s turn to be surprised, reeling back as if she had slapped him. “Everyone knows mating bonds manipulate people, making people who don’t even like each other unable to keep their hands to themselves. A kiss between us would do nothing.”

Lucien mirrored her stance, crossing his arms, his lips pressed into a firm line. “If the bond manipulated people, then we wouldn’t have spent years ignoring each other. Your logic is flawed.” He tilted his head, considering her. “Or are you afraid?”

Irritation burned hot in her chest, and by the gleam in his eye, Lucien knew it. She refused to rise to the bait, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m not afraid. I only know that kissing won’t prove anything.”

Lucien took yet another step toward her, hardly a foot separating them. She tilted her head back further, but her wide-brimmed hat kept her from seeing his eyes. Lucien reached up and pulled the hat from her head, letting it drop into the ground beside them. Elain started to reach for it, but Lucien grasped her wrist to stop her.

It was all she could do not to shudder at the feel of his skin against the sensitive underside of her wrist. The bob of his throat signaled Lucien was equally affected. When he spoke, his deep voice was hushed.

“If we kiss and you still don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll leave you alone forever.”

Elain’s mouth popped up as she sucked in a breath. She could hear how quickly Lucien’s heart was beating. He was gambling big on a single kiss.

“Forever?”

Lucien’s thumb swiped over her wrist, sending goosebumps up her arm. “For as long as you never want to see me, you won’t. I’ll refuse all of Feyre’s holiday invitations, report to Rhysand in the Illyrian Steppes, and you’ll never have to feel me again. You can even reject the bond if you choose.”

The thought of never seeing Lucien again immediately filled Elain with dread, but she forced the feelings down, sure that it was just the bond’s emotional manipulation. She wanted to make decisions about her own life and who she loved. She didn’t want a bond telling her who she was supposed to love. If it were known that she and Lucien had decided to reject their bond, perhaps she could still find love some day. As it stood, the fae held too much respect for mating bonds to agree to courting a mated female.

Elain lifted her chin. “Very well.”

The corners of Lucien’s mouth drew up in a cheshire grin, prompting Elain to put a hand on his chest to stop his immediate descent.

“Wait. We need to establish the rules.”

Lucien’s eyebrows rose. “What are you suggesting.”

Elain took a deep breath, immediately regretting it when the scent of spiced apples and cypress nearly overwhelmed her. Her face heated at having to speak so frankly about kissing, but she wanted to make sure Lucien took no liberties.

“Closed-mouth only and your hands do not stray off my waist.”

Lucien snorted. “No.” At her affronted look, he clarified. “I will keep my hands from straying, but I refuse to agree to nothing more than a chaste kiss.”

“Why?” She stepped back, trying to remove his tantalizing scent from her nose. She needed to keep a clear head.

“A peck on the lips isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

Elain crossed her arms, her suspicions confirmed. “Accomplish? I thought this was purely educational, but it seems you came with an agenda.”

Fire burned behind Lucien’s eye. “Yes, I did. I came to prove to you and me both that we’re meant to be. I’m tired of living my life not knowing if or when this bond will be resolved, and if I’m going to spend the rest of my miserable existence without my mate, then I’m going to at least know what she tastes like.”

Suddenly the sun felt too hot, her clothes too tight. As if he could see the effect his words had on her, Lucien stepped back into her space. “I’ll keep my hands to myself, but if you truly want to convince yourself of your indifference, then you’ll let me kiss you how I’ve been dreaming of it.”

Elain knew he was mocking her, but again, she refused to rise to the bait. Let him think what he wanted. If it accomplished a lifetime free of this bond, then she could ignore her baser urges for a few moments.

“Fine.”

Lucien blinked, clearly not expecting her to agree.

“If you keep your hands on my waist—”

“Or your face.”

Elain huffed. “What?”

Lucien raised his hand and cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “I want to be able to touch your face.”

Elain’s breath caught, her gut clenching as desire nearly overwhelmed her at his soft touch.

“Fine,” she rasped. “You keep your hands on my waist or face and I’ll agree to let you kiss me—on the lips—however you want.”

Lucien’s eye gleamed as he nodded, lowering his mouth to hers. “Agreed,” he murmured, just before brushing his lips against hers.

Elain knew it was a mistake at that first touch. She nearly moaned, her breath catching as warmth spread through her, sending a pulse straight down between her thighs. Lucien used his hand to tilt her head, his other hand grasping her waist to pull her closer as his tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth. Elain opened for him, nearly melting into him at the first swipe of his tongue into her mouth.

This was nothing like kissing Graysen. There had been love between them, and even a modicum of passion, but it paled in comparison to the raging inferno that now tore through Elain, chanting for her to grab the front of Lucien’s shirt and press herself closer.

Lucien groaned, the sound vibrating through her, telling her he was just as affected as she was. This knowledge drove her even closer to the brink of insanity and she did fist his shirt and press herself fully against him. Lucien’s hand slid from her jaw into her hair, and Elain was so focused on what his tongue was doing that she didn’t even realize he had already broken the rules. His other hand slid to her lower back as he deepened the kiss, pulling a groan out of Elain.

She should have realized that a male who had been alive for centuries would know how to kiss. She should have remembered Lucien was known for his cunning. He had known his experience far outweighed hers, had probably known he could sway her with a kiss.

She should have insisted it remain chaste.

When Lucien pulled back, Elain whimpered and tried to follow, her eyes widening in horror when she realized what she was doing. Lucien smirked down at her.

“Well?” His voice was low and gravelly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Am I spending the rest of my life alone?”

Elain closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from staring at Lucien’s face while she gathered her thoughts. The scent of spiced apples and cypress were heady in her nose, her nostrils flaring with each inhale. She heard two hearts racing and was unable to distinguish hers from his.

Gods, that had been better than she could have imagined. All she wanted was to keep going, but she didn’t trust herself to know whether she truly wanted it or if the bond was forcing her to feel things. She didn’t want regrets in the morning.

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, “How do I know it’s real? What if it’s just the bond?”

Lucien’s hand slid back to her jaw, his thumb brushing her lips. “I suppose there isn’t a way, but I think you’re misinformed over how mating bonds work.”

Elain opened her eyes, confused.

Lucien’s gaze was on her lips as he spoke. “A bond can’t manufacture feelings. It can perhaps push people into feeling sexual attraction, but I think you’re forgetting that the bond is woven into the fabric of who we are. We’ve been mates since before you were born. I had to wait, but the bond was always there. It doesn’t appear out of thin air. Just because it snapped after you were Made, doesn’t mean that’s when it was created.”

Elain could only blink at him as she digested this information. He waited patiently, though his stare grew more heated as time went on. Finally, Elain grasped his wrist, pulling his hand from her face and taking several steps back.

“This isn’t a no, but I would like time to think about what you said and decide what I’m feeling.”

Disappointment and a sadness that tugged at Elain’s heart flashed through Lucien’s face, but he nodded. “Of course.”

He turned to leave, but Elain grabbed his arm to halt him. When he looked back, she said, “I’ll meet you tomorrow at your apartment here in Velaris for dinner.” She phrased it as a statement, but there was a question in her tone.

Lucien nodded, his relief palpable that she wasn’t going to make him wait indefinitely. “Very well.”

Elain dropped his wrist, ignoring her desire to stop him from leaving as she watched him walk away. She would spend the next twenty-four hours thinking about what she wanted, and one way or another, tomorrow things would be settled.

* * *

It took Elain twice as long as it should have to reach Lucien’s apartment the following evening. She had changed her mind halfway there several times and then again on her way back to the river house.

She had slept very little the night before. Lucien’s words played on a loop in her mind and when she did finally sleep, her dreams had followed that kiss to an erotic conclusion. She had woken both exhausted and body throbbing. It had taken only a few swipes of her fingers for an orgasm to shatter through her. Then she had made sure to scrub every inch of herself thoroughly in the bath, well aware that everyone would be able to scent her arousal.

Standing in front of Lucien’s door, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and knocked. The door opened immediately, as if he had been waiting right beside it.

“Hello,” Elain said, nerves making her voice breathy.

Lucien stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “Please come in.”

Elain twisted her fingers together as she stepped through the door into the space. She had never been—though she had always known where Lucien’s apartment was located—and looked around, impressed with the space. She followed Lucien into the living room, the kitchen overlooking the room. It wasn’t large, but it had a cozy feel to it. She couldn’t help but notice the Autumn influences throughout the space, decorated in shades of orange, brown, and green.

A small table, just big enough for two, stood in the space between the kitchen and living room. There were two place settings and as she noticed them, the scents from the kitchen hit her nose.

“You cook?” Elain asked.

Lucien huffed a laugh. “No. Not well anyway. I picked up something from a restaurant near here. I hope you like fish.”

It struck Elain then how little they knew about one another. “I love fish.”

Lucien’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief and Elain realized then how nervous he was to have her here.

“Would you like to talk before or after dinner?”

Elain forced herself to stop fidgeting as she squared her shoulders. “I think it’s best to get it over with.”

Lucien froze, horror dawning on his face. Elain immediately took a step forward, reaching for him. “My answer is yes.”

His mouth parted and he blinked several times at her, as if needing a moment to process. “…yes?”

Elain took yet another step towards him, tilting her chin up. “After you left yesterday, I requested information on mating bonds from Nesta’s friend Gwyn. I also talked to Rhys. I would have talked to Feyre as well, but I didn’t want her to get her hopes up.”

Lucien was hardly breathing. “What did you discover?”

Elain shrugged. “More or less what you told me. I’m not one hundred percent sure I agree that mating bonds aren’t manipulative, but it’s also not quite as mindless as I assumed. Rhys also pointed out that strong sexual attraction happens to people without mating bonds.”

Lucien closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. When he opened them again, his gaze was so hot that Elain’s stomach flipped.

“What do you want to do then?” he asked.

Elain dropped her gaze to his mouth. “I think…I’d like to kiss you again.”

Lucien immediately yanked on her hand, pulling her flush against him as he dipped his head, pressing his lips hungrily against hers. He dropped her hand, sliding his hand to the small of her back, his other hand tilting her jaw.

Elain whimpered as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Without realizing what she even planned to do, she reached under his shirt, needing to feel his skin against her hands.

Lucien shuddered, breaking the kiss and leaning his head against hers to whisper, “Fuck.”

Elain couldn’t help but agree in her head as her fingers climbed the ridges of his abdomen. “Kiss me,” she whispered, needing his mouth on her again.

Lucien complied, and Elain gasped when he placed his hands on her waist and walked her backward until her back hit the wall, his tongue doing delicious things in her mouth as he did so.

Elain thought she might spontaneously combust. Lucien brushed his thumbs along her ribs, but kept his hands from straying anywhere else, per their agreement the previous day.

Elain broke the kiss only long enough to say, “Please touch me.”

Lucien growled into her mouth as his hands slid up, gently squeezing her breasts through her dress. Her knees nearly gave out, a jolt of arousal hitting her clit at the contact. She could feel his smirk against her lips as he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her upright.

Gods, he barely touched her and she was about to lose her mind.

Elain slid her hands under his shirt again, raking her nails lightly down his stomach and then around and up his spine. Lucien groaned, pulling Elain closer so that she could feel the hard length of him against her stomach. He kissed his way from her mouth, along her jaw, to her ear.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine.

He continued kissing a trail down her throat and across her collar bone, sucking gently. Elain felt feverish, her clothes suddenly too tight. Lucien kissed the tops of her breasts and she wanted to scream at him to hurry up.

As if he had heard her plea, he pulled the fabric of her dress down. He leaned back, his gaze hungry as he stared at her breasts. Just when Elain was contemplating shoving his face against her, he lowered his head, his tongue laving across one nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

Elain gasped, her knees actually giving out now. Lucien deftly caught her, scooping her into his arms and walking toward his bedroom, dinner forgotten. Elain plunged both hands into his hair, grasping tightly as she kissed him again.

Lucien set her on his bed and laid between her spread legs, immediately returning his mouth to her breast. He knew what he was doing, every touch sending jolts of arousal south, until Elain thought she might combust.

Now that he had her in his bed, Lucien seemed in no hurry, his mouth teasing its way from one breast to the other. His hands dropped to her legs, bunching the material of her skirt before slowly pushing it up. Elain shivered when his fingers skimmed across her hips. He pulled back long enough for her to sit up so he could undo the buttons of her dress and pull it over her head.

Lucien’s pupil blew wide at the sight of her in nothing but underwear, his breath ragged. Elain grasped the edge of his shirt and pulled up. Lucien helped her, pulling it off and tossing it away. Elain’s mouth watered as she took in his bronzed torso, the dips and valleys of his abdomen begging for her tongue.

Before she could act on that desire, Lucien gently pushed her back down. He towered over her, his eyes moving rapidly over her, as if he didn’t know where to look first. Elain, not used to being so on display, crossed her arms over her chest.

Lucien shook his head, gently grabbing her wrists.

“Please let me look at you,” he breathed. He waited until her soft nod before pulling her arms away. His breath caught and she watched, fascinated, as he shuddered above her.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was so low, she wondered if he had meant to say the words out loud.

She didn’t know how to respond, so she simply said, “So are you.”

His eye snapped to hers, and she smiled at the shock on his face. “Surely, you’ve been told before how beautiful you are.”

Something that looked like grief crossed his expression before he shook his head. “Not often since I lost my eye.”

Elain sat up, Lucien leaning back to give her space. She reached up to caress his face, brushing her fingers lightly over the scars running from his brow to his jaw. He closed his eyes, his hands grasping her waist, as if he needed something to steady himself.

“I didn’t know you before,” she said, glancing towards his good eye, “but the moment I first saw you, I thought you were the most handsome man or fae I had ever seen.” Lucien swallowed, seeming unable to talk, so Elain continued, tracing the scars up and down his face. “It scared me, how much I wanted you, especially—” she cut off, not wanting to mar the moment with the reminder of her ex-fiance. She grabbed both sides of his face. “I need you to know, I didn’t stay away because I wasn’t attracted to you.” His breathing grew more rapid. “I stayed away because I couldn’t stand to be around you and not touch you. I…I didn’t trust that what I wanted was real, but I always wanted you, Lucien.”

Lucien immediately pulled her close, crushing his lips to hers. This kiss was like a firestorm, full of heat and a swirl of emotions flowing through the bond. Elain wasn’t sure which were her own and which belonged to Lucien. They had occasionally felt each other’s emotions through the bond, but had both learned to build a wall to their mind. Now, it would seem those walls had been crumbled to dust.

Elain pulled away with a gasp, Lucien trailing kisses back down her jaw, neck, across her collar bone. He laid her back as he kissed and sucked his way down the valley of her breasts. She fisted the sheets at her side and shoved her chest up, silently begging him to show her breasts attention. Lucien smiled against her skin as he ignored the silent plea and continued kissing lower.

Elain’s dream from that morning flashed briefly through her head, and her whole body jerked at the memory. Just when he was almost where she needed him, he pulled back, a feral grin on his face when she whined in protest.

He skimmed his fingers down her leg, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, lifting her ankle and pressing a kiss on it. He trailed kisses up her calf, the inside of her knee, gently sucking as he did so. Elain started shaking when he reached the inside of her thigh, silently begging him to give her relief.

Once again, he pulled away before reaching where Elain wanted him. He pulled her underwear down, tossing it aside and pulling her leg over his shoulder before shimming his fingers down the other leg and repeating the process. By the time he was sucking on the inside of her thigh, Elain felt taut as a bowstring, her legs already shaking.

She was just about to resort to begging when he finally lowered his mouth, swiping his tongue up through her folds and sucking her clit in his mouth. Elain bowed off the bed, releasing the sheets in favor of gripping Lucien’s hair to hold him in place. He placed a hand on her abdomen to hold her down as he licked and sucked.

It took almost no time before Elain pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream as she came, stars bursting behind her closed eyes. Lucien pulled her hand away, kissing her though her orgasm. She didn’t know how he knew that’s what she needed, but she immediately gripped his hair to hold him there. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

It wasn’t close enough. Elain wrapped her legs around his waist, irritated when she realized Lucien still wore his pants. He pulled away without her having to ask, shoving his pants and underwear down and kicking them away before laying back between her legs.

Elain immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, a satisfied sound leaving her as she felt the length of him against her skin.

“I need you,” she whispered, kissing him desperately. “I want all of you.”

Lucien shuddered, pulling away just far enough to line himself up before slowly pushing in.

Elain gasped at the stretch, closing her eyes. Lucien stilled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

Elain shook her head, unable to form the words to tell him it felt wonderful, right, like this was how they were meant to be. “Go,” was all she managed to say.

Lucien kissed her again as he pushed further in, going too slowly. Elain wrapped her legs around him, pushing her heels into his ass and tilting her hips to drive him completely in. He cursed and Elain smiled at the wave of satisfaction that coursed through her.

Fire stared at her from Lucien’s eye as he ghosted his lips against her and whispered, “You’ll pay for that.”

“I certainly hope so,” she whispered back with a boldness she didn’t realize she possessed.

Lucien crushed his lips back to hers as he snapped his hips, swallowing Elain’s gasp. He was everywhere, his mouth on hers, his hands roaming over her skin, his hips snapping a fiery pace. Just like his kissing, Lucien’s centuries of experience were evident, and rather than jealousy at the thought of females of the past, Elain wanted to find them all and thank them for their service.

She had never felt so unhinged, her emotions completely unbridled. The bond hummed between them, emotions flying back and forth so quickly that it was impossible to distinguish who was feeling what, or if they were both feeling exactly the same thing.

He shifted his angle and Elain cried out as he hit a spot inside that made her vision blur. She felt another orgasm coiling in her stomach, drawing tighter with every thrust, until she thought she might snap in two. She whimpered when Lucien changed angles again, leaving her on the precipice.

He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear as he whispered, “What do you want, Elain?”

She struggled to form words, her brain too full of the sensations he was dragging out of her.

He kissed right below her ear and his voice sounded strained. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” she finally managed to say, her own hands roaming over his skin, wanted to be closer still, wanting to fuse their bodies together.

Lucien obliged, skimming his hand from her face down between them, lightly circling her clit.

It wasn’t enough. “More,” she gasped.

Lucien smiled as he sped up his fingers, pressing harder. Elain began shaking again, every muscle in her body pulling tight as he wound her higher and higher, his hips snapping in time with the swipes of his fingers. Just when she thought her muscles might snap, Lucien hit that spot inside her and she screamed, her orgasm rolled over her.

She just barely registered Lucien’s own scream as he went rigid above her before he collapsed, only barely managing to keep himself from crushing her. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her close, his head on her chest.

They laid in silence, both gasping for breath, Elain still twitching from her orgasm. She idly ran her fingers through his hair while his arms squeezed her close almost to the point of pain.

“I—that’s never happened before.”

Lucien raised his head, his eyes wide as he stared at her. She almost laughed when his mechanical eye started whirring.

“What do you mean?” she asked. She marveled at how comfortable, how right she felt. There was no post-sex awkwardness, no self-conscious desire to cover back up now that the act was over. Instead, she felt like she might never want to move, to spend the rest of her days doing nothing but comb her fingers through her mate’s ruby-colored hair.

“It’s never been that intense, that—good.”

Elain couldn’t help her smile at hearing that. “Oh?”

Lucien laughed at the look of pride on her face, reaching up to flick her nose. Her smile dropped, replaced by awe.

“What?” Lucien asked, his gaze traveling between her eyes frantically.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” she said.

Palpable relief swept over him and he chuckled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“When I was around you, I was usually too busy trying to give you space to hear anything anyone said to me.” He flashed a grin. “I’m actually quite charming.”

Elain rolled her eyes, biting her lip against her return grin.

She panicked when he pulled away, but relaxed when he lay on his back and pulled her half on top of him. She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his chest. He slid his leg between hers, one hand resting on her hip as the other gently skimmed up and down her back. She wondered if he needed the closeness as much as she did.

They lay there silently, soaking up the silence and each other’s presence. Eventually, Elain sat up, biting her lip as she looked down at Lucien.

“Now what?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“What are we?” she replied. “Does this mean we accepted the bond? Are we courting? Are we going to remain apart and occasionally sleep together?”

Lucien snarled at that last remark, and something in Elain’s chest eased. She watched him swallow, noting the way he tensed up, as if preparing for her rejection.

“We can be whatever you like.”

She watched him through narrow eyes. “What would you like?”

He was unable to hide the panic in his expression fast enough. Elain cupped his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want to know what you want.”

His gaze felt like it was peering into her soul, trying to figure out if she was telling the truth. “I want everything,” he finally whispered. “I want to be where you are or have you where I am. I want a mating ceremony. I want a wedding if that’s what you want. I want a house to call our own. I want—” he stopped short, deciding against whatever he had planned to say.

Elain smiled. “I want children someday too.”

His eyes widened at her response. “You—”

Elain kissed his peck, setting her chin on his chest. “I want all of it. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

Lucien’s breath whooshed out and before she knew what was happening, he had her on her back. “You’re going to pay for that.”

Elain grinned as a thrill of excitement made her shiver.

“Do your worst, mate.”

Lucien’s answering grin was feline.

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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fairydares · 2 years ago

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Chasing Tails Chapter Three: Trees and...

AO3 Link; fanfiction.net link ; Chapter 1 on here (you can find the “back of the book”-type summary here or at one of the other links)

Chapter Summary: Natsu finds a tree. Nashi finds Natsu. (Happy voice) And then...!

Author’s Notes:

First and foremost: Chapter 3 took forever for me to publish. Oops.

I genuinely expected zero people to read this, so when it actually got some hits, and I even got kudos, comments, reviews, reblogs, likes, and favorites (Thanks so much! You have no idea how much you guys helped!) I had an, “oh, shit” moment where I realized I actually care about making this story halfway decent. A lot of the work I did went to outlining and research (even though most of the research will be blatantly ignored lol). I hope it will pay off and allow me to publish chapters more frequently, but I have also been busy.

NOW. onto notes that are actually important to the story:

Initially, Layla’s earthbound last name was “Turner.” It was supposed to be her last foster family’s surname. However, I edited and changed it to O’Neil because I realized that made more sense. Sorry for any confusion. I went back and edited a couple other details, too, but nothing too big.

For anyone waiting for smut/lemons, I’m going to try to label chapters with lemons (at least on AO3). We’ll see how that goes. Nothing this chapter.

*Content Warnings:

Almost everything to do with Nashi’s upbringing on Our Earth is a very inaccurate portrayal of CPS, foster care, and the police. I didn’t bother doing deep research on those things because it’s only vaguely relevant to most of the story. Please criticize cops and the failings of the foster care system, just not on the basis of this fic.

Also: Drug & Alcohol abuse mentions; swearing; graphic violence; nausea & puke mentions; ignorant ableism (mostly by Nashi/Layla, whose top personality trait ATM is “just wrong” but still); bullying mentions; death mentions (not any OC’s); discussions of sex.

tbh, most of that’s gonna be standard fare for this fic.

*Tumblr-Specific Tip: I recommend scrolling to the bottom and reading the footnotes first. That way, you won’t need to scroll all over the place. I listed them all with context for this specific purpose.*

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“This tree is talkin’ to me!” […] “Yes, Great Tree!” - Natsu’s line, Episode 76, English dub [~2:45]

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“Oi, Mad Cow! If you don’t quit whining and drive faster, I’ll break your damn neck! You hear me?!”

The thick throat bobbed under Natsu’s forearm in response to the growled threat. “Y-yes,” came the hoarse choke. “But…it’s Mad Bull, not—“

“Like I care!” Natsu snarled, managing to hide his vehicular distress behind a scowl he fixed on the little mirror the big bastard’s eyes kept darting to. Sweat crawled down his temples.

It had taken mere minutes for his despair to burn into rage after Nashi left—and it didn’t even happen because of how badly their reunion had gone. The guy Nashi had just finished thrashing had been holding a weird-looking Mini-Comm to his ear as exited the same door she had, too distracted by his conversation to notice the pink-haired man curled wallowing on the ground amidst a scattering of untouched bills.

Natsu would barely have noticed him, either—if he hadn’t caught part of the asshole’s side of the conversation:

“—think I tried that?! The little freak was gone by the time I could sneak into the—yes, I’m fucking sure! How the hell could I miss her pink hair?!”

Natsu had stilled on the ground.

“—sure that’s the little bitch’s apartment building?…Well, whatever…don’t need an exact address, I’ll kick down every door in the damn place till she comes out if I have to, and make sure that whore regrets the day she ever—ARGGHH!”

The hulking man had bellowed in pain as he staggered from the Dragon Slayer’s sucker punch. His weird Min-Comm skidded across the ground, going totally silent as it audibly cracked against the ground.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT, ASSHOLE!” the big man shouted, lunging.

Despite the brand new wave of near-paralyzing vertigo, it had been easy for Natsu to take him down. First, because the loser really was a huge waste of size and strength. Second, because of the rage which had driven him to his feet.

The world had both seared red and spun around him. In the back of his mind, he noted that the dizziness was almost definitely at least partly due to the fact that his fire was trying and failing to rise to the surface. Every attempt at using his Magic in this world, so far, had resulted in shattering dizziness. He didn’t worry about it too much. He wouldn’t have been able to control his Magic, anyway—not when he was this pissed.

After easily slamming the man to the ground, Natsu yanked the bastard’s arm across his back until it trembled on the verge of breaking or (even more likely) dislocating.

“I know I didn’t just hear you call my daughter a whore, you bastard!” he’d hissed, pulling the massive arm an inch further back, barely refraining from ripping it off.

“D-daughter!? You’re—?”

“SHUT UP!”

Natsu had garroted the freak’s throat with his free arm and chuckled darkly when he spluttered and gagged. He’d thought quickly, fighting his ongoing dizziness for clarity.

“Right. You’re going to take me to Nashi’s apartment. Now! Then you’ll get lost and stay lost, you got it?!”

“N-Nashi? Who the fuck—?”

“THE GIRL YOU WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT, MORON!”

He’d been forced to accept a car ride—very reluctantly, giving in only when Mad Cow had spluttered that it would take them hours to walk to Nashi’s building.

Now, sitting in a moving car yet retaining the wherewithal to keep the guy’s throat locked under his arm from the back seat, he remained as creeped out as he’d been at the beginning of the journey. He’d always thought it would be awesome if he could ride in a vehicle without getting sick, that Wendy was basically a miracle-worker whenever she used Troia to help him out.

Now, under these circumstances, with his heightened senses stolen from him—Natsu found himself disturbed as hell by his ability to keep his wits in a dreaded moving Magical Vehicle.

It made an awful kind of sense, though. Whatever this world did to Magic sucked so much out of you, Dragon Slayers even had their motion sickness reduced. Maybe to the point they didn’t have it at all, eventually, if Nashi’s ability to ride a Magicycle was anything to go by.

In any case, Natsu’s nausea was still pretty bad—but not so bad he had to let go of Mad Cow, which was good because the asshole had already tried to attack him once, when Natsu was reluctantly oozing into the car. The bastard paid for it with a head slam that created a small crack in his Magical Vehicle’s window. As satisfying as his scream of pain and frustration had been, it had tested Natsu’s already overtaxed temper. He couldn’t hurt the guy badly enough that he couldn’t take Natsu where he needed to go, but boy did he want to.

Sweat slithered down his face, stomach rocking persistently, but he managed to hide his strain until the car finally swished and jerked to a halt across the road from a medium-tall, crummy building. With a trembling, meaty hand, Mad Cow pushed the stick he’d been holding forward between the two front seats then quickly lifted his hands like a robber.

“W-we’re here…” he sniveled.

Natsu glanced around, eyes narrowing as they briefly latched onto the Magicycle gleaming under a street lamp before returning to meet Mad Cow’s beady gaze in the little mirror. “Right.” He pulled his arm tighter against the thick throat, relishing the distressed-sounding gargles he got in response and the way a Vulcan-ish hand started clawing uselessly at his arm. “If you even think of laying a hand on my daughter again, I’ll flay you alive! You got that?!”

Natsu had to let up on Mad Cow’s throat just enough to hear the wheezed affirmative, wishing badly that he had his fire so he could brand this freak with the threat. There was something in the way those dark eyes gleamed and darted around that he didn’t trust.

But he didn’t have the option, and his stomach was rocking violently. The lump on Mad Cow’s head and the crack in his Magical Vehicle’s window would have to suffice. If he got any ideas about trying something, Natsu would be nearby to protect her, anyway.

“Good!” For the first time in living memory, Natsu was able to stagger right out of a Magical Vehicle and stay standing, albeit by the skin of his damn teeth. He scowled after the car as threateningly as he could as it roared away. Only after it had screeched around a corner did the Dragon Slayer double over to groan in agony.

After recovering, he stared up at the apartment building for a minute, somber and contemplative. So. This was where his daughter lived. Angry shouting emanated from broken windows, slurry arguments, violent threats, and the sounds of loud sex layered over each other. A man puked on the cracked bricks of the building’s side. From the dark alley of the other side, a pair of shiny eyes stared at him unblinkingly.

Lucy would have blown her top if she found out their daughter had been living in a place like this. Natsu couldn’t say the looks of the place was doing his blood pressure any favors, either.

Noting the location of the building, he’d hobbled off in search of food. As reluctant as he was to lose walk away from where Nashi was, passing out from hunger wasn’t going to help either of them. Fortunately, he’d thought to grab the money Nashi threw on the ground and shove it in his pocket just before ordering Mad Cow to make sure his Magic Vehicle didn’t shake too much. An order which had made the bastard splutter excuses about how “that was impossible!” and which he had not obeyed.

Natsu panicked slightly when he realized everything Nashi had given him only a couple hundred jewel-things. But when he found an open food stand (with wheels?! What sick bastard combined something so beloved with something so terrible?!) he sighed in relief upon reading the low prices. Jewel-whatevers went further here, obviously.

He proceeded to cheerfully order all the spiciest things on the menu until he was out of money. He wished it was Lucy or Mira’s cooking—and that it came with his usual side of fire, but the food was tasty enough. Nothing could could clear his head or perk him up like good grub. He felt much better as he hobbled away from the wheeled food stand, waving back at the beaming (and oddly weeping?) family talking excitedly in a language he didn’t understand.

Still, being clearheaded wasn’t as much fun as usual, at the moment. He brooded as he ambled back to the dumpy building, the truth sinking in like a rock in a pond.

Nashi didn’t believe him. Not just about the fact he was her dad, but about…anything. Hell, she didn’t even go by the name “Nashi.” Natsu could sort of start to understand how she’d come to be called “Layla”, seeing as it was her middle name. He worried about the specifics of the name change, though. Fairy Tail’s Strongest Team had had to use fake names on a few missions, mainly to infiltrate dangerous groups and take them down from inside.

Another guildmate who’d used fake identities in the past was Jellal (now the official Master of Fairy Tail’s Branch Guild, Crime Sorcière). Aside from playing Mystogan back when he’d been a fugitive, he’d done it mainly to prevent enemies from retaliating against Fairy Tail or his family. Then there was Mest, who Natsu was pretty sure still did spy things for the guild, but thankfully didn’t manipulate his own memories any more. None of the reasons he could think of for why Nashi might be hiding behind an alias made him feel too good, especially after his encounter with Mad Cow.

Even more concerning was the fact that Magic didn’t exist here. That you were considered insane if you mentioned it at all. Even Nashi, one of only two born Dragon Slayers in history, thought so. What the hell was he even supposed to do with that?! He couldn’t even protect her from whatever had forced her to take the name “Layla.”

He stopped in front of her apartment building and scowled up at it for the second time, struggling to think straight enough to come up with a plan with how physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted he was.

It was supposed to be simple: find Nashi and everyone else who vanished into those portals, then bring them home. Since the day they all vanished, that had been his main goal. Hell, it was the self-appointed mission of pretty much all the Mages left in Fiore—most of whom had also lost at least one person close to them to the mysterious portals which erupted across the country. Natsu had achieved the first part of the mission only for Nashi herself to become a new obstacle. In every possible way, he was lost.

His head felt like it was going to split. The pain made it even harder to think clearly. But standing there, Natsu did manage to draw one important yet unfortunate conclusion: kicking down the door to his daughter’s apartment building and yelling her name till he found her was almost certainly a bad idea.

He sulked at the realization. That was exactly what he wanted to do. Patience had never been his strong suit, and he was barely clinging to it at all after finding his daughter only to immediately learn she was in danger and living in a shit-hole. It was only what wisdom he’d gained as a grown man, a husband, and a father that allowed him to accept all he was likely to get from chasing her down again tonight was another kick—not to mention a lower chance of ultimately convincing her he was her dad. Something he had no chance of figuring out how to do when he was this tired and frayed.

Eventually, reluctantly, he headed to the park across the street from her house.

Or, uh, maybe a park? he wondered, eyeing all the dirty, bedraggled people curled up on benches or over the grass. Maybe travelers of some kind, seeing as some of them were in tents not too unlike the one he and Lucy had started bringing on missions after they’d started getting frisky. So long ago, now, but he could remember like it was yesterday.

He chuckled to himself at the thought and suffered the wave of ensuing (decidedly less-than-pure) homesickness. The breeze cooled Natsu’s skin pleasantly as he scanned for a good spot to rest for the night, quickly spotting a tree with wide branches.

He didn’t particularly like dozing in trees, preferring to spread out and/or cuddle Lucy as much as possible. But being able to was a skill that came in handy as a Mage—especially for S-Class missions that required initial reconnaissance.

Besides. In terms of this “mission”, the tree’s largest branch also happened to overlook Nashi’s apartment building. Even from here, Natsu could see her Magicycle gleaming beneath its street lamp, well in-sight of the tree branch he had his eye on. From there, he could watch over her.

“Oi, watch it!” someone snapped when he tripped over them on his way over to the tree.

“Oops, sorry! My bad, man!”

The tree bark was merciless against his palms. He grimaced at the trouble his knee gave him going up and grunted as he pulled himself onto the wide branch.

“This sucks,” he grumbled, shaking out his arms and glaring at his bloody, dirty knuckles. An entire lifetime of training dedicated to both his Magic and his body. Now he couldn’t even punch a couple people without exposing bone, could barely climb to the lowest branch of a damn tree. He wondered idly if this is how Loke felt when he’d remained on Earthland for such a long time.

He wondered how Nashi must have felt, when she landed here. How hard it must have been for her. At least she hadn’t been all alone. Even if Harley couldn’t fly, now, Nashi had confirmed they’d been together. The thought provided a sliver of comfort.

He settled his back against the trunk and peered out over his left shoulder, pleased he’d been right: from the perch he’d found, he had a clear view of Nashi’s Magicycle and apartment building perfectly. The nearly empty road between them sat like a dark and eerily still, silent river far below. Which apartment was hers? Could she look back at him, if she stood at a window?

“I’m keeping my promise,” he vowed softly, staring at the apartment building. “No matter what, I’m taking you home, Nashi.” He sniffled a bit, swiping the tears from his cheeks before they could wet his smiling lips.

Natsu crossed his arms behind his head and fell into a rather easy sleep, considering the bruises and aches on his weakened body.

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

Thud!

She fell back to the ground with a cry of surprise and pain. A small one—the squeaky cry of a child no older than five. Frustrated tears gathered in her eyes. She groaned, propping her elbows beneath her and squeezing warm dirt between her fingers.

A huff met her ears, and she lifted her eyes to focus on the person strutting towards her. It wasn’t until he stopped right in front of her, blocking the sun with his head, that she could make him out. A scowling boy. Bigger than her, older, with hair the color of midnight.

It was when she noticed the edges of his form shimmering under the sun that Layla realized she was dreaming.

It had been a while since she’d had this dream…

The bright scent of fire and the smell of coming rain hung strong in her nostrils, so sharp they were breathtaking. So sharp they kept her in the dream despite her awareness of it. The combination of scents was inexplicably comforting. Familiar.

The boy crossed his arms over his bare chest, grunting irritably. “Would you quit?! Jeez! How many times have I told you to quit following me around, ya damn pest!?”

“Too bad!” she growled, still trying to get up. Her arms and legs weighed about a thousand pounds, and she wound up flumping backwards with a groan. “I-I’m gonna beat you, I swear!”

He rolled his eyes. “You mean like you said you were gonna yesterday? And the day before yesterday? And the day before that? And then also the—“

“Shut up!” Her cheeks burned. “Today’s gonna be different!

“You get that I’m, like, way older than you, right?”

“So what?!”

“So I’m bigger and stronger, that’s what!”

She groaned, pushed again. Once more, she fell. This time her head thumped against the dirt.

Concern peeked through the boy’s scowl, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Oi! Take it easy for once, would you?”

She ignored him. “Get up!” she growled, fighting back tears of frustration. “I always get back up!” Moving her legs was like swimming through sand. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them under herself. Finally, her frustration boiled over, and she stabbed a finger at the boy. “GET UP!”

“YOU’RE THE ONE THAT’S ON THE GROUND!” [*1]

He took a couple deep breaths. However, it became clear his efforts to calm himself didn’t work when he exploded, “Why do you wanna beat me so bad anyway, huh?! I mean, the hell’d I ever do to you?!”

“It’s not that!” she groaned, still pushing. “It’s not like you did anything! I wanna beat you because…because you’re so strong! If I wanna be the best, I can’t waste time fighting a bunch of babies! If I wanna be the best, I gotta be able to beat the best!”

She could feel his gaze on her as she finally managed to push herself to her hands and knees, breathing heavily.

He huffed again, and this time, the sound was less annoyed. “That’ll never happen,” he chuckled, then sighed. “Damn…you really are a pest, you know that, Nashi?”

Just as she gritted her teeth, preparing to stand, a hand appeared in front of her face. She looked up in surprise to find the boy smiling down at her. The irritation in those strange, clear blue eyes—fringed in long, dark lashes—had softened into an exasperated sort of fondness. His outline was clearer, now. Less shimmery. “Well? Thought you said you were gonna beat me. Can’t do that from down there, can you?”

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

It was when she took the sparkly Edward Cullen child’s hand that she woke up. Always then.

Awareness of the pain in her battered body slammed into her like the morning’s white light against her eyelids. Groaning, she flung an arm over her eyes only to hiss when the movement tugged at muscles stiffer than cold taffy. Harley stirred at Layla’s abrupt movement, a purr emanating into her side. Her joints throbbed as did the underside of her right jaw.

She could tell from the din of traffic floating through her closed window that it was past time to get up. She’d had an absolute shit of a time falling and staying asleep the previous night, but she couldn’t afford laziness now, when the Championship fight was less than a week out [*2].

Unlike most fighters of Layla’s caliber, she didn’t have top-notch sparring partners, a doctor, or a nutritionist at her beck and call. She didn’t have money to throw around so she could pay other people to make her the best; she didn’t even get paid anywhere near as much as the assholes she fought, whenever they won a fight. Hell, she didn’t even have one coach any more. She was the best because she woke up earlier, trained harder, gave more, and aimed higher. It was up to her. Her alone. It’d always been that way.

And yet…that morning, for a few longing minutes, she tried to let sleep keep her. She clung to the details of the years-forgotten dream, heart pinching inexplicably as they faded despite her best efforts, like smoke slipping through her fumbling fingers. The smell of fire and coming rain were swamped by the pungent odor of sweaty clothes and kitty litter. The echo of the boy’s voice slipped away beneath the sounds of traffic and the couple next door’s shouting.

Unfortunately, the one part of the dream she wanted to forget—the detail she’d stewed over all night—stuck to the front of her brain like it’d been superglued:

“Damn…you really are a pest, you know that, Nashi?”

…Nashi…

That damn name.

Rage Layla had been too tired to fully realize the previous night boiled up in her chest as “NASHI” screen-savered through her head, the memory of that homeless, pink-haired wingnut popping up between the floating words like a bad jump scare. She gripped her bedsheets with swollen, lilac knuckles and clenched her teeth so hard, they creaked like they were going to break.

Why? she fumed silently, struggling to swallow the hot, frustrated scream clawing its way up her throat—only because she didn’t want to scare Harley. Fucking WHY?

It was bad enough that she’d stewed over the bizarre encounter until the not-so-wee hours of morning, unable to sleep thanks to her shithead roommate and her “friends” making a bunch of sounds she’d never wanted to hear in her goddamn life! (Not to mention the conversation she overheard between two of Gracie’s creep-ass “guests” right outside her bedroom door, two guys egging each other to “get the pink-haired girl involved in the fun” until Gracie lured them back to the living room—lucky for them.) But when she’d finally started to drift off, she’d sworn not to think of the incident until after her fight four days from now.

That’s right...she thought grimly. Four days.

The Championship.

Her shot at redemption.

Her stomach churned. The frustrated scream climbed higher in her throat.

It was humiliating and infuriating enough that Pinky Wingnut had caught her off-guard so bad. For most of the night she’d raged at herself for engaging with some freak who was so clearly insane, let alone almost believing him, let alone asking him about…that name, a name she didn’t even give a shit about anymore. A name gathering dust in the bottom of the tattered, locked trunk across her room, right along with the police file it was tucked away in.

It felt like she’d had an embarrassing childhood toy she didn’t remember burying shoved into her arms without warning. And instead of throwing it back in the jerk’s face and telling him to fuck off, what had her stupid ass done? Asked him where he dug it up. Oh, and paid him for his trouble.

But no, she brooded, dropping her arm from her face and letting the light sear her eyes so that she could glare at the ceiling. Worse than the fact that she’d let him wobble her mentally and emotionally, worse than the fact she’d given him $250 she couldn’t really afford to hand out…worse than any of that was the bastard’s timing.

The moments following her win had already been a shitshow, even if no one but her knew it. It’d been that way the whole past year, but last night—the semi-final fight—had definitely been the worst. The second Lee had thrown her away from Mad Fuck or whatever and she’d managed to pull herself out of “fight mode” to convince herself that yes, she’d actually won, her mind had eagerly jumped to her corner—only to remember it was empty, now. There was no one there. No strong, smirking older blonde boy or a tiny, old one-eyed man offering up one of his rare, proud smiles through his mustache.

Just a little bit of hope had kept her heart from sinking too far as she remembered that her friend from the system, Rose [*3], had promised to come out to watch her tonight.

The triumphant smile and pose had been a facade, one which she struggled more and more to keep up this past year. The effort had felt monumental while she strutted around the perimeter of the cage, heart warming a bit at the sight of some regular fans cheering from the front row, decked out in what must have been homemade merch with her name all over it, even as she remained desperate in her search for skin pink and slightly warped with an old burn; messy brown waves of hair; and large, dreamy hazel eyes in the crowd.

She never found them.

As her eyes’ search had faltered, realizing her friend wasn’t there like she’d promised she would be, they’d begun to sting, much to her horror. Bitterness nipped at her crumpling heart.

I…have nothing—

It was with the thought she barely managed to stifle, this time, that she’d been completely unable to maintain the facade, all of her effort needed to smother the pit trying to yawn wide inside her. The throbbing, gloved fist she had lifted in triumph had begun to drop, the smile had fled, her vision had blurred…

And then Pinky Wingnut had appeared like a bolt from the damn blue, bellowing the name she’d been so close to finally forgetting. In front of a shit-ton of people, no less. He hadn’t even looked embarrassed for himself. Had thrown himself into the arena like he had any—no, every damn right to be there, obviously not caring who he had to punch, elbow, or throw to get there. Had shamelessly barked and pitted himself against the ref, Lee, whose very presence demanded respect.

No, he was too crazy for shame, something which had finally been driven home during their second “reunion” when he’d started yelling about Harley—a name he definitely shouldn’t have known. Not even if he somehow had a copy of the same police file she did. Her police file. In the notes they took during the interview with her five-year-old self, the cops had consistently misspelled Harley’s name as “Charlie,” one of the many ways those dolts had fumbled and fucked up while trying to figure out who and where her parents were.

At least “Charlie” makes more sense than “Nashi Layla Dragon O’Neil”…she thought, eye twitching at the thought of the ridiculous name the pigs claimed her five-year-old self told them. Granted, Little Layla had been pretty obsessed with dragons. Even more than she had been throughout most of her childhood in the system. Even more than Pinky Wingnut. Maybe even enough to make up such a ridiculous name, one which literally contained the word “Dragon.”

If she remembered the interview correctly, she’d even whined that she was hungry and begged the cops for some fire to eat—that was, when she wasn’t too busy crying because Harley wouldn’t talk to her or making up wild shit about how her parents were warlocks or whatever, how she belonged in a fairy tale. She hadn’t even bothered to specify which one.

Throwing her blanket off herself and the cat in question, who beeped hoarsely in protest, Layla swung her legs out of bed. Her bruised bare feet slapped against the cold, cheap, off-white tile as she fumbled for her trusty bottle of pain pills on the nightstand, popped a couple, then brought her water bottle to her lips to wash it down.

She stood and stretched her arms above her head with a groan, scratching at her tan, toned stomach and wincing slightly as she tottered over to her bedroom window, tripping over piles of manga volumes on the way [*4]. She’d gotten lucky with her view of the park across the street, especially with the big, half-dead old tree which dominated the middle of the panes.

Now, Layla was so busy raging at herself, she barely registered the sight. Didn’t see the sunny day, the homeless people rolling up their tents and clearing out before someone driving by called the cops. She glared at the cars moving below, seething with her own thoughts so hard she could almost feel steam pouring out of her ears and nose into the room.

No more goddamn distractions, she swore viciously to herself. No more crying during her victory lap like a pathetic weakling. No more getting sidetracked by delusional Pinky Wingnuts. No more thinking about…that name and all the mortifying bullshit that came with it. Four days out was Championship night. Until then, no more fucking distractions.

She sat there, staring unseeingly at the old tree and tried to amp herself up, frustration detonating slowly in her brain as her heart barely stirred at her own lecture. No matter how hard she worked, how much she tried, or how many times she yelled her catchphrase at the end of her fights…for the past year, something just wasn’t there.

“I’ve got a fire inside me you’ll just never put out!” came closer and closer to getting completely stuck at the back of her throat—and staying there. It felt more like a lie every time it left her lips.

Frustration finally hitting boiling point like a fucking teakettle screaming, she stomped back over to her nightstand, less tripping over her manga than kicking the pile, this time. She unplugged her phone from its charger, scowling as she scrolled through the notifications to see that not only had Rose not bothered to show up, she hadn’t even fucking texted to explain why. The last text she’d ever sent came two days ago, just the words, I’ll try n be there punctuated with a shitty smiley face.

“You fucking liar,” Layla seethed under her breath, croaky voice shaking.

Distantly, she registered Harley (who’d apparently decided to quit being a lazy little lump) twirling around her ankles, mewling for breakfast.

She told herself it was anger making her heart wince, not pain. She knew Rose struggled. She did. She knew that. Her life hadn’t been any easier than Layla’s—in ways, much harder after the fire which left them both scarred in different ways. After Layla and a reluctant Gracie had managed to convince her to get help a couple years ago, she’d been so much better for a while. But now…

Now whatever, Layla thought viciously, black flames licking furiously at her insides. One thing, she’d asked for. It wasn’t like she wanted anything crazy, just for one person who mattered to show up for two of the biggest fights of her life (so far). She’d long given up on Gracie, but Rose used to show up—even if it was only occasionally. Sometimes even when she was going through a bad period. Layla had been there for Rose as much as she could after juvie, had picked her up after benders, beat the shit out of anyone who made fun of her burns. And her “friend” apparently couldn’t pay her back by just freaking showing up once or twice.

So much for “Foster kids don’t ditch each other,” she thought bitterly.

Fuck you too, Rose, she typed aggressively. Seriously.

Layla hit Send. Then, after pausing for a second, she typed out:

If you’re not there Friday night, I’ll fucking kill you!

Layla hit Send again. Clicking out of their conversation, she scowled as another text from an unsaved number made itself known through bolded font:

Yo, congrats on the win! Looks like we’re up again! A fist emoji. Good luck...you’ll need it...

That text was punctuated by a winky face. Another text followed it up:

I heard some crazy shit went down at the end of your fight, tho…u good?

Layla’s eye twitched. Ever since that motherfucker Helio thwarted her attempt to take the championship title from him a year previously, he’d decided to fuck with her mind by sending annoying texts at least a few times a week. If that naive, gullible dumbass Rose wasn’t the one who kept giving him Layla’s number, insisting he “wasn’t such a bad guy” Layla would have killed her.

She gritted her teeth hard enough to give herself a headache, almost mangling her phone. No matter how much she tried to tell herself she was too experienced a fighter to let that stupid douchebag psych her out, the rage burning in her chest and the fact that she still hadn’t been able to make herself rewatch last year’s championship fight—the only one she’d lost in the semi-unders—said otherwise.

The most she’d ever sent him was a poop emoji. Their “conversation” was basically just littered with them. But now, her temper was so close to snapping that she just deleted the conversation entirely with hard taps, refusing to give herself a chance to reply something stupid.

For all the fucking good it did. This time, the frustrated scream did leave her throat, making her sound like a fucking demon smoker.

She threw her phone on her bed with more force than necessary, breathing heavily while she watched it bounce.

“Whatever,” she breathed to herself like a fucking bull. “Forget it, whatever!” At least she didn’t get any texts from that other, much worse bastard anymore…obviously, changing her number a bunch of times had done the trick.

Harley, wholly unperturbed by her outburst, decided to up the breakfast-begging ante. She went from weaving around her ankles to clawing viciously at her bare leg, meowing louder.

“Ow!” Layla snapped, swatting at the little gremlin to shoo her off. “You fish-addicted, fucked up cat!”

Harley yowled petulantly. The little shit was Layla’s best friend, and she loved her to death, but she could really be a monster when it came to her damn “fishies.” Or scratching the shit out of her furniture and walls. Or if anyone other than Layla came near her (though Layla didn’t really blame her for that one).

The little cat leapt atop one of the few still-intact pile of comics and manga near the window, white tail swishing agitatedly. Those odd, blank-but-not, round, charcoal eyes of hers an unblinking, salmon-filled demand. Layla was geared up to ignore her and get ready for the day—maybe even eat her own damn breakfast first, for once, if Harley was going to be such a little brat!—but her anger cooled when the morning light streaming in from the window illuminated the sheen of pink skin peeking through her white fur. Barely visible, but still there. A burn gained in the same fire as Rose’s, before Layla managed to get her out.

Layla didn’t feel bad for calling Harley “fucked up.” She didn’t. She was a cat, for crying out loud. She couldn’t even understand a word she said anymore than she could fly like Pinky Wingnut the Stalker, seemed to think.

The fighter sighed. “Tch…well, who wants a fishies, then?” she half-cooed, half-grumbled her usual morning phrase—which she’d never, ever say in front of anyone else—then snorted and made to get dressed when Harley practically sang a meow at hearing her favorite words.

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

“Fuck off, Gracie!”

Her shithead roommate was the absolute last person Layla wanted to see while she and Harley were trying to enjoy their breakfast that morning. Especially when the jerk was practically naked—clad only in a thong and one of her loser “friends’” shirts (Layla assumed); especially when the apartment had gained a new beer can and burnt tin foil rug overnight; and especially when she was trying to steal Layla’s food.

She slammed a bruised fist onto Gracie’s lanky hand as it snaked to towards her bacon. The table, silverware, and Harley’s bowlful of raw salmon rattled as she pinned it to the wood hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Ouch!” Gracie squeaked, wriggling her hand out from Layla’s fist, Layla only letting her up after giving her a good long glare.

Harley, perched on the table right next to Layla’s morning feast, was barely fazed by the jolt to the table or loud sounds. However, she was clearly not happy with Gracie’s nearness. If Layla hadn’t been there between them, there would have been a real concern for the safety of Gracie’s hands. She lifted her head from the bowl of raw salmon she’d previously been loudly scarfing to stare down their lanky, pale roommate. Though her tail briefly bristled like a soda bottle, she quickly returned to devouring her fish to no one’s damn surprise, although she ate more quietly now.

Meanwhile, Gracie pouted, rubbing her hand and eyeing Harley with a distaste that was far too familiar. Then she finally returned her angled, glinting dark eyes to her angrily flushed roommate. Her pout grew bigger as she threw her skinny, naked ass into the chair on the opposite side of the table from Harley.

“Seriously? You have that ginormous breakfast and can’t even give your own bestie one tiny slice of bacon?”

“Bestie” was a major stretch, especially at the moment. But admittedly, it was a big breakfast:

One huge veggie omelet and a sizable hunk of meat (bacon, today) both marinated in enough spices to turn most peoples’ tongues to leather. Whole wheat toast with almond butter. A big protein smoothie to top it all off. It was a ton of calories, but every one would be needed for today’s training.

Makar, Layla’s old coach, would have skinned her alive if he’d been around to know she wasn’t taking the day after a fight to rest [*5]. She’d always thought it was a stupid rule, but she’d grudgingly followed it out of respect for her coach.

But now, Mak was buried in the graveyard a couple blocks over, and so was the “Rest Day Rule” as far as Layla was concerned. She hadn’t rested a single day the past year, not even when sick. Rest was for spoiled douchebags like Helio who had an entire team dedicated to shaping him into an amazing fighter like a ball of fucking golden clay. Hell, he even had a fight manager now that most of his fights were in the “real” octagon rather than the semi-underground.

She should know, since she’d been watching all his fights since forever.

(Just not theirs.)

Layla bared her teeth at Gracie. “No, I can’t! I need the energy for training! And even if I could, I wouldn’t! Get your own damn food!”

“Ugh.” Gracie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her braless chest. “Don’t tell me you’re butthurt about last night. God, it’s not even that big a deal. You are such a slut-shamer.”

“Don’t fucking call me a slut-shamer!” she snapped back, throwing her chopsticks down on her plate just to taunt Gracie with the fact that she wasn’t even eating the breakfast she refused to share. “As if that has anything to do with shit! Last night was the semi-final—“

“I forgot,” Gracie sniffed, turning away while closing her eyes.

“Like hell you did, liar!” Layla snarled. “I reminded you like a thousand times!” She scooped her chopsticks back up, squeezing them so hard they threatened to break. “I don’t care who you bone, but I’ve got four days to the Championship fight, and I’m not getting there like a zombie because I had to keep listening to your shitty crooning! Next time, I’ll throw their asses out!”

She pointed her chopsticks at the girl whose aura was now definitely souring, ignoring the sounds of Harley now loudly licking her chops from the other side of the table.

“And while we’re on the subject, how does that scenario even happen!? ‘Oh, hey, Rando, do you happen to be a huge asshole?’” She pretended to pause as if listening, then to brighten with a mocking amount of pageantry. “ ‘Oh, you are? Fantastic! You pass the audition! Come on over around 8 for a gang-wang!’”

“It’s ‘gangbang’,” Gracie sneered, her laughter making Layla’s ears heat with embarrassment. “Seriously, how do you get to ‘gang-wang’?” Layla hunched her shoulders in an attempt to hide the effect, hoping Gracie would just move on. But since when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

“And also, I just meet guys at parties, get their numbers, and text them. Really not rocket science. But then, you wouldn’t know that, would you? Since you’re such an oblivious prude. Not to mention an imbecile.” She stood, turning away to stretch and giving Layla an unfortunate full view of her bony white horse butt. “But then again…” She turned smirking over her similarly bony shoulder. “That’s only to be expected from a gorilla.”

Layla stiffened as the cruel nickname was thrown at her for the second time in as many days.

Let it go, she tried to tell herself. She’s just pissed because you called her out. Foster kids don’t ditch each other. They stick by each other.

But this time, the placations didn’t work; her rage leapt to her tongue faster than she could bite it.

“Go fuck yourself, Third-Base Grace!”

Her roommate froze, turning to stare at her with wide eyes full of horror and disbelief as Layla glowered up at her, cheeks tinged in anger. She’d never resorted to calling Gracie that. Ever. Hell, she used to beat people up when they called Gracie that, after they both left juvie and wound up in the same high school.

The worst part was that she couldn’t even make herself feel bad for pulling out the mean high school nickname. Not when she was having such a shit morning. Not when the resentment had been festering within her for this long.

Not when Gracie had done the exact same thing to her—several times, now.

When their glare-off lasted for several seconds, Gracie’s devastation transformed just as surely and quickly as Layla’s had. Layla could see it in her eyes. For a second, she thought Gracie was going to say something really nasty, and she geared up, ready to fucking throw down if it came to it. Throwing her naked ass out was looking more appealing by the minute, let alone by the day, if she was being honest.

But then, as soon as Gracie’s eyes narrowed and the fire flared within them, her anger was muted. Not exactly gone, but looking like a veil had been cast over it, darkening it.

“Whatever,” she scoffed, snatching her phone off the couch she’d been crashing on for months and stalking towards the bathroom. “Get that hideous thing you call a cat off the table.”

Harley, obviously unable to understand the girl, paid the words no mind, flicking her bristled tail while she watched her walk away.

Layla, on the other hand, felt her temper spike. “Her name is Harley! And fucking make me!” she snapped back. “And all this shit better be cleaned up by the time I get back, or so help me—“

The slam of the bathroom door cut her off, leaving Layla cursing under her breath.

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry any more, but she forced herself to shovel down the rest of her breakfast as quickly as possible. She told herself it was the spicy food making her eyes burn.

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A good, hard run served as Layla’s daily warm-up for training. Always had, as far as she remembered. As per usual during the flaming can of garbage that was the past year, she felt like she was flagging the entire time. According to the timer on her phone, her times were better than ever. Yet she’d never felt slower.

Sometimes, it felt like her phone and even her Wikipedia page—which documented her unbroken record over the past year—were lying to her, playing tricks on her. Like a light scale, something she’d had to deal with occasionally back when she competed at other types of martial arts for Mak as a kid [*6].

It also didn’t matter that she refused to look at the graveyard when she passed it on her route; she could always hear Mak’s voice , like the loudest bastard of a ghost ever from the moment she dashed her first step.

“GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR! DON’T EVEN FUCKING THINK OF LETTING THOSE BOYS BEAT YOU!”

Nevermind the fact that she didn’t run alongside any boys to beat, anymore.

“Foul-mouthed…old…man,” she wheezed to herself, leaning against the big, dying old tree where she always finished her run, the one she could see from her window. She ignored the passersby who gave her strange looks.

Jeez, she thought after a while. It’s really taking me a long time to catch my breath. She felt way better, but she could still hear herself. In fact, it almost sounded like…

Her eyes widened. Hold up! That’s not someone catching their breath, and it sure as shit ain’t me.

Instead, it sounded like…snoring? Pretty loud snoring, too. Layla straightened. Warily, she glared down several of the passersby, wondering if one of them was fucking with her or something. To her fury, several of them eyed her suspiciously, like she was the one standing there in broad daylight snoring out loud like a fucking freak.

“What the hell are you looking at, huh?!” she snapped at one old man with a weird green had and a particularly disdainful glare. He huffed something about “rude brats” while shuffling along.

She frowned as he vanished, glancing around to see that most people in the immediate vicinity had cleared off. Yet the snoring raged on, sounding like a bear except when it would stop entirely, turning into these obnoxious little snorts. With a huff of confusion, she walked around the tree, frown deepening as she looked to see if someone was sleeping on the other side.

“Alright, seriously?!” she exclaimed throwing her arms up before flinging them across her chest, pouting in thought. She was stumped. If the snoring wasn’t coming from her, then what, was it coming from the freaking tree?!

She paused, actually considering the possibility. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. “Huh…” she muttered, eyes widening in fascination as she crouched down, putting a hand against the bark and wiping at her sweaty forehead with the other. “Well, I mean, plants gotta breathe, too, don’t they?” At least, she thought she remembered learning something like that in school.

Suddenly, the snoring ceased, turning into a groan. Layla yanked her hand away from the tree like it burned her, eyes bugging. “W-what the hell?!” she whispered, now officially getting creeped out.

Then the tree fucking gasped.

And then, Layla finally figured out it wasn’t the tree when the gasp was followed up with an unfortunately familiar voice crying a hoarse, “Nashi!”

She looked up.

She screamed.

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Footnotes:

*1. On Layla telling the “Edward Cullen” boy to get up when she’s the one on the ground: You might recognize this interaction from the original story. Natsu said it to Gray when they were fighting as children in one scene. I couldn’t resist borrowing the moment as both a hint and for nostalgic reasons.

*2. On having two fights within the same week: In the UFC, fighters have ~5 fights a year at most. The idea of someone doing a sport as violent, intense, and damaging to the body as UFC-level MMA even multiple times in one month is ludicrous. Doesn’t really matter since this is a Fairy Tail fic, and I won’t correct everything that’s inaccurate, but if I don’t roast myself just a little all my research was for NOTHING!!

*3. On mentions of characters from “Our Earth” such as Rose and Helio: Little characters and details like this are genuinely important to the fic and will ultimately be relevant even to Fairy Tail’s OC’s, I promise. This is NOT going to be one of those fics that’s ostensibly a Fairy Tail fic but in execution could really be totally unrelated to the original story, I promise.

*4. On Layla/Nashi’s manga volumes: Nashi’s love for manga (including eventual mentions of stories some of you may recognize) is as close to a crossover fic as this story will ever get.

*5. On Layla not taking rest days after fights: no

*6. Meaning of “light scale”: a scale that gives out readings less than one’s actual weight, an infamously common problem with the scales provided by US Olympics in sports such as Judo, where fighters have to cut (lose) or make (gain/maintain) weight to compete in certain weight classes

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Author’s Notes:

Hmm…could “Makar” be an Edolas-like parallel, I wonder?

Again, sorry this took so long! Tried to cut back on the “Our Earth” exposition, but kind of think it might still be too much? I’m also nervous about Layla/Nashi’s second debut. She’s definitely been something of a handful to write. But this is just how the story developed in my head, so oh well.

Like I said, I’m going to try to get chapters out faster, from here on out. I’d like to aim for at least one every week and a half, but I won’t give you guys a real, hard number until I figure out what works for me.

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed!

#chasing tails #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #fairy tail fan fiction #nalu fanfiction #nalu #gruvia #gajevy #jerza #fanfiction #fan fiction

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transmissionsfromthebattlefield · 2 years ago

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A Roundtable Discussion on Heavy Metal (and Melanie)

A few days ago, my boyfriend sent me a link to Lil Pump’s recent smash hit “Pump Rock x Heavy Metal” saying, and I quote, “DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS.” But it’s hard to not forcefully contaminate myself to music that is atrocious to make the good music all the more worthwhile. That’s how dedicated I am to my love of music.

Besides, I was meaning to explore this on my own anyways after hearing Lil Pump’s glorious, glorious weird scream-grunt noise on an Instagram story. Let’s review whether or not Mr. Gucci Gang is able to elevate two of rock’s most iconic subgenres to the modern age.

“Bob” help us.

youtube

The intro is, fittingly, the most stereotypical take on punk rock possible, and is probably most similar to what disconnected old farts think all punk rock sounds like. Mediocre Generica was the title of a (much more sonically interesting, if guilty pleasurable) Leftöver Crack album, and it fits here. Upon further reserach, last.fm tagged this song as rock, metal, nu metal, rap metal, drone metal avant-garde, beatdown hardcore, AND crossover thrash, so maybe my aural analysis is subpar. Maybe all this time I was actually the musical equivalent of one of those people who gets repulsed by eating anything better than McDonald’s and I had no idea. If so, I feel ashamed.

In this striking vein, I’ll give the rest of the song some credit: the production is actually interesting! Sonically, it’s more interesting and attention-grabbing than a lot of the more recent music I’ve heard, with an intense throbbing bass line that I particularly like. Too bad it’s got Lil Pump singing over it. I love having to hear scrawny men with awful hair sing about emo bitches and having a dagger dick, which is extremely disturbing. He calls himself a narcissist in this song, which makes sense with how self-indulgent and oblivious to common sense the lyrics are. As a complete outsider to the whole “emo rap” or whatever scene, I’m kind of fascinated by the repeated motif of wrist-slitting throughout the song - if this song is declaring itself “heavy metal,” does this mean that all those sensational news reports from the eighties about how those poor teens were beckoned to kill themselves because a Judas Priest song told them to, were actually true? It’s hard to overlook lyrical content when someone has such an awful voice.

This song seems to have been created for people who enjoy the concept of punk rock and heavy metal, but don’t have much knowledge in anything beyond the sloganeering and looking like you have street cred. I doubt Lil Pump has much knowledge past that regard either, or has any interest in going beyond it in his music.

I had been meaning to write this post for a short while, but I kept getting busy. But yesterday morning, the Instagram algorithm similarly offered me another current music faux pas that my masochistic brain just had to subject myself to, and I just had to get something about it out there. This time, it was a paragraph Melanie Martinez had written explaining one of the songs on her new album, because her fans are apparently too dumb to be able to come to their own conclusions about the meaning of her songs. She says:

This is obviously the best thing to be reading while you’re preparing breakfast. Funnily enough, Lil Pump also alludes to period sex in his previously mentioned song.

I read the lyrics, which I refuse to link because they’re stupid, and I listened to as much of the song I could stand, which wasn’t very much. It sucked. You know when you only read the lyrics to a song and you come up with your own musical accompaniment in your head? I knew it wasn’t going to be as good as my brain’s assumptions, but I was stunned. You would think that an artist who is supposedly going through some radical image change would make music that similarly pushes boundaries, not just something created solely to be covered on a ukulele. It was one of the most mild mannered, unoffensive sounding songs I’d ever heard.

As for the lyrical content, it is sad to me how Melanie could not even come up with a basic metaphor to convey her idea. Like Little Pumperton, who uses the usual guns-and-cars flexing to communicate masculine hood prowess, Mel resorts to the most basic, blatant concepts to get across her point of being...a woman who exists and does things, I guess. As a cisgender young female, I technically should be on this song’s side, but it only comes off as condescending. I don’t need something that is completely natural and familiar to me explained to me in such, er, explicit terms. (“Womb shedding.” Gag.)

If I’m somewhere near the target audience for Melanie’s music in terms of my age and sex, then I’d say we deserve better. Young women can think for themselves and don’t need to be spoon-fed a fourteen year old’s concept of lyrical depth in order to feel “empowered.” Neither do young men need watered down portrayals of material wealth, hoe-wrangling, and glorified self harm. In today’s world, everyone fears being misunderstood. But the answer to that should not be undermining people’s intelligence and spoon-feeding them lowest common denominator nonsense. People should be allowed to bring their own interpretations to the songs they listen to and not have everything spelled out to them. Nuance and complexity are good things, and they should be present in what we see, read, and listen to. We should be encouraged to think critically about what we consume.

If we don’t, then...well, I guess we let songs like these take the world by storm.

#blog #long read #music #things I don't enjoy #Lil Pump #Melanie Martinez #bad music #womb shedding #reviews

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emilyoracle · 2 years ago

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The Concubine King (Ch1)

I said I would and here it is suckaaaaaas read it and weep.

In the afternoon sun, the unharvested barley shimmered gold like an ocean of fine silk. Next to them, the stubbled fields of cut stalks looked more bleak and devastating than encouraging. Ethyr knew a bountiful harvest meant a safe winter, and sore muscles from a day of hard work should have been satisfying, but to him it signaled only the death of beauty and life. Winter was waking, and when it stepped out of hibernation it would bring cold, dead darkness.

He finished tying his bundle of stalks and shouldered it to take to the dry-house. In the far corner of Nivian’s field, Mikel and Nivian were sweeping their scythes through the last remaining barley in rhythmic, even strokes. Ethyr paused, wiping sweat dripping down the side of his face onto the shoulder of his sleeveless tunic. Mikel wore a sleeveless, too, and the defined lines of his arms, muscles stretching and flexing as he worked, were made all the more distracting by glistening sweat.

“Ethyr!”

He jolted to attention at his uncle’s voice, scrambling to catch up to him at the dry-house. He stood half in the doorway, bent nearly double to fit under the low awning. He held out his hands and Ethyr handed the bundle to him, watching as he ducked inside to settle it with the rest of the cut barley.

“Tomorrow is our field,” he said as he stepped back out, shielding his eyes from the sun to look at their crop standing tall beside its razed brethren. Ethyr looked at it too, but straightened his frown when his uncle turned to him.

“We finished early,” Ethyr pointed out.

Tebhen propped his hands on his hips. “We were talking of tasting Miya’s new brew.”

Drinking meant boisterous chatter and lewd jokes. Ethyr scrunched one side of his mouth up. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Tebhen sighed, surveying the landscape. Ethyr knew he was disappointed in him, wished he was more social. His aunt, too. She often lamented what a friendly, sweet child he once was. In contrast, he supposed, to his current aversion to loud, busy social gatherings. He didn’t see a difference. He was perfectly friendly and cheerful in small company.

“Make sure to be back to help Deian with supper,” his uncle finally acquiesced.

“Yes, Uncle, I promise.” He grinned, gripping the man’s fingers and raising them to his lips before taking off between the houses. Chickens pecking in the dirt path flapped out of his way as he rushed through, and the surly rooster chased him down the street, growling its low, angry rumble until satisfied that he was far enough away to no longer be a nuisance to his hens.

Ethyr slowed as the village diminished to a small pond of thatched roofs in the distance. He twisted a plum from a tree at the edge of the wood, glanced around, then hopped over the stone wall into the forest.

It was much nicer in its shade, surrounded by vibrant greenery and the smell of earth kept damp in its shelter. He wandered through the sun-dappled quiet, filled only with his footsteps rustling on dried leaves and the occasional punctuation of a loud shout or child’s shriek from the village.

He ate the plum to its pit and tossed it, then headed back to open land. His walk had looped him around to the standing barley field. He checked again that no one could see, then climbed over the wall and across the strip of untilled land to the stalks.

He carried the absent wind in his fingers as he drifted through the barley. They swayed under his touch, bobbing back into place behind him.

A strong grip wrapped around his ankle and yanked it forward. His ass hit the ground before he could register the touch.

His startled, pained yelp made Mikel laugh, rolling to his back from where he had been lying in wait. Ethyr rubbed his sore tailbone with one hand and smacked him with the other.

“Not funny! That hurt, you know!”

“Ohh, I couldn’t help it.” Mikel twisted to his side, propping his chin up and offering a devilishly handsome grin. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

Ethyr glared at him, but he couldn’t hold on to the fake anger for long. He lowered to the ground beside him, leaning closer.

“I wonder if you can guess the fruit I just ate,” he challenged. Mikel’s grin softened to an intrigued smile and he closed the space between their mouths. Ethyr opened to let Mikel’s tongue venture inside, rubbing against his own and sweeping across the roof of his mouth, along the backs of his teeth.

Mikel pulled away, smacking his lips and squinting in thought. “A berry of some kind.”

“Nope,” Ethyr said, lips spreading to a gleeful smile. Mikel met them again, this time probing deeper, more thoroughly. Ethyr sucked on his tongue—to help him, of course.

He broke away again. “Plum?” he guessed tentatively.

Ethyr laughed. “You won!” He raised his eyebrows. “Can you guess your prize?”

Mikel ran a palm up Ethyr’s jaw and into his hair, grazing their mouths together.

“No need, I’ll take what I want,” he murmured, and kissed him. Ethyr dropped his shoulders down and Mikel followed, planting short kisses onto his mouth, his cheeks. Ethyr wrapped his arms over Mikel’s shoulders and caught his lips to force the kiss deeper. Mikel’s hand, rough and warm, dug harder into his hair as they traded tongues.

He broke away after a minute, looking down at Ethyr with a heavy exhale. His eyes traced his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Ethyr blushed.

“Don’t,” he admonished.

He was so sick of hearing it. As a child, the perpetual squished cheeks by adults cooing over how adorable he was. The well-meaning but patronizing exclamations on his looks as he became a teen, the joking asides to his aunt and uncle about marrying him off for a higher status. And now, in his twentieth year, the endless remarks about his desirability, the questions of when he’d marry. He knew it couldn’t be helped; he stood out from all the others with his dark brown hair and hazel eyes, his slender form and skin that turned dewy gold in the sun while others burned and freckled. It was from his foreigner father, his aunt said, but never more than that. They never talked about his parents. Too painful, he assumed.

“You could have anyone in the commune—no, the kingdom.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ethyr brushed some of Mikel’s hair from his temple, combed his fingers through the bronze curls. “I want only you.”

Mikel didn’t smile often and when he did it was usually mischievous or jesting. But for Ethyr he smiled soft and sweet and gentle.

Ethyr kissed the smile belonging only to him and Mikel returned to tasting his mouth.

If he could, he would have lived in that moment; spent eternity hidden in the soft yellow of barley, its mild, nutty fragrance teasing the air, the late summer sun bathing them through crosshatched lines of grassy shadow. Lazy twills and chirps of insects filled the air between the intermittent noise from the village just a few fields away.

The noise grew to a strange note; it wasn’t the casual chatter of domestic life, it rippled through the air with confused excitement. Mikel must have noticed the commotion too. He sat up and Ethyr popped his head above the barley to follow his gaze. A carriage rattled down the narrow dirt road that led to the village center. It was grander than anything that had graced that road before, its curling elegant details and glittering embellishments marking it an object of aesthetic more than purpose. The two white horses leading it, tall and proud with their braided manes and tails swishing in time with each step, made the village’s old bay pony barely look equine. To either side of the carriage rode armed guards riding equally well-groomed mounts.

Despite having never seen one before, it could only be one thing. A royal retinue.

He exchanged a glance with Mikel. If someone from the royal palace had traveled all the way here, to the very edge of the kingdom, they could not be bearing good news.

They scrambled up and out of the field to reach the village before the carriage did. Mikel went immediately to his mother and sisters, standing in the doorway of their squat home. Ethyr joined his aunt and uncle standing in the road with other gawkers. Uneasy murmurs took the place of excitement as the carriage drew closer.

“Do you think it’s war?” someone asked.

“Of course it is, what else could it be?” another answered. “Certainly never got this treatment when they raise taxes.”

The carriage rolled to a stop several lengths from the crowd. Everyone held their tongues. The guards dismounted and one stepped forward to open the carriage door. They waited with bated breath, a tense quiet filled with anticipation, to see what glorious beyond-human entity would step out.

It was an old man.

He labored from the carriage with the support of the guard’s arm, to the hanging step, then to the ground. Though bald on the top of his head, the rest of his long, silver hair was braided down his back. His robes were a rich, deep blue, and its neckline, wide sleeves, and hem brushing the ground, were all embroidered with gold thread in intricate patterns, the shine of it in the sunlight not allowing any question of its authenticity. The cost of the thread alone could have bought their entire village. In the dust and simplicity of their rural life, the entourage looked like an illusion, an impossibility come to life.

The old man’s reproachful gaze swept through the mass of faces until it landed on Ethyr. His slow, short strides were not disarming; if anything, with chin held high and eyes trained on him, it was intimidating. He kept thinking that surely the old man must look somewhere else, turn somewhere else, or stop to address everyone. But he didn’t. He walked straight to Ethyr.

Deian pressed closer to him, sliding her fingers through his and squeezing his hand. He could feel her trembling. He squeezed back, as reassuring as he could be when faced with just as much confusion and trepidation as her. When the old man was close, Ethyr bowed his head, not sure what else to do and not able to take the intense stare any longer. The dead silence was suffocating. It seemed as though even the chickens and goats were holding their breath.

The man’s silk-clad feet halted an arm’s length from him and cold, bony fingers gripped his chin, forcing his face up. He pushed Ethyr’s face one way, then the other, examining him like a slab of meat he debated buying.

“Is your name Ethyr of the Linwood Village?” he finally spoke. His voice was surprisingly strong and clear—if not looking right at him, Ethyr would have thought it came from a man half his age.

Ethyr swallowed, trying to open his throat that had squeezed shut. How did this stranger—from the palace—know his name?

“Yes, sir,” he managed to rasp out.

The man hummed, casting a critical eye down and back up Ethyr’s body without lowering his nose. “I suppose it’s not completely hopeless, then.”

Tebhen gripped Ethyr’s other arm, and with Deian’s hold on one and the man’s grip on his chin, his skin was starting to itch uncomfortably.

“What do you want with our child?” he asked, the force behind his words as impressive as it was worrying. Did he not fear for his life, speaking so boldly to someone so far above him?

The old man released Ethyr and slipped his hands into his sleeves. “The gods have chosen a new king,” he said, loud and clear. His eyes slid from Tebhen to Ethyr again. “They have chosen you.”

#fuck if I know #fantasy romance #mm romance #mm fantasy #mm fiction #m/m romance #m/m #The Concubine King

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