#instead you made him run into the mast and settled for having his teeth fly out of his mouth like an old timey cartoon character

[solvicrafts]

Kimmuriel in the new books, every time someone tells him he's changed: Have I? I sure hope so.

My man did you forget the time you, Rai'gy and Berg'inyon just exploded a lady?

[shoutogepi]

My Number One Hero

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 4.6k

[ ✘ (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰!), ☀︎ ]  smut with a sweet, savory aftertaste

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : dom!shouto, temperature play, edging, dirty talk, choking, begging, light degradation, cock/body worship, creampie

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : After months of careful planning and preparation, you finally get the chance to make your move on your favorite Pro Hero, Shouto. Upon learning you’re his biggest fan, he decides to give you the VIP experience by offering to accompany you to your hotel room for the night.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i said a smut, smut, smutty smut. smut smut smutitty smut. feels like it’s been a while since i’ve written porn without plot! i guess this has a little story, though, so it’s not just complete sin ;)

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  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅂irens echo in the distance, faraway blaring interrupting the otherwise serene, chilly night. You can hear them through the open window as soon as you slip inside the room, having left it open hours ago when you made your way to the hotel bar; the very place that you would lay in wait for the target of your affection to arrive.

Lady Luck has smiled fortunately upon you tonight— it's all you could really ask for, at this point. You had done your research— you’d flown in for the Hero conference, booked your room in the same hotel that hosted the event, and even figured out his itinerary for the weekend. How you had managed to actually convince him to return to your room with you, you aren’t exactly sure, but you also don't really give a damn for logistics. Not when the telltale click of the lock turning sounds, and it’s just the two of you, finally alone.

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Then he’s pressing your body into the back of the door. Strong hands seize your waist and thread into the hair at the base of your neck, pulling your head back so he can lean down and smother your lips with his. You let out a moan, receptive of his sudden onslaught of kisses. His tongue runs across your bottom lip before it parts the seam of your mouth, stroking yours in greeting. Your head is clouded with lust, everything about the man simply addictive. You’ve idolized him for so long, fantasized about him endlessly. And now that you’re given the chance, you’re going to absolutely worship him.

Before you know it, the kiss becomes frantic. His grip on you tightens, crushing your body between his powerful, slender frame and the solid wood of the door. A lean, muscled thigh splits your legs as he presses himself against you, like he’s desperate for every inch of your bodies to touch, to grind against each other. Your tongue tangles with his, your fingers coiled in his silky, dual-colored hair.

As he lets out a particularly throaty groan, your hips buck and your core brushes against the sinews of his sturdy quad, your head falling back to thump against the door while you moan out his name in response. “S-Shouto— mmph~”

His lips claim yours again, leaning down so he can force your mouths together harder as he flexes the muscle and rubs it between your legs a few more times before pulling back. You gasp as his hands unlatch from their rough grasp on you and instead grab onto the back of your thighs, long fingers curling into your plush flesh as he yanks you into the air. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your arms tightening around his neck and fingers fisting his hair roughly. You share a moan between kisses, mouths slotting to move in sync with one another as his feet begin to navigate toward the bed.

Somehow in the dark of your hotel room, he manages to stumble his way to his destination. The mattress creaks under your shared weight, your breath escaping you as your back hits the comforter, hair flying to fan out around your face. The moonlight illuminates his face, your heart rate picking up as you take in his strikingly handsome features. Without thinking, you reach out and run your fingertips along the edge of his jaw, eyes focused on the way your thumb catches over his lip. When you look back into his eyes, you find yourself pinned with his ardent gaze— the stray beams from the moon’s glow making his two-toned eyes look like galaxies with the sole intent to devour you whole. You can barely contain the wanton moan that dares to sound when he pulls the zip down the front of his hero suit, shrugging the material off and then tearing his undershirt over his head to reveal his chiseled torso to your wide, appreciative eyes. He allows a moment for your gaze to flit over every inch of shredded muscle, making sure you trace down his adonis belt and bite your lip before he speaks, confidence clear as day and ever-growing.

“Enjoying the view, my little fan?” Shouto rumbles, the hand that’s not supporting himself moving to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, then sliding down to rest threateningly on the column of your throat when you don’t respond.

You nod, unable to speak, tongue poking out to wet your lips as your hips wiggle underneath his narrow ones. Your legs are still locked around his waist, pulling his body flush against yours without any room for argument.  

He sighs and ducks his head into your neck, releasing his grip and allowing you to breathe as his lips start to plant wet kisses over the skin his fingers had just dug into. “As am I,” he groans when he rips your blouse open, the buttons flying from the seams and tinkling all across the hardwood floor. His eyes light up at the sight before him, not even acknowledging the intricate white brasserie that hides your tits from his gaze, eyes purely wandering across the swell of your cleavage and the soft skin of your stomach. It takes him a moment to realize your choice of undergarments, the white lace accented with a deep scarlet on the trim. He chuckles lowly, cocking a brow as a smirk lifts his lips. “Well you came prepared, didn’t you?”

“Just for you,” you manage to squeak out, still battling your shock that the Pro Hero is even here in your hotel room with you, let alone the fact that you can feel his hard cock pressing against your cunt through your clothes.

He ruts his hips experimentally against yours as a reward, savoring the whimper that slithers out of you and the way your legs squeeze around his waist, back arching off the bed. “That’s right, love,” the pet name sends shivers through your body, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones as you pant, “you did say you’re my number one fan, didn’t you?”

Your fingers dig into the sheets when he begins to kiss your neck again, warm lips trailing down to the tops of your breasts. “Yes,” you gasp, his teeth peeling the rim of your bra down, nose rubbing over the sensitive skin of your areola. “And you’re my— my number one h-hero, Shouto, ahh~” His hot tongue rolls over your nipple, taking the perked bud into his mouth and swirling it around playfully. The sensation makes your head spin, his hands coming to knead at your soft breasts. His thumb swipes back and forth across your other nipple, stimulating you further. Despite the generous attention he gives to your chest, your core itches for the delicious friction his hips provided again, trembling and leaking into your panties.

As if he’s reading your mind, he shuffles back onto his knees, making you feel small and prey-like under his sizzling stare while he tears your pants down your legs. You can feel his eyes taking in every inch of skin revealed, especially when he zeroes in on the wet line staining the middle of your panties, which match your bra and also sport his distinct red and white. Once the offensive material is rid of your body, he pauses as his eyes linger on your covered cunt, licking his lips. But then he gets off the bed, choosing to stand next to the edge of the mattress. “Get up, then,” he instructs, “Come show me I’m your number one with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Your body is up and following his command within seconds, eager to please. Your knees hit the floor as you settle yourself so you’re hovering over his foot, face just a short distance from the part of him that’s entertained your late-night thoughts for months on end now. Tentatively, you place a kiss to the front of his pants, just underneath his belt buckle. Heat floods your cheeks when your lips touch the length of his hard cock through his clothing and it twitches in response, your hands drifting up the inside of his thighs on their own accord. Then they’re undoing his belt and zipper, restlessly tugging the cloth down his pale, solid thighs. You leave his pants at his knees, impatient to have him in your mouth already while you slide his briefs down to meet his pants.

Shouto chuckles darkly when his cock springs out of its confines, your expression revealing your shock and intimidation as you eye his impressive member. But lust dominates your hesitance almost immediately, your eyelids falling to half mast as you open your mouth and lick a long stripe along the underside of his cock, from balls to tip. His hand flies to your head, digits gripping your hair when you take the swollen, leaking head into your mouth.

Your tongue washes at the bitter pre-cum that’s pearled at his tip, sucking gently as you start to sink deeper onto his cock. If you could, you would smile at the choked sputter that Shouto makes. Settling yourself into position, your hips rock forward and your panties drag across the smooth rubber of the white boots he dons with his hero suit. You moan, his cock halfway lodged into your throat and vibrating with your noise of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Shouto moans, pulling you off his cock just to rub his wet cockhead across your lips. You open your mouth, tongue extending out to chase his heavy length and slip it back inside. He taps the tip against your outstretched tongue a few times, sliding the hard shaft up and down. “How’s it taste, baby? Does it taste like you’d imagined, hmm? You like having my cock in your mouth?”

You whine, just wanting to swallow him whole at this point, hips still gyrating back and forth to rub your slickening cunt against the top of his foot. “Tastes so good, my hero’s cock tastes so good, so big… please, lemme taste it, make you feel good.”

He bites his bottom lip, letting you take his cock back into your hot, wet mouth. He groans loudly when you ram his length deeper into your throat, nearly taking the whole thing into your mouth in one go. An elongated expletive hisses out of his mouth as he throws his head back, your head beginning to bob up and down his throbbing member. “There you go… just like that, love… that’s right, you look so pretty drooling for me.”

The fingers in your hair slacken their hold, allowing you to work his cock even faster, eagerness more apparent than ever. You’re sucking his dick with vigor, like your only goal in life is to make him cum down your throat. No matter how hard he tries not to show you how affected he is, he can’t help but let out the varied range of moans and sounds of bliss that your blowjob triggers.

Each noise makes your pussy twitch in your panties, the slow grinding against his footwear not doing much to satiate your growing hunger for the hero. Shouto clicks his tongue at the action, and although he tries to sound cool, his voice comes out heavy, affected. “Fuck, you’re even humping my boot, so desperate my little slut…”

His praise only makes you purr on his cock, sucking against his thickness with a smile. Just as you’re getting into a rhythm, Shouto pulls you back by the scalp abruptly, a string of split stretching to connect your lips to his thick cock. He only gives you a second before you’re in his arms again, and then you’re back on the bed, back flat against the comforter and legs peeled apart.

Your heart starts to beat faster, Shouto moving to sit between your legs. He’s naked now, white moonlight cast across his hips and making his erect cock glisten and catch your eye, your legs spreading wider in welcome of the sight. But he only laughs at you, shaking his head as his big palms come to coast up the backs of your legs. “Not yet, my little fan…” he murmurs, “gotta return the favor first.”

One hand wraps around your ankle and he closes his eyes, lips brushing along the front of your shin. Then he looks at you again, casting you a predatory gaze while his fingers creep up your thighs, eventually coming to tug at the soaked material of your panties. Once they’re off from around your ankles, he hums as he inspects the mess inside of them, thumbing over the wet patch whose existence is his complete fault.

“Seems only right for my number one fan to get this sloppy from merely sucking me off..” he comments while toying with your slick, eyes shooting over to yours momentarily. “Wonder how easy it would be to just slip my cock inside of you right now,” he continues, fingers resting on your thigh as his thumb parts your slit, calloused finger pad bumping over your clit and just barely dipping into your drenched hole. It makes you moan and shiver, and he smirks in response. “I think a real hero could get you just a little bit sloppier, though.”

You cry out when his mouth descends on you, warm tongue running up and down your slit. Your hips buck up but Shouto already expects that, his hands slamming them down before they can even lift off the sheets fully. Then he’s sucking at your clit, flicking his tongue against you, and finally diving into your cunt. His forearms cross over your hips as he pulls your hips into his arms, nesting himself between your legs so he can plunge his tongue deep inside of you.

He plays with you til you’re completely soaked, dripping for him and edged to the verge of cumming just from him fingering you one knuckle deep while his tongue flicks across your clit. “Shit, you’re wet for me,” he pants, breath ragged from going down on you for so long he’s starved himself of oxygen, “You fantasize about this or something?”

You give him a look. He only smirks and slides his fingers in deeper, all the way to the knuckles, rough finger pads rubbing along your gummy walls. “Yes,” you purr, pleased with the stimulation, “I only think of you when I touch myself, Shouto. You’re my hero, after all— the only one I want.”

He clicks his tongue and groans at that, leaning down to press a kiss onto your clit. “Just your hero?”

The sheets shuffle as you shake your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. “M-My number one hero,” you correct yourself breathlessly.

Shouto hums. Then, his tongue dips into the pool of excess slick dripping around his knuckles, dragging the wetness across your bundle of nerves. He teases you and brings you back to the edge once more, this time much quicker than the last as his fingers dig into your insides, curling into you mercilessly. “Don’t even know if you deserve to have my cock in you, baby,” he sighs, eyeing how your hips tremble and follow his hand when he pulls it away. “You’re already about to cum from just this, huh?”

“No,” you deny, moving to unclasp your bra and fling it off to the side. Shouto eyes your naked chest, gaze directing to the jiggle of your soft tits as you gasp for air. “I’ll be so good, Shouto, please— whatever you want.”

He tilts his head, considering your offer. All the while, his slender fingers pump inside you, curving to press against your spongy walls and tickle someplace deep inside of you.

At his silence, you pipe up. Offer an olive branch, so to speak. “I won’t cum until you say so,” you promise, still panting from your latest, denied climax and desperate for more of his touch. “I won’t, just— you can’t touch my clit, please, otherwise I’m gonna— o-ooohh, fuck Shouto~”

He cuts you off by thrusting his fingers inside you knuckle-deep, reaching his long digits and scraping at your velvet insides with tidy fingernails. “You won’t cum,” he parrots amusedly at your determined indignation, “Mmm, baby… you shouldn’t make such promises so lightly… I think you’ve forgotten who exactly is here between your trembling legs.”

You whimper at his response, eyes shutting and nails tearing at the blanket beneath your straining body. “I won’t,” you repeat, sounding almost like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. “I— I won’t cum, not til you let me, fuck, please Shouto. Need it— anything for your cock inside me, please. Pleaseee.”

“Hmm,” Shouto feigns thought, his digits still pressing into your pussy earnestly. The stimulation has you clenching on him, fluttering around him. But just like you say, you don’t cum on his fingers. Not even when he rocks his hand flush against your mound, long fingers reaching deep, deep inside you and making saccharine-sweet mewls pour from your lips. You take it like a champ, not allowing yourself to climax even when he begins to thrust his fingers rougher inside of you. He relishes your screams when he activates his quirk, digits becoming cold and contrasting against your heated, quivering walls.

“Aha— hnnggg, a-aHAaa Shouto! Oh my god!” You nearly cum when his hot tongue laps at your clit, his fingers still digging just as far into your soaking cunt. It feels so good that you don’t even admonish him for breaking the one rule you’d set; your brain too foggy from the building pleasure in your abdomen. The temperature is a stark contrast to the fingers squelching inside of you, sending you nearly straight off the edge he’s brought you to many times already. You’re much too close, but he wont stop, won’t give you a second to breathe. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease put it in, fuck, please fuck me Sho, please be my hero and stretch me with your fat hero cock, pleaseineeditsofuckingbadddd.”

Then everything stops. His hand retreats, as does his face, and you wail at the loss. You’re hurtling back to earth, feeling like you’re falling through the clouds and the atmosphere as the orgasm you were so close to experiencing fades away. But the bitter comedown only lasts for a second, because then Shouto’s tugging your hips down the sheets so the pink head of his cock presses flush against your dripping entrance. His hips jerk forward and you’re so wet that he enters you effortlessly.

A strangled groan rings the air in the hotel room, and you’re unsure if it was from you, him, or the both of you. His cock is hot and thick, filling your pussy to the brim and stretching you so deliciously. His length spears past the point of comfort, but the ache of penetration feels so terribly good that when you try to find your voice to complain, all that comes out is a long, erotic moan.

Shouto drops onto his elbows, trapping your open legs against the mattress as he begins to fuck you. He growls at the way your cunt suffocates his cock, squeezing and hugging him so well. Placing sloppy kisses on your throat, his thrusts begin to pick up. “Gonna fuck you stupid, love,” he swears as his hot breath fans your neck glistening with his saliva. “Fuck you so good that I’m the only one who can satisfy you— make you mine, my little fan.”

Your reply is a babbling of yeses strung together, eyes rolled back and legs pulling his hips as close to yours as they can. His promise sounds so good, his cock feels even better, and your pussy tightens around him— he’s bringing you to the edge yet again.

He can feel your impending climax, and it only stokes the flames of his ego. He smiles down at your fucked-out expression, but it turns out as more of a snarl. It doesn’t matter— you’re not even looking at him, trying your hardest not to cum right then and there from his ruthless assault on your g-spot. Moving his weight to one arm, he reaches down and starts to rub your clit, taking your nipple between his teeth at the same time and ravishing it with his quirk-cooled tongue.

“That’s cheating!” you sob but it turns into a moan, fingers clenching around his bicep in warning, your body thrumming with waves of building pleasure. Your pussy’s clenching onto him, trying to suck him back inside and milk him for all his worth, your mind too clouded with lust to really do anything in retaliation.

“But you seem to like it when I break your rules,” Shouto replies cooly as he lets your chilled nipple fall from his mouth, continuing to thrust into you, and having the gall to stare daggers directly into your crumbling glare. Each slick, powerful slap of your fronts coming together has your legs wrapping around him, your toes curling in preparation, heels digging into his firm behind. He can tell you’re teetering on the edge— honestly he's surprised you even managed to last this long.

There are tears of pleasure dotting along your lashes. Your hips are widening with every crash of Shouto’s hips against them, your body arching to welcome the ripples of pleasure each rough push against your g-spot produces. Then his fingers pull away from your clit again without warning, and you whine at the loss, orgasm stunted and sliding toward the drain.

“I do,” you gasp, hips jumping to chase his receding ones, and slamming his long length balls-deep inside of you. Shouto groans, pauses, and then grinds his hips and stirs his cock inside of you, teeth seizing his bottom lip hostage and eyes glinting down at you, daring you to say it. You’re so fucking close to just creaming all over his cock that you’re desperate, you don’t care if that’s how you come off in this moment. You need to cum. “I like it— Fuck, I love it, please— please be my hero, Shouto. Please, want you to fuck me and let me milk all the cum out your big hero cock please, I need it, Shouto— pleaseeee, ple—aHHA!”

Shouto savors the way you cry out when he pins the backs of your knees into the comforter, pulling himself up to sheathe his cock inside of you completely, then flattening you with his torso and crushing your hips with his. It’s so deep that it hurts, but the burn of your walls stretching around him makes tremors flutter through your pussy. You look at him through barely-open eyes, arms thrown up and hands digging into the blanket as you share a look of mutual understanding.

You’re absolutely done for.

One. Two. Three strokes of his fat cock inside of you and your cunt is throbbing around him, velvet walls hugging tight as your body shivers in euphoria. Shouto moans as you squeeze him ruthlessly, your body begging for his seed. You’re having an out-of-body experience, writhing with mind-numbing, brain melting ecstasy as Shouto manages to slip out of you partly, then shoves himself back into your soaking pussy just as deep. He swears as your body presses against him as close as possible, your hips hooking to nestle his cock deep inside your pulsing cunt. As if you’re not breathless enough, his rough fingers come to latch around your throat, squeezing the sides so you’re almost choking. Then he’s drilling into you without restraint, fucking you so hard you can feel your ass making an indent in the cheap hotel mattress. It’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more.

“Fuck, should I cum in my number one fan’s tight little cunt?” he taunts, watching how the desperation in your teary eyes shines brightly. “Would you like that, cutie? Want me to fill your slutty little hole with my seed, hmm?” Sweat runs down his chest and gleams in the moonlight, the crevices between his sculpted muscles shining as he exerts himself. “A-Agh— Bet you’d like your hero’s cum inside of you, huh? Dripping… fuck— dripping into you and filling you up nice and good, yeah?”

You nod wildly, jaw unhinged but unable to speak, his hand on your throat still just as tight. Your orgasm is just starting to fade, overstimulated tears glittering down the sides of your face. Shouto’s broken pants transform into a crescendo of moans, his hips slapping the backs of your thighs harsher than ever as he chases his own release. You whimper when a wild, savage growl tears out of his chest, movements stalling as his cock twitches balls-deep inside you, sticky ribbons of white spurting and volcanoing out of him. His hulking biceps pull your chest flush against his heaving one, the hand around your throat sliding to hold the back of your neck up so he can kiss you deeply through the throes of his orgasm.

Your tongues caress each other slowly, passion peaking as he holds you in his arms like you’re a delicate, glass figurine about to shatter under his weight. He’s panting, chest rising and falling swiftly in between kisses. When you’re satisfied with his affection, he lays your body down onto the comforter, removing himself from you with gentle precision. Then he comes to lay beside you, pulling you close so that your head lays on his broad chest.

“Thank you for playing along, baby,” Shouto whispers, scattering kisses across your warm cheeks. “You did so well, my love. That was a thousand times better than I ever imagined.”

You laugh wearily, hand coming up to trace his sharp jawline with your thumb. He leans into your caress, a hand covering the back of yours and squeezing gently. “My pleasure,” you respond cheekily, closing your eyes and attempting to calm your racing heart. “You were kinda hot, though— all dominant like that. You’ve got a surprisingly dirty mouth, mister.”

“Really?” he hums, seemingly pleased with your praise. “I thought you were the hot one, begging for your hero’s cock like that all cute and desperate.” He nuzzles his nose against yours, laughing lightly.

You smile and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Mmm, well you are my hero, Sho. My number one hero… always.”

Shouto sighs happily at your confession, a shy smile spreading on his lips. “Aw, baby… now I’m hard again.”

That earns him a smack in the chest as you giggle at his revelation. Curious, you glance down at his cock, and sure enough, there’s a telltale shadow standing upright in between his hips.

“I wouldn’t mind a round two,” you suggest, turning to wink at him.

“Ready for some good ‘ole married people sex, then, love?” he suggests, a brow raising as his hand glides over your propped-up hip.

“So ready, my sexual-deviant husband.”

“Good, my naughty little wife. This time, you can call me the usual, then.”

You bite your lip, batting your lashes and looking up at him with a glint in your eye. “Yes, Sir.”

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make sure to let me know if you enjoyed!! thank you sm for reading my sho-hoes hehehe :) <3

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[6ix-dragons]

Campsite Intimacy

Series: Fairy Tail Pairing: Natsu/Lucy Rating: 18+ Word Count: ~5.8K words Sinfully NaLu 2020 Prompts: Marking, Biting

Note: This fanfic can also be found over at my AO3, FFN, and PF accounts! :)

EXPLICIT CONTENT ADVISORY: The following story contains graphic sexual descriptions, and strong language. Reader’s discretion is strongly advised!

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The makeshift bonfire crackled with small embers dancing around the rising flames, underneath the purplish-peach skies of dusk.

Just steps away from the campfire, situated a large, tall green tent nearby. The light from the fire shone through the fabric of the tent, revealing a pair of human-like shadows on top of each other, as muffled noises struggled to escape from the tent's open gaps.

Within its spacious interior, those very noises clearly turned to moans, and gasps, as the tent's occupants settled into their intimacy with one another.

"Natsu," the blonde female gasped loudly, finding herself on top of their sleeping pad, on her back. Said pink-haired male hovered over her, his lips pressing heavily against her own, in a slant.

"Lucy," he breathed out huskily, peppering her mouth with hungry kisses, not minding her hands around the back of his neck.

What became a wonderful day to spend outdoors had eventually turned to a night of intimate love for both. It was just the two of them, together, by themselves.

His fingers brushing the side of his lover's face, Natsu moved them away, where he snuck them underneath the hem of her white blouse. Lucy groaned deeply into their kiss, when she felt his fingers ghost up the side of her body, and made their way to her breast—fondling it, through her bra.

The blonde responded, by moving her hands under his body, where her fingers made quick work of undoing the buttons on his plaid, light jacket. Sitting up—forcing Natsu to straddle her, on his knees, Lucy tried to pry the jacket away from him. The pink-haired Dragneel helped her, shrugging it off, where it slipped away from him completely.

"This has been the best night we've ever had," Lucy panted, having pulled away from his lips.

Natsu also panted, grinning wildly at her, sitting cross-legged. "The best night we've ever had, so far."

The blonde giggled at him, followed closely by his goofy laugh.

"Hey, Natsu," Lucy began to ask, as she undid the purple ribbons tying her hair into twin-tails, freeing it into long, looser strands that fell closer to her waist. "Was this totally your idea to bring us out here, all along?"

The pink-haired male beamed at her. "Oh, you bet it was my idea! I wanted us to spend some time, together, away from the city."

Her lips stretched into a sweet smile. "That's so nice of you." She then straddled his lap, nearly catching him by surprise. "I really appreciate everything that you've done, for us both," Lucy murmured, resting her arms over his shoulders.

Natsu gave a sheepish chuckle. "Don't mention it."

Right away, the two of them resumed their lip-lock, both leaning in for a simmering kiss. It only lasted for a few seconds, before Lucy released from his lips—allowing her to tug her sleeveless blouse over her head, from its hem.

The young Dragneel was in awe, after she tossed away her top from behind her. His eyes were directed at the strapless, baby-blue bra that perfectly hugged the curves of her generous breasts. Her cleavage became highly pronounced, when she squeezed her arms against the sides of her bosom, and leaned a little forward.

Before he could even respond, however, he sensed that there was something tugging at the bottom of his shirt. His attention drew away from her breasts, and down to her hands lifting up the hem of his black V-neck tee. With one hand on his abdominals, Lucy could feel how well-built they were, while she struggled to get the shirt off of him. Natsu finally helped her, pulling the sleeveless shirt over his head, throwing it away behind him.

His lips drawing out a sneaky grin, Natsu quickly pressed his lips onto hers, while his hands ran up and down the exposed skin of her sides. Lucy groaned lightly at the warmth of his lips, and the caresses his hands made. The kiss intensified passionately, as their tongues swirled around, and clashed against each other. Unbeknownst to Lucy, his hands snuck around her back, fingers trying their best to locate the clasp on her bra.

An annoyed groan escaped Natsu, when he didn't feel it on the back of her bra, his fingers tugging at only soft fabric, instead. The blonde, however, realized what he was trying to do, upon feeling those very tugs.

Without a word, Lucy pulled away from him—only to push him down to the mat, catching him off-guard, again.

Finding her straddling his hips, Natsu leaned up slightly to watch her, as her fingers moved to the front clasp. In one swift move, her enormous mounds were freed from its bindings, as the large cups of her bra separated from each other. The pink-haired Dragneel found himself mesmerized, by the rhythmic bounces her breasts made, after they were released.

Noticing the deepening red across his face, Lucy gave a coy giggle, and narrowed her eyes teasingly. She brought her hands on top of her breasts, and pressed her arms against the sides of them, bringing them together. "Like what you see?"

Natsu responded, wordlessly, by smoothing his palms over her flat abdomen, before darting them towards her perky pair. Gasping cries escaped the blonde, upon feeling his large hands run all over her mounds, his fingers kneading against them a bit roughly. A naughtier grin scrawled on his face, the more he dug his fingers into the supple flesh of them, while also brushing them over her pebbled buds—which hardened from being openly exposed to the air around them.

The warmth of his touches was always something that Lucy enjoyed, in the times they made love to each other. It was especially so, with his hands on her most intimate parts of her body. All these caresses had stoked the fire, deep inside her.

"Natsu…ah!" Head dropping back, the blonde gasped, and panted. "Please…"

As her pink-haired lover continued to fondle her breast with one hand, his other hand skimmed down her abdomen. Swiftly, it arrived at the silver, metal buttons of her denim shorts. His fingers managed to unfasten the first two, only for Lucy to realize this, as well.

Natsu grunted, as he found himself back down on the mat, by her. Raising his head slightly, he could see her unfasten the final button of her shorts, revealing the matching baby-blue of her panties beyond them. He then lifted his stare towards his blonde lover's face, whose sultry smile met his very eyes. His mouth opened up into his charmingly-bold, dirty grin, in response.

Lucy quickly leaned in on him—letting her tresses fall around them, in a field of bright-yellow surrounding their faces. She seized his lips again, with the same, intense passion. With one hand on her lover's cheek, her other hand grasped the top edge of her loosely-open shorts, shifting them down. Pushing, and kicking gently, she let the cut-off shorts slip down her legs, where they eventually ended up wrapped around her feet. With another light, raised kick, the pair of shorts ended up further away, on the mat.

Low, muffled hums rumbled from Natsu, as he felt her mounds press up, and flatten against his chest, feeling her erect nipples rub around against his own. The sensation was likewise for Lucy, who released a few groans that were suppressed in their kiss. Natsu then grunted loudly, when he felt her grind against his groin. Delighted moans escaped her lips, as she felt the hardening bulge through his pants, every time she lowered her pelvis against it.

It wasn't long, until the two lovers pulled their faces away from each other, needing to catch their breaths. Both could feel the hearts of one another, thrumming wildly through their chests, as they did.

His eyes half-lidded, Natsu locked his gaze on her large, doe-like ones, breathing hoarsely. "Lucy…"

Narrowing her brown eyes sultrily at him, her smile curved in the same manner, the blonde stifled a teasing giggle to herself. A gasp sounded out from Natsu, when he felt her lips press roughly against his neck, followed by what appeared to be her teeth nicking the skin of it.

Holding back an amused hum, Lucy trailed her head down to his chest, where she left another deep kiss on his sternum. As he leaned up nearly upright, Natsu watched her leave a trail of deep kisses down the front of his torso, leading to his lower-half.

Her eyes widened slightly, with intrigue, upon them meeting the bulge in his trousers, which had poked out more. The sight of it had made her sweep the tip of her tongue across her lips.

"L…Lucy?" Natsu raised his eyebrows at her, sitting up straight.

Through his narrowed gaze, the pink-haired Dragneel kept his eyes on the kneeling blonde below him, who then made her next move.

Her fingers rushed towards the top button of his denim jeans, unfastening it. They then went to the zipper below, pulling the fly down, revealing the fiery-red of his boxer briefs.

Not wanting to wait any longer, Lucy hooked her fingers around the waist band of his jeans, along with his boxers. Pulling them down past his waist, her eyes fell upon his phallus—springing out free from its confines.

In her mind, she marveled at how thick, muscular, and erect, it was, as it remained at full-mast. Then, her eyes travelled up to its bulbous, mushroom-shaped head. She noticed that there was a bit of glistening fluid already built up from its tip, threatening to leak out.

Natsu's breath hitched, when he felt her hand reach out for a firm grasp of his shaft. His head then dropped back, letting away a sudden moan, when the blade of her tongue flicked against the tip.

"Guh! A-ah…Lucy…." The pink-haired male gripped the fabric of the mat behind him, soft moans spilling out from him. "H-ah…fuck…"

Lucy released a few low, quiet hums, as she brushed her lips against the side of his cock, in a sweeping motion. His manhood twitched, and throbbed, in response. Natsu's breaths picked up, upon watching his lover roll her tongue up and down his phallus, and all around it. Instantly, he hissed out a curse, when he felt her lips wrap around the head of his cock, first, before fully taking in the rest of it.

Taking him in, deep, Lucy pulled her mouth back, leaving only the head being surrounded by her oral cavern. Breathing through her nose, she began moving her head back and forth, pushing her mouth in further, before reeling back.

If there was anything she enjoyed about his cock, for every time she went down on him, it would be its musky scent. As well, the slightly-bitter taste of the pre-cum that seeped from its tip. The thrill of doing this with him, however, had aroused her further. It made the burning desire in the piths of her body rise higher.

It also made her sense a certain kind of wetness that would seep through her panties…the more she kept at it.

His sights falling back to the blonde below him, Natsu focused on her head bobbing up and down. Pleasured sighs escaped under his breath, the pink-haired male struggling to keep his eyes on her.

Lucy continued to work her lips, and tongue, around his shaft, repeating the same motions of her head. Suddenly, she felt his large hand on top of her head, firmly gripping the tuft of it that forced her movements to a halt.

Slowly pulling her mouth away from his twitching shaft, coated completely with her saliva, Lucy looked up at her lover. "Na…Natsu?" Her hand remaining around the base of his shaft, she panted heavily, chest heaving about. "I-is something…wrong?"

Said pink-haired male shook his head at her. "No, no," he finally spoke up. "It's just that…I wanted to do the same thing to you, too."

Lucy narrowed her brown irises, hazy with lust, at him. "Is that right?"

She stroked his slickened shaft, teasingly, earning her a low moan from him. The blonde then saw him return with a genuine, coy-like grin, under green eyes intent with lust.

A naughty giggle sneaked from her. "Well, if you insist…"

Natsu chuckled quietly, pushing away the final remaining clothes from his legs, as Lucy began to crawl all over him. While he lay flat against the mat's surface, Lucy turned her whole body around, allowing her lover the full view of her most-intimate area.

His sights were met with her high-cut briefs over him. They captivated Natsu, in that there was a rather-large dark patch, where it covered over the spot between her legs. He could also see some of the moisture leaking out from there, trickling down her inner thighs.

Turning her head behind her, Lucy raised a curved eyebrow at him, his hands resting on her rotund bottom. "Ah…Nat-su?"

Right away, the blonde cried out in a squeal, when she felt his tongue press against her entrance, through her damp briefs.

Her body shuddered at every lick he made, as he lashed the blade of his oral muscle onto it. Shifting aside the fabric of her panties, Natsu traced the tip of his tongue around the outer folds of her exposed pussy, before dipping into her inner folds with it.

"Oh, God! Ah!" Lucy squealed again, her eyebrows twitching. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to suppress her loud mewls, to no avail. "Natsuuu!"

His hands holding her ass in place, fingers digging into its supple skin, Natsu continued to pleasure her with his tongue. Low, delighted hums left his breath, as he gathered up the clear fluid that leaked from her clit, finding its taste to be a little sweet.

The enjoyment of giving her pleasure was short-lived, however, having been interrupted by the same, familiar wet-and-warm sensation on his cock. Pulling his mouth away from her nether-lips, a raised moan spilled from Natsu, as he felt her tongue sweep upward from the base of his shaft.

Lucy softly moaned, while she gave a few, husky licks across his phallus. At the same time, aside from the occasional twitch of his cock, she noticed that his hands on her ass were trembling. Smiling deviously to herself, the blonde swirled her tongue around the sensitive parts of its head, first, causing him to hiss. She then wrapped her lips around the head of his phallus, before sliding it further down to take more of his shaft. It earned Lucy a protracted, pleasured sigh from her lover, underneath.

"Mmmh…Lucy…." Natsu breathed out gruffly, taking in the warm and moist sensation of her mouth that enveloped around him, her lips and tongue sliding up and down his shaft, in repeated motions.

Not wanting to let her have all the fun, the pink-haired Dragneel resumed his ministrations. His fingers tugged at the band of her panties, slipping them past her thighs. With her knickers out of the way, he used his fingers to spread apart her entrance. Muffled cries escaped Lucy, while she worked her mouth around his cock, as she felt his tongue probe deeply around her inner folds.

A suppressed mewl was released from her, while she hastened the pace of her movements. "Ahh…Natsu…."

Her lover let out a muffled sigh, in response, digging his tongue roughly, and swirling it around inside her clit. Natsu then grunted deeply, when he felt her fingers run, and press against his testes—along with his cock reaching further into her oral cavern.

Holding back her groans, Lucy plunged her mouth down his shaft, taking more of it, while she massaged his testes below.

Sensing the familiar tingles in the base of spine that became more frequent, and intense, Natsu knew that he wasn't going to last that long.

Retracting his mouth from her sopping clit, Natsu took the time to catch his breath, before he finally spoke up to get her attention. "Ah…Lucy?"

Having heard him from under her, the blonde slowly ceased the bobbing of her head, before drawing her mouth away from his cock. Strings of her saliva bowed between the tip of her tongue, and the head of his shaft, before breaking apart. Panting roughly, Lucy peered down upon his throbbing phallus. She noted the head of it—which was in a deep shade of angry red, with the urgent need to release.

The blonde finally responded, having caught her breath. "Y-yes?"

Natsu's lips creased to a small grin. "I'm ready to stick it in…I want to be inside you."

"…Yeah," Lucy breathed out, with a little nod of her head. She then turned her head around, behind her. "Uh…do you have a condom, by any chance?"

Blinking for a second, the pink-haired male affirmed with a smile. "Ah, yeah! I do have one on me, somewhere…"

Lucy simpered, as she crawled away from Natsu, allowing him to search for it. While he did, the blonde took note of her briefs already slipped past her knees. She took the last remaining article of clothing she had on her, off from her feet, before casting them off outside the mat.

While it was a little inconvenient—for him, especially, Natsu fully understood about the importance of using such protection, every time he made love to her. While it would be nice to think of what it would be like, to have a child, together…the time still wasn't right for that, in his mind.

"Ugh, where is it," he muttered to himself, as he checked through the pockets of his discarded jeans, and then his jacket. "That's strange…I thought I had one lying around in there."

The clear of her throat immediately brought his attention away from his search.

Natsu turned around, and raised his eyebrows at his blonde lover—who sat on her knees, leaning in towards him. Held firmly in her fingers, was the square foil packet that he had long, desperately searched for.

Narrowing her eyes at him, with a teasing smile, she lightly waved the wrapper around. "Is this what you're looking for?"

"Y-yeah!" Natsu nodded simply, blinking with a dumbfounded expression. "Where did you—"

"I found it in the pocket of our backpack," she explained, with a cheeky smile. "Did you mean to put it in there?"

Slightly flustered at his forgetfulness, Natsu shifted his glance aside. "Yeah," he laughed awkwardly, "I actually meant to."

Lucy giggled teasingly at him. "Silly dragon."

Natsu chuckled back, returning with his usual, charming grin. He then leaned in to place an affectionate kiss on her cheek.

Taking the foil wrapper from her, Natsu carefully opened it up, removing the rubber contraceptive from its packaging. Setting aside the torn-open wrapper, somewhere, he took caution in properly slipping down the condom around his phallus, pinching the tip afterward.

Lucy raised a curved eyebrow at him, over her narrowed, lustful eyes. "Ready?"

His grin widened, at its boldest. "You bet."

Lucy giggled again, when her lover set her down onto the mat, as he hovered over her. Her fingers brushed the sides of his face, resting around his cheeks.

"Natsu,” she whispered, gazing into his bright-olive irises. They were as hazy as hers, filled with sincere passion within.

His fingertips also resting on the side of her face, Natsu held his breath at how gorgeous she appeared before him, when she happily smiled. Unable to resist himself, he took no time in slanting his lips deeply over hers, at once. Lucy brought her hands around the back of his neck, as they slipped their tongues into each other's mouths, again.

Pulling away from her mouth, Natsu dove under her chin, placing a deep kiss against her pulse. Shuddering moans poured out from her gape, while she felt the tip of his tongue sweep over the middle of her neck.

Slightly lifting her head, Lucy watched him in awe, as he moved down to her chest. The blonde then dropped her head back to the mat, and cried out, when she felt both his hands roughly grasp her breasts, and the slickly-warm sensation of his mouth over one of her nipples. Her body began to squirm around, at those sensations.

Delighted murmurs leaked out under his breath, as he suctioned his lips around her hardened bud, swirling his tongue around it. At the same time, he dug his hands against her round, melon-sized mounds, noting the overflowing flesh slipping past the gaps made between his fingers. Hearing her every moan, and mewl, Natsu pried his mouth away from her nipple, before enclosing it on her other, unattended one. It earned him a squeal from the squirming blonde underneath.

Her cries and moans became a bit louder than they were, as her pink-haired lover continued to run his tongue around her other nipple, while running his fingers over the previous one.

Natsu finally ended his foreplay on her, leaving behind a few deep kisses against the undersides of her mounds, causing her to whimper at every kiss he made on them.

Panting heavily, Lucy lifted her head again, her sights falling upon him. "Natsu…please…"

Spreading her thick thighs apart, Natsu guided his cock, with one hand, towards her entrance. Another whimper escaped the blonde, having felt the tip of him brush up against her clit. A choked gasp from her had followed, when the head of it pushed past her vaginal opening.

As he leaned in to settle over her, he pulled his hips back, before plunging his entire shaft into her, in a single thrust. Lucy cried out loudly, in response, feeling a surge of pleasure shooting across her body.

"Natsu!" Arching her back instinctively, the blonde wrapped her arms around his upper-back. She held onto him, for dear life.

"Lucy," he grunted into the crook of her neck, growling quietly at the warm, wet, and silky sensations that greeted him.

Even with the condom around him, Natsu still experienced those very sensations he had missed so dearly. It was the same sentiment shared by the woman underneath him. Lucy could feel every inch, and every twitch of his cock within her inner walls.

The intense, initial sensations subsiding for both of them, Natsu quickly slid his lips over hers, as he began to thrust slowly into her. Guttural moans spilled from their lips, as the pace of his thrusts started to pick up.

Lucy then pulled her lips away from his. "Ahh! Natsu, please!" Her sleek legs wrapped around his hips closely, riding up against them. "Harder! Oh, God!"

The blonde then dug her fingers into his upper-back, dragging her nails against his skin, leaving scores and lines of red welts on it.

Natsu grunted deeply, burying his head against the crook of her neck, feeling every drag of her fingernails over where his shoulder blades were. He drove his hips against hers, intensely, in response, earning him delighted cries from his lover.

The back of her head pressed down against the mat below her, Lucy took in every bit of pleasure as her pink-haired lover did, with her moans coming out in lilts.

A yelp of surprise suddenly escaped her, when she felt him pull her upright. Her arms flew around the back of his neck, bracing against him, as she found herself straddling his lap, on her knees. She also found her lips being quickly recaptured by her lover's, along with his tongue sneaking into her mouth.

Natsu continued to buckle his hips against hers, with his hands firmly settled around her rotund bottom, bouncing her onto his lap. He grunted lowly at every instance that her wet and warm snatch had tightened around him.

The sloppy kiss only lasted for a brief moment, as the blonde released her mouth from him, again. "Mmmh! Natsu!" Mewls, gasps, and cries left her gape, while her head lolled around from the surges of energy that ran through her body, with every thrust from him.

A particularly-rough thrust from him had sent a great surge of energy through her body, forcing her to sink her teeth into his broad shoulder.

"Yeoww!" Natsu hollered at the sudden, stinging pain brought on by her teeth into his skin. He slowed his thrusts into her, to a grinding halt. "L-Lucy? Did you just bite into my shoulder?"

Upon realizing what she had just done, the blonde's head quickly shot right up, with a heavy tinge of red across her face. "Y-yes!"

He directed his curved eyebrows towards her. "B-but, why?"

She bashfully turned her head, and sights, away from him. "B-because…i-it, felt so g-good…"

Blinking awkwardly at her, for a second, Natsu's lips stretched to his usual, big grin. "Well," he chuckled lightly, "I didn't think my princess would be this bold enough to do that!"

Lucy pouted, as she casted her eyes aside, quietly grumbling. "Oh, stop it, Natsu…"

The pink-haired Dragneel then leaned in closely towards her, with a sneaky smile. "Buuut, since you did bite onto me, 'though…"

Before the blonde could even turn towards him, his teeth swiftly nipped into the skin over the crook of her neck—while, at the same time, he thrusted his hips roughly against hers.

"Kyaaah! Natsuuu!" Lucy cried out, letting her head drop back. She held onto him with an embracing grasp, as he resumed the rocking of his hips.

Natsu sneaked a naughty chuckle under his devilish grin, only to flick his blade of his tongue against the spot on her neck he had bit against. Low groans followed from him, when he felt her fingers grip, and bunch around the strands of his hair at the back of his head, tightly. At the same time, however, he took in the throaty moans, and breathy sighs that escaped her, along with the buckling of her hips against his.

Lucy's gasp hitched, when she felt his tongue suddenly reach her neck, underneath her chin. Her breaths came out shaky, and uneven, as he traced it up her neck, stopping at her pulse. His lips then captured over hers, starting off a much fiercer display of passion between the two lovers, feeling the closer warmth of each other's mouths.

Having reached his tongue against hers, Natsu grunted in surprise, when he felt her hands suddenly grasp around his shoulders firmly. He could barely hear himself yelp, as she forcefully turned their bodies around, in a quick tumble.

Before he knew it, the pink-haired male found himself with his back against the mat. Lifting his head just over it, Natsu could make out her heaving, voluptuous body situated over him. His eyes then met her large, lustrous ones, his blonde lover smiling wickedly down at him, while she straddled his hips.

Her hands rested over his abdomen, where the young female took delight in feeling how well sculpted they were, digging her fingers onto them.

"Lucy," he winced, under half-lidded eyes. His head then dropped back down against the mat, releasing a gasping groan, when he felt her hips shift around against him.

The busty blonde gasped softly, and squeaked, while she began moving her hips experimentally, by herself. It was slow and tantalizing to her lover underneath him, but as she found her pace, and settled into it, she started to pick up the rhythm.

"Mmh! Natsu!" Lucy cried out, rolling her hips against him. Her hands moved behind her, where they rested onto his thighs. "Oh, God! Aah!"

"Lu-cy…" Natsu hissed at how incredibly warm she was, around his phallus, feeling every coil of her inner walls all over it. His hands flew instinctively to her waist, guiding her. "Ah…hah…f-fuck…"

Struggling to keep his eyes wide open, he lifted his head again, watching his blonde lover bounce up and down over his cock. Through heavily-lidded sights, he could see her enormous mounds rise, and fall, every time she dropped her hips down against him.

Lifting his upper-body even more, Natsu released his hands from her waist, where they smoothed up over her flat, toned belly. Lucy squealed away, her head dropped back, as she felt his calloused fingers roughly kneading her mounds. Combined with how deep his cock reached into her depths, his intensely-warm touches had added way more to the pleasure that coursed through her body.

It didn't take long, until Lucy had pushed Natsu right back down onto the mat, forcing another grunt from him. She then buckled her hips wildly against his, the busty Heartfilia's moans and cries becoming louder than before.

"Natsuuu!" Lucy rocked her hips even more, feeling the ball of energy deep in her core building up higher. "Oh, God! Oh, yes!"

Her pink-haired lover underneath her had growled, clenching his teeth. He could now feel the same energy in his core about to burst. "Lucy!" He gripped the mat underneath him, tightly. "I'm…I'm gonna—"

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" Lucy cried out those words, in a quick chant, while she kept riding away against his hips. "I'm gonna cum, too, Natsu!"

"Hah…fuck!" Natsu snarled hoarsely, as his hands flew over to her waist, yet again. "That's it…cum for me—"

"Yes! Yes!" Lucy squealed, her tongue hanging out from her gape, while she rolled her hips fiercely. "I'm cumming! I'm cu—"

With a sharp drop of her hips, the pressure that built up so much within them had finally come apart, sending them over the edge. At once, the busty blonde threw her head well back—with a piercing cry that left her wide-open mouth shortly. She could feel the intense warmth within her core spread outward into the rest of her lower body.

Simultaneously, Natsu let out a few primal growls, and grunts, clenching his jaw. Alongside the incredibly-warm sensation of her inner walls contracting around him, in a binding, vise-like grip, he could feel his liquid heat pulsing out in spurts.

The two of them remained in place, paralyzed by the spasms of energy that shot through their bodies, letting the mounting surges of their pleasure claim them both. As their climaxes gradually subsided, their sweaty bodies shuddering delightfully upon it, both lovers began catching their breaths.

Her chest heaving heavily, Lucy panted in an uneven pace. She could just feel her body about to give out, every part of her body feeling like gelatin. The blonde then let the rest of her body collapse onto her lover's, when she felt his hands slowly slip away from her waist. Her lips immediately seized his, upon doing so, while she cradled the sides of his face with her hands.

Both of them could feel the slickened skins of one another, as they pulled each other in for a smoldering kiss. Muffled groans, and sighs, escaped their mouths, as Natsu brushed his hands over her blonde locks that covered the sides of her head.

Finishing their kiss, Lucy pulled away from his mouth, before rolling her body off of him, onto her side facing him. Natsu followed, turning his body around, so that he was also on his side, directly facing her.

"Natsu," she whispered sweetly, giggling at him. "That was amazing."

He grinned at her, in response, the tips of fingers sweeping aside the front fringes of her hair that clung to her forehead, before resting them over the side of her face. "You sure enjoyed it, didn't ya, Luce?"

Lucy could only give him her heart-warming smile, sneaking another giggle. "I sure did."

Chuckling quietly, Natsu then shifted his body around, again, so that he was sitting up instead. This allowed his blonde lover to reach for a hand towel from one of their travel bags. While she wiped the sweat that gathered all over her body, as well as whatever remained between her legs, Natsu carefully slipped the condom off from his half-flaccid phallus.

Holding it up from its rubbery ring, the pink-haired Dragneel was thankful that the condom managed to hold up. He was then surprised to know that he had come a lot more than he had in the previous times he made love with her. His cheeks burning red at the thought of it, Natsu quickly tied it up into a knot, from its ring top, and crawled over to the wastebasket nearby.

As he disposed the used condom by dropping it into the small basket, Lucy slipped on the baby-blue briefs that were previously outside the mat. Before she could even locate her matching bra, however, her attention was diverted, when she heard a loud rustling that came from right outside their tent.

Whipping her head towards the direction of where the noise was coming from, her eyes imminently met a large shadow that formed through the light-green of the tent's fabric. The sudden sight of it caused her to screech, the blonde covering her bare chest with her arms.

Her screech immediately brought his attention to her, as Natsu quickly turned around. "Lucy!" His head turned back in a snap, looking at her. "What's wrong?!"

The pink-haired male then froze, only for him to blink blankly, at the shadow that Lucy saw.

As it slowly dawned upon them, said shadow in question was that of a cat. It became more apparent to both, when they heard a little, high-pitched 'meow' in the next brief moment.

Natsu's smile grew wide, upon realizing whose 'meow' had belonged to. "Happy!"

Lucy was incredulous, her eyes the size of saucer plates. "Happy?"

Crawling towards the tent's closed entrance, Natsu zipped it fully open. A small, blue-furred cat then made its way inside their quarters, greeting them with another meow.

Lucy sighed in relief, pulling up the sheets to cover her body, and over her chest, as her pink-haired lover pulled the zipper back up again to close the entrance.

"I was wondering where you went," Natsu smiled brightly at his pet companion, softly rubbing its back. "You didn't get yourself lost in anything, did you, now?"

Happy meowed back in his response, his tail curling, and wavering around.

The blonde simpered at them, right as he returned back to her, pulling up the sheets that covered only his lower body.

Lucy raised a curved eyebrow at him, with a teasing smile. "Looks like it's never a dull moment with you, Natsu."

Natsu leaned in to leave another amorous kiss on her cheek, before giving her a charming grin. "Hasn't it, always, Luce?"

Both of them then giggled away, as Natsu rested his hand over hers, before they lay down against the mat. Happy then joined them, taking a rest on top of his chest, Natsu softly rubbing its back again.

Natsu and Lucy then stared into each other's eyes, again, smiling at one another, before they had also entered into their peaceful slumber together.

[gumnut-logic]

Planes, Custard Tarts & Frog Cakes

Title: Planes, Custard Tarts & Frog Cakes

Authors: @i-am-chidorixblossom​  & @gumnut-logic​

11 Mar 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes the coercion has to be subtle. Scott can, on occasion, be exactly that.

Word count: 1692

Spoilers & warnings: None

Timeline: Whenever

Author’s note: Gumnut and ChidoriXblossom accidently role played a fic. This is the result.

Disclaimer: Ours? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Damn it, Virg, sit down!”

“I’m fine, Scott.  There’s work to be done.”

“It can wait.”

“It doesn’t need to.  I can manage.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “But you don’t have to. Give your body a chance to heal, for goodness sake. What is the hurry?”

A scowl.  “There isn’t one.  But I’m bored and I’ve got the time.  Might as well use it and take some of the pressure off Brains.”

Scott threw up his hands. “Do I have to make it an order?”

The faintest twitch of a smirk touched Virgil’s lips.  “You can try, but seeing as I’m off duty, technically I don’t have to follow it.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “So, if I was the one running around in a sling, I could do whatever I wanted just because I was bored?”

Virgil let out a short sigh and turned back to his toolbox.  “Considering all the stupid stunts you pull you can’t judge.”  He frowned.  “And I’m not ‘running around’.  I’d just rather be doing something useful than sitting wasting the day away.”

Scott looked away a second only to return his focus to Virgil a moment later. “Okay, sure, but something less physical?” He grabbed for an example. “What about your painting? This is an opportunity to spend some decent time in the studio. Something a little less strenuous than working in the hangars.”

It was Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes.  He appreciated what his brother was trying to do, he really did.  He just didn’t have the patience for it right now.  Pain always made him cranky and Scott was starting to push his buttons.

“It doesn’t work like that. I have to be in the right frame of mind to paint.”  The tension from their argument was starting to make his shoulder ache.  Virgil downed his tool and had a tentative rub at the suffering joint.  “Look, can we not fight about this?  I’m really not in the mood.”

Scott fell quiet a moment, but his eyes did not leave his brother. “What are you planning to do?”

Virgil turned to face him and leaned back against his box.  “Painkillers are wearing off.  I’ll take a break if you relax and stop worrying.”  It was a compromise.  Scott could take it or leave it.

Blue flickered. “Join me in the lounge?”

Virgil relented. “Fine.  Just for a little while though.”

Scott didn’t grin, but he did reach out and squeeze Virgil’s undamaged shoulder gently. “C’mon, I’ll even let you have the remote.” With a bit of luck a fresh dose of painkillers would have Virgil snoozing against his shoulder on the couch.

That got a slight smile out of the younger brother.  “Wow, I feel spoiled.  Gordon never got that.”

The tension eased from his shoulders but the pain remained, and Virgil walked in step with his big brother over to the elevator and back up to the villa.

When they reached the comms room, Scott grabbed the remote, almost chucked it to his brother, before realising exactly what he was doing, and handed it over instead. “Got your pills?”

“They’re with the first aid kit in the kitchen cabinet.  I need to take them with food.”  A thought suddenly crossed his mind.  “I think there are some goodies left over that Kayo brought from that bakery in Adelaide.”

Scott stared a moment. “The Balfours? You mean they survived Gordon and Alan? How did you manage that?” He waved his brother towards the couch. “You sit. I’ll grab. Find us something to watch.”

With a chuckle Virgil did as he was told.  He stole a few extra cushions from the other sofas and got himself settled comfortably. His shoulder was still protesting at the movement, but other than a faint hiss through his teeth he stayed quiet. No sense in worrying Scott more than he was already.

Scott trotted downstairs to the kitchen and got his hands on the necessary pills before throwing open the refrigerator and basically pulling everything out of it, including what had to be the remains of two-week-old Chinese takeaway. Ugh, Gordon was disgusting. It hit the recycling bin with a thud. But yes, right at the very back in a bag labelled coolant tubes in Virgil’s calligraphic handwriting, he found two custard tarts and two cakes in the shape of frogs. Placing them carefully on the counter, he threw everything back into the fridge and grabbing his bounty, bounded back up the stairs.

Virgil had found something to watch by that point, a show featuring vintage aircraft with the presenter getting a tour of a hangar full of them over in the States.  Scott liked anything to do with planes and it was interesting from an engineering standpoint for Virgil, so it was a win win. He wasn’t in the mood for a movie, wanting to get back to work after this little break.  Better to avoid getting tied into a three-hour blockbuster.

When Scott joined him on the sofa Virgil grinned at the paper bakery bag.  So, his little trick had worked, huh?  Excellent.  “I call dibs on the green one.”

Scott raised an eyebrow at his brother. “You’re welcome to it.” He held out the painkillers as he sat down beside his brother. “Take your drugs.” He stared at the holoprojector. “Is that a P51 Mustang?”

Virgil accepted the pills and popped a few into his mouth, swallowing them down quickly before he reached for his green cake.  “P-51D, yeah. This guy has just finished restoring it apparently.  I think they’re going to show the test flight later.”  He bit into his cake and resisted the urge to groan.  Damn, they always tasted so good.  Perfect way to mask the slightly icky aftertaste of those awful painkillers.

Scott absentmindedly grabbed a custard tart. “You think we’ve got room for one of those in the hangars?”

Virgil eyed him curiously. “I’m sure I could make space near Two. Why?  You wanting to try your hand at restoration?”

“No, just want to fly one.”

Virgil shook his head fondly.  “Thought so. I’ll see what I can do about making enough space.”  He finished his cake and then slouched back a little on the sofa.  Spending time like this with Scott when he wasn’t stressing and giving himself grey hairs was one of Virgil’s favourite pastimes.  It was rare these days for the two of them to get enough downtime to just chill and hang out.  The world had such high demands for them.

Scott slouched a little himself as the documentary wandered through the history of the plane and its contribution to WWII. He liked its lines. It had a vague echo of his ‘bird in its silhouette. “Would you be interested in restoring one?”

Virgil shrugged with his one good shoulder, head resting against the back of the sofa.  “Wouldn’t say no.  It’s a piece of history that deserves to be remembered.”  He turned a little towards his brother.  “But it would mean I’m down in the hangar even more, and you just dragged me out of there.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Not right now. Sometime in the future.” He shifted where he sat. “I just thought it might be something we could do together. You know, for fun.” Now why did he suddenly feel awkward?

Virgil smiled and nudged him gently.  “I’m winding you up.  It does sound like fun.”  He turned back to the holoprojector and relaxed.  Stifled a yawn.  Was he really that tired or was it just the painkillers starting to kick in?  Virgil didn’t want to sleep.

“You gonna eat your tart? Now it is out of the bag, it is fair game for the others. John’s down tomorrow and you know what he’s like with free reign of the refrigerator.” Full belly, painkillers, his brother didn’t stand a chance.

A heavy hand rubbed at Virgil’s face, mussing the front of his hair a little.  “Nah, I’m good.  He’s welcome to it.”  He’d actually had a decent breakfast this morning and the frog cake had been a special treat.  The tart would just be greed.  “I want to get back to work shortly.  If I eat too much, I’ll feel sick.”

He shifted a little, more towards Scott, taking a bit more pressure off his bad shoulder.  The gravitational pull of the sofa and his brother’s shoulder was getting closer without Virgil even realising.

Of course, that was the very moment the documentary came to an end, but Virgil had obviously started the projector up on his own account, because the autoplay switched over to something musical. A piano began to play. Scott went from mental cursing to a hesitant hope within seconds. His eyes darted surreptitiously in his brother’s direction in the hope he would stay put.

If it was a battle of wills between staying awake and falling asleep, it was obvious which side was winning.  Virgil’s eyes were drooping to half-mast now, the remote in his good hand nearest Scott slowly slipping from his grasp.  The meds were heavy duty, quick to take down the normally strong and stubborn Tracy before he could put up much of a fight.  The music floating through the air helped too, as did the warmth emanating from Scott when Virgil’s head finally came down completely onto his shoulder. Just as predicted.  A minute later and he was out, body grasping the chance to rest and heal with the quieting of an overactive mind.  A faint mumble, wordless and without meaning, then nothing but deep steady breaths.

Scott couldn’t help but smile. Gentle fingers caught the remote before it could hit the floor, the volume dropped just a little before he placed it on the side table. A glance at his sleeping brother, another smile as Scott shifted just enough to get comfortable for a long haul. He grabbed his tablet, sent John a quick text with details to warn all other family members off the comms room unless there was an emergency and opened up the paperwork he had been avoiding for the last week. As Virgil began to snore, Scott just smiled more.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[atanih88]

FIC: Tomorrow (DCEU, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne)

Title: Tomorrow Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Mature Warnings: Sexual references Word Count: 1,293 Summary: Written for the prompts ‘angry sex’ and ‘sharing a bed’.

Notes: Written for @superbatweek Day 4’s prompts. Not happy with this one as it was rushed and written on a tired brain, but hope you still enjoy. Unbeta’d.

When Bruce closes the door of the en suite behind him, he's a surprised to find Clark still in the room.

Clark's sitting on the bed, head in his hands in the soft light of the bedside table. He glances up at Bruce at the sound of the door shutting. His eyes linger on Bruce's face for a second before dropping and taking in all the expanse of skin on display.

Most of the bruises aren't showing yet, nothing apart from the red marks in the shape of Clark's fingers on Bruce's right shoulder and left wrist. The rest, Bruce knows, will be there tomorrow. He can already feel the map of bruises just waiting to manifest themselves in blues and purples. The ache goes beyond the skin.

Bruce can still feel the crush of Clark's arm banded tight around his stomach. Can still feel the phantom pressure of Clark's hands pinning him to the bed by his shoulder and wrist, how Clark's fingers had curled too tight, had made Bruce wonder if he'd have to make up a lie to Alfred to explain why he'd returned home with a crushed shoulder and wrist.

Then there are the aches pressed deep into the muscles of Bruce's thighs. He'd lost count of the amount of time he'd spent under Clark, legs splayed wide around the sharp jut of Clark's hips.

He doesn't know how many times Clark came inside him.

Bruce adjusts the towel around his hips and walks to the bed, not one step betraying the deep-seated soreness. He'd checked in the shower, head under the jet of the hot water, his own rough fingers almost too much as he'd reached behind himself to lightly feel his hole, still wet from Clark.

Soft and swollen, yes. Torn? Bruce didn't think so.

'Still here,' Bruce says, 'I'm surprised. I'm not as young as I used to be. So if you're hoping for another round I'm afraid I'm done for the night.'

'Don't.' Clark drops his gaze and grips his hands together tightly.

He's dragged his jeans back on but hasn't done them up. They gape open enough to give Bruce a glimpse of coarse pubic hair. Clark hasn't tugged his shirt back on either.

The thing is, aside from Clark's hair, which is a mess, there's not much to show that Clark wasn't the only one participating in the kind of sex that by all accounts should've destroyed the bed.

There's nothing on him to account for how Bruce had fisted his hair, for how Bruce had locked a hand around Clark's jaw while goading him through gritted teeth.

His lips though—Clark's lips—are the only part of him that look abused.

Bruce hadn't been gentle with his teeth.

They hadn't kissed.

Nothing about it had been nice. Their sex had bordered on violence.

'I'm sorry, Bruce,' Clark says. 'I shouldn't have—I don't know what happened.'

Bruce rounds the bed and yanks down the luxurious spread that has been creased and stained beyond repair. 'It's called fucking, Clark.' He doesn't bother to close the curtains on the glittering view of Metropolis and opens the balcony door instead.

Cool air fills the room and eases the smell of sex and sweat.

'Bruce.'

'Relax. Tensions were high. Despite what people believe, I know you're not perfect, Clark. Besides, you weren't the only one who lost it.' Bruce stares at the folded back covers and thinks if it's worth the discomfort of putting on some pants. 'We all make mistakes.'

The frustrated sound Clark makes is loud in the room and Bruce looks up, startled when Clark stands and turns to face him. Clark's is running agitated hands through his hair.

'That's not—that’s not how I wanted it to happen.'

Bruce blinks, not comprehending. 'Excuse me?'

'And I know I should've listened, that I shouldn't have broken formation but you knowme, you know that I can't just let—' Clark shakes his head, the motion vicious as if he's cutting himself off.

When he meets Bruce's gaze it's head on. His shoulders are squared and his lips pressed into a tight determined line.

'But even though I don't like how it happened—that we didn't even have time to think about it, I'm glad that it did. And I want to do it again. Differently. In every way that you'll let me.'

Bruce takes a moment to process all that, tries to separate everything Clark has just said from Clark himself, standing in Bruce's hotel room looking self righteous and debauched all at once. Now that Clark is standing, Bruce can see the half hard bulge straining against Clark's jeans that hasn't quite gone away all night.

'You're saying this wasn't a fluke.'

All of a sudden, Clark looks tired. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs as he looks away. 'No, Bruce. This wasn't a fluke. And you know it.' Clark smiles then but it looks wrong with its mocking edge. 'How long haveyou know?'

Fuck. Bruce is too tired for this conversation and that last session had ended with him on his knees. He just wants to get in the bed and face plant into the pillow.

In the far off distance, the sky is beginning to change, to lighten.

'I'm tired,' he says. 'I want to sleep. I'm not discussing this now.'

Bruce expects that to get Clark's back up, expects Clark's expression to twist into indignant and pissed off and for him to scoop up his clothes and fly out the window, or slam out of the hotel room—whichever Clark is in the mood for.

Instead Bruce stares, at a loss, as Clark relaxes and nods.

'Okay. We can talk about it tomorrow,' Clark arch's an eyebrow at him, 'oh, and Bruce? I'm staying.'

Bruce tilts his head back enough to look down his nose at Clark. 'Son—'

Clark waves it away. 'Save it. Just—get in bed. Tomorrow. And don't even try to sneak off. Not unless you want me barging in on whatever you're doing.'

Before Bruce can reply Clark's getting out of his jeans and tossing them over to the armchair closest to the window. His cock is still plump with at half-mast but Clark doesn't do anything other than run an absent hand over the length and tug the sheets back on the other side of the bed.

So much for the sweet country boy from Kansas. Little shit.

'Bruce,' Clark curls a hand around Bruce's wrist. Gentle this time. He tugs and looks up at Bruce from messy strands that have fallen onto his face.

God, Clark's mouth is perfect.

'Get in,' Clark says.

Despite the night they've had, despite the yelling and the biting and the vicious fucking, Bruce finds himself doing as he's told. He loosens the towel, lets it drop at his feet before climbing into bed, slower than Clark as the soreness deep inside forces him to be careful and shifting onto his hip instead of sitting down properly.

He's not even settled before Clark is reaching to the lamp on the bedside table and plunging the room into light shadows. Clark still hasn't let go of Bruce's wrist and as he settles down, he drags Bruce down with him.

Clark slides a hand over Bruce's nape and sifts his fingers through the hair he finds there.

In the dark, Clark's eyes glitter black.

'Goodnight, Bruce.'

Bruce has no words, can only watch Clark back until Clark closes his eyes.

Bruce is stiff at first, unused to this and unprepared for it. The weight of Clark's hand stays on him, holding him in place.

Tomorrow.

They can finish this tomorrow.

And eventually, Bruce drifts off.

[dr-gloom]

The Makings of Greatness: Chapter 1

Imma try to schedule these so they’re posting within like 5 minutes of each other. Hopefully it isn’t too spam-y

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: platonic logince, platonic moxiety, platonic anxeit, familial ThVi

Tags/Warnings (for this chapter): breaking the law, slight father-son argument, aliens

Ko-fi

AO3

Masterlist

Prologue  Ch 1  Ch 2  Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7  Ch 8  Ch 9  Ch 10  Ch 11  Ch 12  Ch 13  Ch 14  Ch 15  Ch 16  Ch 17

12 Years Later….

Virgil grinned as he sailed through the air, the wind whipping at his shirt, his jacket, his hair. He gripped the metal rail of his solar surfer tightly, taking in the ground rushing by under his feet, the gentle flapping of his hand-stitched solar sail.

He’d made his solar surfer a year or so ago from scrap metal and bits of scrap solar sails he found lying around. The body of the surfer itself was essentially a metal slab - well, several smaller slabs soldered together - shaped much like a surfboard with a solar powered thruster underneath, in the back. A joint mechanism connected the sail’s mast to the body, and a thinner railing curved along both sides of the sail horizontally for Virgil to hold and steer the direction of the surfer.

Light flickered throughout the hexagonal pattern of the sail, lighting the fabric and indicating its power. A breeze pulled the sail to the left and Virgil yanked it back into place with his guiding rail. The surfer dipped as Virgil left solid ground, sailing over a canyon. He steadied the craft, shifting his grip and taking a deep breath.

This is where he felt the most free, the most real. Here, sailing through the air at incredible speeds, he didn’t have to think about his life. He didn’t have to watch his dad run himself ragged trying to keep the Inn open. He didn’t have to mull over the fact that, as far as he knew, he and his dad were the only humans on Montressor, his home planet. He didn’t have to see the ghost of his pa everywhere he looked. He didn’t have to think. The soft roar of his solar surfer’s thruster and the wind rushing in his ears blocked out all thoughts, all negative feelings, until all there was left to focus on was the absolute freedom of flying. Being unbound from the struggles of daily life and hardships left unresolved.

Virgil took a hard turn, rising up into the clouds. He shot through the white fluff, coming out the other side with a smirk. He gave a brief glance to the ground far below and looked forward once again, making a split-second decision. Virgil shifted his right foot back, heel pressing into the button behind him that would collapse the solar sail. The sail’s post folds, bringing the cloth down with it to press against the surfer’s metal surface, and Virgil’s ascent stills. He throws his arms out as his body angles parallel to the ground, closing his eyes.

His body falls back and he crosses his arms over his chest, tucking them close to his body. He begins to rapidly descend from the sky, the wind twisting and flipping his body this way and that, the surfer hooked to his feet catching every gust and turning him. He flips end over end, spinning rapidly, with the brief reprieve of solid stillborn descent, before his surfer catches another gust and he’s sent spiraling again. His stomach fills with butterflies at the feeling, his chest feeling both light and constricted at once, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

He throws his arms out and his body flips to be righted once again, spinning through the air. He tucks his arms into his sides and lets his body be flipped upside down, spinning like a silver maple seed. The wind pulls aggressively at his body, his hair, his clothes. He can’t hear anything past the roaring gales his ears amplify the sound into and his own heartbeat. Virgil opens his eyes, seeing the ground fast approaching, and throws his arms out to right himself. Just as it seems like he’ll collide with the earth, he stomps on the button once again, igniting his thruster and unfurling his sail.

He pulls hard on the rail, turning the surfer until he’s nearly parallel with the ground, giving out a loud elated cry and extending his arm to ghost over the dirt below. He pulls up, narrowly avoiding colliding into the rock face of a split path by jerking himself to the right once again. He’s momentarily flipped upside down as the craft makes the harsh turn, his lips pulled into a wide grin. He straightens up just in time for his surfer to break through a wooden gate, setting off alarms.

He doesn’t hear the ringing screech past the wind in his ears, sailing quickly through some sort of facility. He pulls his guiding rail left, then right, twisting to avoid metal structures and pass through narrow gaps. He pulls down on the rail and the surfer meets the surface of a metal pipe, grinding along its surface. A loud metal screeching meets Virgil’s ears, sparks flying from where the bottom of his surfer meets the pipe’s surface. He’s practically bent backwards, the heat of the thruster warming his back, wind cooling the sweat on his brow. Virgil pulls off the pipe and grabs the surfer to haul it up, letting out an adrenaline-filled whoop.

He sails through the rest of the facility, coming up on some sort of spinning wheel-like structure. Virgil’s face sets into a determined grin. As he gets closer, he stomps on the button to collapse his sail once again and angles himself to pass through a gap in the wheel’s spokes. He zips through, passing just in time to avoid getting crushed as the gap closes. He pumps his fist with a wide smile. “Whoo!”

He hits the button again and grabs the guiding rail as the sail erects itself, rising up out of the canyon and into the sky. Virgil settles the solar surfer to fly straight, taking the reprieve to settle his racing heart and take in the view before him.

Then he notices the sirens.

Two robot officers rise up behind him, propelled upwards by their own thrusters, and he grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Great…”

A shabby Inn sits on a cliffside, the sign at the base of the walkway reading “Mind Palace Inn”. The roof is a composite of wood and metal, appearing in some places as if the metal was affixed to plug up leaks. Other than this strange fact, the building itself resembles a two-story cottage out of a fairytale. Inside, Mr. Shea spoons steaming meat into a serving bowl and sets it on a tray, picking the tray up to bring it out to the customers. As he turns to do so, a shrill voice calls out from his right.

“Mr. Shae!”

Thomas purses his lips before forcefully relaxing his face, turning to look at the old woman behind him. The cephalopodan woman holds an empty glass in one wrinkled tentacled hand, using the other to gesture to it. Mr. Shae sighs. “I know! Refill on the perp juice, coming right up Mrs. Dunwiddie!” He walks over to one of the tables where a family of anthropomorphic frog aliens sits waiting for their food. The father is reading a newspaper but sets it aside when Mr. Shae approaches, smiling lightly.

He puts on his best customer service smile and starts setting out their food. “Alright, four powdered spheroids,” he sets a plate of what looks to be colored donuts in front of the dad, “two solar eclipses,” he sets a plate of two sunny side up eggs with blue yolks in front of the mother. The son gags, making Thomas laugh, “and a bowl of Zorellian jelly worms, for the big boy!” he says, setting a large bowl of milky white insects in front of the boy. “Enjoy.”

He moves on to the next table as the boy starts shoveling the jelly worms into his mouth. Thomas rushes over to a man in the corner of the restaurant, sitting by the window with his face in a book.

“Sorry, Logan. It’s been crazy here all morning!”

Logan looks up from his book. He certainly wasn’t the strangest looking intergalactic customer Mr. Shae had, but he certainly wasn’t human. Instead of the normal human pinna on the sides of his head, he had bald, stout and floppy dog’s ears. A pair of spectacles sat at the base of his muzzle, and while he didn’t have sharp dog’s teeth per se, it seemed like he definitely could use the help of a pair of braces. He adjusts his glasses with stout, pudgy fingers and smiles kindly at Mr. Shae.

“It is not a problem, Thomas.” He sets his book on the table as Thomas walks away, taking a deep breath to take in the smell. “Ah, my Alponian chowder with the extra solara seed, fantastic.” He tucks a napkin into his shirt and grabs his spoon, beginning to eat. Just as he takes his first bite, an anthropomorphic frog girl with blond hair pulled into pigtails peeks over the edge of the table at him.

The girl had the green, vaguely slimy skin of a frog, along with the webbed fingers. She had two round eyes near the top of her head that blinked up at Logan frequently, fluttering her eyelashes. Her mouth was turned up into a small smile as she took a slight step back, brushing her hands down her pink dress and continuing to stare.

He looks down at her curiously, eyebrow raised. “Yes? Can I help you?” She just blinks at him. He rolls his eyes and goes back to eating.

The little frog girl straightens up, smiling up at him and watching him eat. Logan sighs, looking around. “Where are your parents?” After another silent blink, he frowns, starting to get annoyed. “Can you spe-” Suddenly her tongue shot out of her mouth, stealing the food off his spoon. He makes a disgusted noise and recoils as she smiles up at him then turns and skips off. Thomas walks up, a dishes-filled tray on his hip.

“Aren’t they just adorable at that age?”

Logan grimaces down at his spoon, setting it on the table. “Yes, deplorable. I mean- adorable.” He takes the napkin from his shirt collar and wipes his mouth, looking up at Thomas. “Speaking of which, how is Virgil?”

Mr. Shae sets the tray down at a vacant table with a sigh, looking tired as he picks up the dishes. “Much better. I know he’s had a… rough start, to this year, but I really think he’s turning a corner.” Just then, the front door opens, revealing two robot officers in blue and gold uniforms with Virgil, his head hung low, looking the very image of a dog caught misbehaving. “Mr. Shae.” A robotic voice calls.

Thomas turns around in surprise, dropping the dishes he’d been carrying and causing them to shatter. “Virgil!”

Logan looks down at his food. “Wrong turn,” he says dryly.

Virgil forces a grin, pushing a gloved metal hand off his shoulder and taking a step into the restaurant. “Okay, cool, thanks for the lift-”

“Not so fast.” The hand grips his shoulders again and the grin slips off his face. Shit. Another hand grips his opposite arm, hauling him further into the room and keeping him in place. “We found your son operating a solar vehicle in a restricted area.”

The other robot cop speaks up. “Moving violation nine-zero-four, section fifteen, paragraph…”

“Six?” Virgil mutters from between them.

“Thanks.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

“Virgil.” His dad scolds. He looks away.

“As you are aware sir,” the first robot continues, “this is a violation of his probation.”

Virgil’s dad takes a step forward, holding his hands out placatingly. “Yes, yes, ah, I know. I- how about- could we just-?” He rubs the back of his neck in a flustered manner, his expression pleading.

Logan clears his throat, drawing the attention of the four in front of him as he stands, walking over to the officers. “Pardon me, if I could interject. I’m Doctor Logan Abbott, a noted astrophysicist.” This is met with silence. “No? I have a card-” Mr. Shae grimaces, biting his bottom lip.

“Are you the boy’s…. father?” One of the officers asks. Thomas pushes past Logan, standing in front of him.

“No!”

“Ah, wh-”

“No, no.”

“God, no.”

“I mean ew-”

Logan starts slightly, put off by Mr. Shae’s comment. He’s not that ugly, is he? I mean sure, his ears are a little floppy, and his nose isn’t human- he’s not human- but he’s not ugly.

“He’s just a friend of the family!”

Both officers bend over to get in Logan’s face, shouting. “Back off, sir!”

Logan huffs and turns, going back to his table. “See if I ever try to help again…”

Mr. Shae sighs.

“Due to repeated violations of statute fifteen-C, we have impounded the vehicle. Any further violations will result in a trip to juvenile hall.”

Mr. Shae nods. “I understand. Thank you, officers.” The robots let go of Virgil, pushing him forward where Mr. Shae takes his arm. Virgil refuses to look at him. “It won’t happen again.”

“We see his kind all the time, sir.”

“Wrong choices-”

“Dead-enders-”

“Losers.”

Virgil grimaces, hunching his shoulders.

The officer’s tone does a complete 180, calling out a cheery, “Take care now!”

“Let’s go.”

Both officers turn around and wheel out of the restaurant, leaving Virgil and his father alone, if you didn’t count the room full of customers staring at the pair in shock. Someone clears their throat and all the customers turn back to their food, the room quickly filling with chatter and the clinking of silverware and dishes. Mr. Shae looks down at Virgil, who looks at the floor.

“Virgil, this is… too much. It needs to stop. Do you want to go to juvenile hall? Is that it?”

Virgil purses his lips and turns away, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. He looks around and grabs a nearby bus bin, silently moving to clear a vacant table of dishes.

“Virgil. Virgil, look at me, please.”

Virgil’s eyes burn. He refuses to look at his dad as he continues.

“It’s hard enough keeping this place afloat. I can’t handle you going off and-”

Virgil turns around, forcing a carefree smile. “Dad, it’s not a big deal. There was nobody around; those cops just have it out for me.” Mr. Shae crossed his arms and looks at his son disapprovingly, and Virgil’s smile fades.

“Forget it.” Virgil turns back to continue bussing the table, grabbing the bus bin and moving on to the next one.

“Mr. Shae!” Mrs. Dunwiddie’s shrill, shaky voice cuts across the restaurant, drawing Thomas’ attention. “My juice!” She waves the empty glass around in one tentacled hand and Thomas frowns, raising his hands in a placating manner. “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Dunwiddie!” He turns back to his son. “Virgil, I just don’t want to see you throw your future away.” His lips draw into a frown as he turns to finally get Mrs. Dunwiddie her juice, and Virgil shoulders the door to the kitchen open.

“What future…”

Taglist: @the5thcoy @dailysandersidesaudoodles @hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2 @tanyatoloni1334

[spartanguard]

the dutchman must always have a captain

based on a prompt and artwork from my darling @cocohook38: what if Deckhand Hook became captain of the Flying Dutchman, a la POTC? (mainly some whump—both physical and emotional—and a bit of Millian; possibly more to come!)

4k | FF | AO3

What was that pirate phrase again? The one everyone liked to repeat, particularly when feeling malicious?

(In that respect, he'd never been a very good pirate. In any respect, for that matter.)

Oh, right—dead men tell no tales.

If that was true, then perhaps Killian Jones wasn't as dead as he thought. For though his heart resided outside his body, he still had quite the tale to tell.

There was another phrase: all magic comes with a price. And it seemed that whatever curse he now bore was the ultimate price for the magic of having love for once in his godforsaken life.

There wasn't much love to go around for a slave boy on a merchant ship. Well, there had been, but then Liam left.

There was even less for a one-handed man on a pirate ship, especially when he only ended up there as a result of a lost bet. But he could handle it now. Though Blackbeard always had some barb or another for him, his skin was thick from years of such torment, both verbal and physical, so it never had much impact.

His jaded, aimless existence was relatively monotonous, and he expected it to be that way until the day he died, however long or short that might be. (It was seemingly without purpose, too, but frankly, he was just too cowardly to die.) Until the day it wasn’t—until the day he met her.

Milah was everything he wasn’t: spirited, brave, determined, fierce...he didn’t know enough adjectives to accurately describe the amazing woman he’d met in a tavern. She’d ignored the catcalls of the rest of the crew and settled herself near him, and he was a goner. And somehow, she fell for him, too. To the point that she stowed herself away on the ship one night in an escape mission, hiding in the cargo hold until she saw him and begging for his help in running away from her husband.

He agreed—of course he agreed; he was far too weak to deny her anything—and suffered the lash once Blackbeard discovered the stowaway. But dammit if she wasn’t a better pirate than he was, and soon it was she looking out for him instead of the reverse.

Those few years were easily the greatest in his insignificant existence, and it seemed like he might actually have something to live for.

But then, one day, the skies turned black, and the sea churned, and a fearsome ship of myth rose from the depths—the Flying Dutchman. Any good sailor knew to avoid that ship of death and the damned souls who sailed it, captained by the one and only Dark One.

Who, as it turned out, was Milah’s husband. And he was angry.

He magically appeared in the ship in a haze of smoke, every bit as fearsome as the legends foretold. Scaly green skin covered what they could see of his body under the leather he wore, and if Killian wasn't mistaken, a crocodile’s tail trailed behind the demon—fitting for such a reptilian man. The term “crocodile smile” took on new meaning when the man bared his garish teeth, a sinister grin taking over his features and reaching his unnaturally gold eyes.

Blackbeard looked scared; Killian had never seen the man so frightened. But he attempted to do his duty as captain and drew his sword on the Dark One, questioning his uninvited presence on another man’s ship.

Quicker than anyone could react, the Dark One plunged his claw-like hand into Blackbeard’s chest, ripping out the pirate’s heart and crushing it to a pulp. Blackbeard barely had time to cry out before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the deck. The Dark One shook his hand free of the remains of the other man’s organ and turned his attention on Milah.  

“You thought you could hide from me on the seas, dearie? You didn't think I'd be able to track down my heart?”

Reflexively, her hand went to the pouch tied to her belt; she'd never told Killian what was in it, only that she had to make sure it never fell into the wrong hands. He instinctively shifted closer to her, sliding slightly in front to shield her. It was the first time in his life he’d ever felt protective, but he’d be damned if he let anything happen to the best thing to ever come his way.

“Imagine my surprise when I arrived home only to find it empty and abandoned, my wife and son gone,” the Dark One continued monologuing. “A decade I’ve waited! Ten years! And then—nothing?”

“What did you expect, Rumple?” The man flinched, clearly unused to hearing his given name. “Did you actually think we’d wait contentedly without you that long? That I’d be happy being your little wife at home while you sailed the seas off on adventure?”

“It’s not an adventure; it’s a—”

“I know damn well what it is and I know that you’ve abused it. Look at yourself. You’re a monster.”

The Dark One fell silent at the insult, and Killian took that opportunity to firmly place himself in front of Milah. The crocodile’s angry eyes shifted between the couple until a look of realization took over.

“Oh, so that’s what this is.” His expression turned giddy. “Wait, wait, don’t tell me—it’s twu love!” he sing-songed, teasing.

Shakily, Killian drew his blade and held it aloft. Around the deck, others followed suit. Milah continued to stare the demon down.

“Well, well, seems like you’ve found the family you could never have with me.” Milah’s silence was an affirmative answer. “I suppose that makes you a pirate, eh?”

Killian spoke, with words coming from some unknown and as-yet untapped place of bravery deep within. “Aye, she’s one of us, and we look out for our shipmates.”

A wicked grin slowly took over the Dark One’s face. “Then that makes you sailors.”

A chill ran down Killian’s spine. They all knew what the Dark One did with sailors who ran afoul of him. Before he could shout “No!”, they were engulfed in a cloud of magic.

The next moment, they were on the deck of a different ship. But it took only a brief glance at the aged wood and barnacle-encrusted crew to know they were on the Dutchman. The fear that had so briefly left him was back full force as he saw the unfriendly faces all around, save for one that looked oddly familiar.

He couldn’t focus on it long before the Dark One spoke again. “How’s this, then? I let you live, but as members of my crew. It’s a bit different than what you’re used to, but...it grows on you.” Several crewmen (if they were indeed still men) chuckled darkly.

Milah squeezed Killian’s arm above the brace of his hook, gave him a reassuring look, and stepped forward. “Your issue is with me, Rumple; leave him out of it.”

“So, you’re going to save your twu love, the pirate.” He began to circle them. “I’d never realized the power of true love before. It is impressive. I’d hate to break it up.” His cheeky grin as he mocked them quickly turned dark. “Actually, no; I’d love it.”

In the blink of an eye, the Dark One’s hand was now inside Killian’s chest, squeezing his heart. He’d never felt such agony, and collapsed against the deck. He could feel his heart pounding against the intrusion, blood seeping from the wound, but still the Dark One didn’t let go.

“Rumple, stop!” Milah shouted, her pleas falling on deaf ears. “Wait. I have something you want.” Through his blurred vision, Killian could see Milah dangling the pouch she had long protected.

Suddenly, the pressure on his heart was gone and the Dark One removed his hand. Killian slumped against the deck and pressed his palm to the wound over his heart, sure it was fatal, but he had to make sure Milah was safe.

“The heart in exchange for our lives,” Milah begged, gesturing to the parcel.

“You’d really do that?” the Dark One asked, voice full of awe. “You’d give me that power?”

Killian sat up as best he could to watch the scene unfold. Milah nodded. “Do we have a deal?”

“I want to see it first,” the demon demanded.

Finding Killian with her eyes, Milah opened the satchel and produced a human heart, still beating despite its unnaturally dark color and the obvious fact that it had been in a leather pouch for well over a decade.

The Dark One made a move to grab it, but Milah was too quick and tossed it to Killian; his reflexes were never great, but at least they didn’t fail him now. With a hiss of pain as he removed the hand that was covering the hole in his chest, he caught the morbid organ.

“You asked to see it; now you have,” Killian stuttered out, wheezing through the pain. The Dark One was staring daggers at him.

“Do we have a deal? Can we go our separate ways?” Milah asked, drawing his attention back.

The hole in Killian’s chest began to throb again and agony began to blur his senses. He could see that Milah and the Dark One were in some kind of standoff, but it took all he could to remain conscious, let alone hear their conversation. Slowly, he got to his feet, rising just in time to hear Milah tell the man, “I never loved you.”

A tense moment passed as the former couple stared at each other. And in the next, without warning, the Dark One plunged his hand into Milah’s chest.

“Milah!” Killian shouted, stepping forward, until some unseen force shoved him back and lashed him to the mast with the ship’s lines. The jolt made his chest ache even more, though whether it was the gash or for what was happening to Milah, he didn’t know.

Dramatically, the Dark One pulled out her heart, examining it. Milah collapsed on the deck, finding Killian with her eyes. He struggled to get to her, but the ropes held strong.

He could see her lips moving, saying “I love you,” and then her face contorting in pain as the Dark One crushed her heart.

Oh so cruelly, the ropes then gave way and Killian surged forward, but it was too late; she was gone. He collapsed at her side but she’d gone still. Now he knew the pain in his chest was due to heartbreak.

The Dark One’s sinister voice broke through his grief. “I’ll have what I was promised now.”

“You’ll have to kill me first.” Killian didn’t recognize the angry voice that came from his lips, but he didn’t give himself time to think about it.

“A wound like that, you’re going to die anyway. Painfully, too, just like she did.”

Bile rose in Killian’s throat and he saw nothing but red. Filled with a rage he’d never experienced, he launched forward at the evil man, weaponizing his hook for the first time as he dug it into the Dark One’s chest.

The man flinched, but then started laughing. Killian removed the hook; it didn’t even have blood on it.

“Killing me’s gonna take a lot more than that, dearie.”

Then, Killian remembered what was in his hands: the heart. In a moment of brilliancy—or, more likely, lunacy—he dropped the heart on the deck and stabbed it instead, pinning it to the planks with his hook.

It worked; the Dark One let out an unholy scream as he stumbled back, clutching his chest. The heart itself began to shrivel in front of Killian’s eyes, its beating growing staggered and inconsistent, until it stopped altogether and turned to dust. The Dark One followed suit, collapsing on the deck and disintegrating into little more than seafoam.

Killian unlodged his hook from the wood as shock took over. He killed a man. And not just any man—the Dark One. His breathing grew labored as the adrenaline wore off, and the throbbing pain in his chest came back tenfold. He knew he was indeed about to die, but if it meant that he’d rid the world of that terror, then it wasn’t for nought—his whole worthless existence would finally have some meaning, and he'd get a long-overdue reprieve from this life.

He didn’t notice the crew closing in on him as he fell back on the deck, next to the body of his love; not until they surrounded him. But he was losing consciousness fast and could feel his blood seeping out. Through the fog, he could have sworn he heard his father’s voice; it had been so many years since he had, but he supposed it was appropriate as a hallucination before death. For a moment, he even had hope that he'd see Liam again.

The voice said, “The Dutchman must always have a captain.” The face that matched it swam into Killian’s vision, hovering overhead—the same man he thought he recognized earlier.

“Father,” he whispered, not sure if he was asking a question or saying a greeting.

“The Dutchman must always have a captain,” it repeated, and the figure above him produced a jagged, rusty-looking dagger that grabbed Killian’s focus.

The man raised the dagger as if to strike. In the back of his mind, Killian’s fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, but he was too tired to comply, and too confused. If he was about to die anyway, why would they try to murder him? An act of mercy?

Before he could figure it out, the man—his father, it had to be—brought the blade down into the open wound. And then came the true agony.

The knife seemed to be made of fire as it rooted around in his chest, and he could feel every move of the rusted metal within his flesh. He was sure his bruised heart was about to combust and was certain the skin around it was charred, though he smelled no smoke.

A tugging sensation followed and he was fairly certain he screamed in pain. To his horror, the next image he saw was of a hand pulling his heart from the now-gaping cavity in his chest. And it was still beating.

He had a moment’s reprieve from the misery as he watched the surreal scene: his father was gently cradling the organ in both hands, studying it and seemingly waiting for something. Another pair of hands produced a pouch—the same one Milah had carried—and his father gently placed it inside.

After that, Killian lost all track of time and space and entered a world of pure torture.

The second his heart hit the hide of the pouch, a shock lanced through him, starting in his chest, going down his spine, and flying down his limbs. It was as if acid had been poured into his veins, and felt both like fire and ice at the same time, making it impossible to search for relief.

The next sensation was of a lash falling against his neck. He was used to how it felt on his back, but it was a hundredfold worse against the sensitive skin of his neck, and he writhed at the feeling of his skin being split open, in stripes on either side.

Meanwhile, the entirety of his skin felt as if needles were pricking it, or possibly branding irons; whatever it was, his flesh no longer felt recognizably human. It was as though he was being melted down into something new.

Through the haze of torment, it seemed as though he'd been placed on a rack and was being stretched; his spine ached with an odd pull, almost as it it was being extruded through his lower back and various other points.

And on top of it all were the unmistakeable jabs and tugs of a wound being closed. It was similar to the feeling of his wrist being sewn shut but magnitudes worse as someone closed the hole over the empty cavern that had once housed his heart.

For all he knew, the entire ordeal was instantaneous and over in a matter of minutes. But it could just as easily have been hours or days until the reprieve of unconsciousness finally arrived, and he passed out into a dead sleep.

His dreams were...strange. He was familiar with nightmares, but these weren't quite that, at least not his normal ones. Usually, he saw grotesque versions of the men he'd served growing up, lash in hand; the storm that took Liam reimagined as a vicious kraken; and now, an actual crocodile tearing out Milah’s heart and eating it while he was helpless to do anything.

But then it all became twisted. Suddenly, he was the one with the lash and past crewmates recoiled in fear; Liam’s ship went down at his command, despite his brother's pleas; and his hand was the one crushing Milah's heart as she looked at him in disgust.

And somewhere in his mind was his father’s voice, telling him, “That's my lad.” But he didn’t want to be that man—he’d never been that man, never had it in him, and certainly wasn’t about to.

What happened to him?

Again, he heard the voice of his father. “Killian, my boy. It’s alright, I’m here.” Those words brought him back to another nightmare—real, not imagined, of being abandoned on a ship in the middle of the night after hearing the same man say something similar. He remembered feeling so small and so alone, even with Liam there, and so confused and hurt by their father’s betrayal.

That was what finally roused him. He’d been moved to a room below decks it seemed. The bed he lay on was far more plush than anything he’d ever touched before and the room was clean if a bit gaudy, with gold decor everywhere.

“Are you awake, son?” Killian turned his sore neck at the voice and there, sure enough, was the man he hadn’t seen in decades. Fatherly concern was etched on Brennan Jones’ face, which while no older than Killian remembered it being, was clearly sea-worn and dotted with algae, like a piece of driftwood.

“Father?” Killian’s voice was rough with disuse, but was childlike in wonder and hurt.

“Aye, it’s me.” Brennan squeezed his hand. “How do you feel?”

Killian closed his eyes to take stock. While he was no longer in the worst agony of his life, he still didn’t feel good. Everything seemed wrong and like it wasn’t his, oddly enough save for the hook that was still strapped to his left arm. It hurt his neck and chest to breathe, and his skin felt stiff and too thick, like after a terrible sunburn. Though he lay on his side, he could feel sharp aching knots in his back and elbows, as if there was some deformity that prevented him from laying flat. And he was so thirsty.

“What the bloody hell happened to me?” was all he could manage, hoping that conveyed his feelings well enough.

“I'm so sorry, Killian.” His father sounded truly remorseful, which only made Killian all the more fearful.

“What. Happened?” he demanded, more forcefully.

“The Dutchman must always have a captain,” Brennan said sadly. “And now, my boy, that's you.”

Killian jolted upright. Only the Dark One could captain the cursed ship, while bearing a curse of his own—everyone knew that. There was no way it could have fallen to Killian—he couldn't—he wasn't—

But then he saw his hand, where it was gripping his knee. Maybe it was just the light in the cabin, but the color didn't look right. He lifted it to inspect it, and there was webbing between the digits that wasn't there before, like he was some kind of mercreature. And the texture of his skin was all wrong, as he followed it down his forearm—it was like that of a shark, turning the color and striped pattern of one nearer to his elbow.

He gasped when he looked at the joint, straining his airways again. Deformed was right—there was now excess cartilage extending from his skin in the shape of a fin. His left arm had it too, right between the straps of his brace.

Reaching behind him, he held in a yell at discovering an even larger fin protruding from his bare back. Though he couldn't see it, it felt large and imposing. In itself, it didn't hurt, but he could feel it resist his every move and his spine didn't quite bend like it used to.

He huffed in frustration and confusion, and again felt an odd, unpleasant sensation at his neck. He reached up to massage it but wasn't prepared for what he felt there (even though he probably should have). There were raised ridges running the width of his neck, and they flared painfully with each breath. Gills; he was no better than a fish now.

Or perhaps he actually was one now. He looked down at the bed to finally address the unfamiliar feeling coming from the base of his spine. Much like the Dark One had the tail of crocodile, there lay one of a shark, gray and tapering down to a two-pronged fin. Killian could feel the warmth of his palm through the rubbery skin when he touched it. In a move that was both horrifying and oddly intriguing, he gave a conscious thought to flipping the new appendage—and it moved. So he did it again, slamming it against the cot, and the jolt from impact ran all the way up his spine, nearly knocking his breath away.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, there was a voice that wanted to panic, and normally, this was the kind of situation that would induce hysteria. But he wasn’t panicking. Where, in the past, his heart might have raced and his breathing would have grown erratic, he felt unusually calm, though still perturbed by whatever had happened—even more so because of how much he wasn’t reacting to it.

Then he remembered—his heart. He placed his hand over the spot on his chest as visions from what could have merely passed as a fever dream flooded back. Glancing down, he saw the jagged line that ran diagonally from his collarbone down to his sternum, carefully stitched shut. He pressed on it, eliciting an involuntary gasp as the skin pulled at the sutures, but there was nothing beneath it: no pulse, no rhythm of the organ that should be there.

“Where’s my heart?” he demanded, voice darker than it had ever been.

With a forlorn look on his face, Brennan reached within his jacket and pulled out that same leather satchel that Milah had carried all those years; that cursed pouch that had held the Dark One’s heart. And Killian could feel that it now held his.

“No,” he shouted in horror. “No no no!” He stood, finally feeling a strong emotion for the first time since waking: anger. He had so many questions, but the only one he managed to ask was “Why?”

“You were going to die, Killian; I couldn’t let that happen.”

His own father had cursed him; he wanted to be surprised, but he couldn’t. “You should have. I never wanted this.”

“I told you, the Dutchman must have a captain! It was the only way to save you!”

“So now you care what happens to me?” Anger for the boy he was—the boy this man had abandoned—burst forth. “You’ve never cared about me, Father; don’t pretend like you do now.” Outside, he could hear waves splashing against the hull of the ship and somehow knew he was responsible, as if the ocean was reacting to the anger in his body, in tune with the boiling sea water that now ran in his veins.

“I’m so sorry, Killian.” To his credit Brennan did look and sound apologetic, and that momentary rage subsided. It wasn’t the first time Killian had resigned himself to his fate, but hopefully it would be the last.

He hung his head and picked up his vest from where it lay on the floor; a large rip ran through the back, likely where his dorsal fin now jutted out. He slipped it on and headed toward the stairs up to the deck, grabbing a flask of water off a table as he went.

“Where are you going?” Brennan asked, seeming confused.

Killian nearly scoffed. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Dark One now.” He sighed, readying himself to pay the ultimate price for what had been the best part of his life: his now-cursed afterlife. “It’s time I go captain my ship.”

There’s a good chance that more will eventually come...all curses can be broken, after all!

tagging some loves: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @its-like-a-story-of-love  @mryddinwilt  @annytecture  @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @killian-whump @stubble-sandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones

[firstjustgoin]

Going Down

3. Start with the shit going down. An event you’ve never witnessed. A moment in history that you wish you could have. A mystery that was never solved.

Her father’s health had been steadily declining for months now –– in and out of hospitals and doctor’s offices where he had been met with the thin-lipped mouths of professionals who saw people like him every day, wide-eyed and vacillating between disbelief and despair –– and so when Candace called her, her voice low and mournful, to get on the next plane and fly home, Tessa did so without needing to ask why.

She usually flew at the holidays when the halls of JFK or Laguardia or Newark, whichever airport had the cheapest flights, roiled with agitated parents dressed in faux cheer, willing even to push their own children out of the way in order to make their 6:00pm to Orlando. She hated airports for this reason and as chubby people in red and green sweaters squeezed by her on the moving walkway, she always imagined their planes falling swiftly from the sky as penance.

But it was early November and she breathed a deep sigh of relief when she arrived at Laguardia and saw that there was room to move without elbowing people like you’re digging yourself out of a trench. She bought a pack of unsalted peanuts and a Diet Coke and settled into a corner chair by her gate trying to block out the frantic sounds from the TV. She had a theory that CNN only really existed within the universe of the airport and it was all just a huge collective hallucination everywhere else, but here it was almost maddening.  

The president-elect stood at a podium wearing a red hat that screamed Make America Great Again. She still could not believe it; millions of people had voted for this moron, this misogynist, this bigot. Just two days ago she had met up with some friends at a bar in Brooklyn to watch the election results roll in. They drank whiskey sodas and progressively ate more and more fries as it dawned on them, this always possibility never probability, was real.

“Tell me something that will make me feel better,” Tessa whispered to her friend, clutching at the edge of the table until her knuckles popped white.

“I can’t,” her friend said back, and she knew in that moment that it was over. The unfiltered joy she had felt voting for the first female president just 12 hours earlier, how powerful and in control she exuded as she walked into her office that morning. Gone. The whiskey went straight to her head, now throbbing, and her whole body shivered at the shock.

Tessa trudged around the city the next day, mourning alongside millions of others doing the same. She loved the camaraderie in sadness that existed in New York City in those hours and days afterwards, knowing that everyone was spinning in circles too, their flags at half-mast.

But now she had to go home to Wisconsin. A state she abhorred, filled with overweight, undereducated people who clung to their conservative ideals with as much loyalty as their God. Just imagining the church service she would have to attend this Sunday made her stomach turn in disgust. Thank you oh Lord for blessing us with this man, for helping so many see the light of truth and righteousness. As if God, if he did exist, would go within several hundred miles of the White House once the president-elect moved in.

Tessa thought about calling Candace from the terminal a dozen times to wriggle her way out of coming home, but then she remembered her last visit around Christmas the year prior and how it ended. Her father had just been diagnosed and saw imminent death as a clarion call for an onslaught of his favorite brand of straight talk.

“You know, now that I’m going to die,” He said with a chuckle as he carved the turkey and Candace quietly sobbed and snotted into her napkin, “I think it’s time to finally buy that rifle I’ve been eyeing over at Jack’s. There’s no use in saving up that money for time that’s never going to come.”

Tessa rolled her eyes, always immune to her father’s self pity that had lived like a fourth family member in their house almost her whole life. Candace cornered her in the kitchen later that night as she was washing the dishes. “We’ve got to do something about Dad,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “This is literally the worst thing that’s ever happened and you’re not doing anything.”

“Literally, it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened, Candy.” Tessa knew that her sister hated when she called her Candy almost as much as when Tessa projected her New York City sensibility on her. “The shit that’s been happening in San Bernardino a few weeks ago, now that’s the worst thing. Fourteen people dead. We’ve got a gun crisis on our hands and we’re all just sitting around pretending that owning assault rifles is some kind of American birthright.”

“Fuck, Tessa, can’t you just stop spewing this New York Times shit at me for one minute and focus on your own fucking family?” This made Tessa pause. Candace never swore. She had talked like a kindergarten teacher for as long as Tessa could remember. Just shy of three years older than Tessa, she always carried herself like the de facto mother neither of them could remember.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try to do something.” But both Candace and Tessa knew that she wouldn’t. She had moved all the way out to New York because she knew it was a place that neither of them would ever visit her. Candace had sent her a letter a few months into living in Brooklyn that just read, Looked your apartment up on Google Maps. God, Tessa, I don’t know how you do it. Don’t get hurt. Love, C. She lived in Fort Greene, for Christ’s sake. But there were some battles that just weren’t worth fighting; it seemed like she was battling on all sides these days.

Tessa had tried calling and checking in on her Dad, she really had. But as the humid spring gave way to a viscous summer and convention season began, she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to him laugh alongside Trump as he mocked a family of a fallen soldier or echo the stump speeches and one-liners he soaked up from hours of watching Fox News. Even as his words began to slur and memory faded, after Candace would call her in thick, obnoxious tears pleading for her to come home, Tessa found ways to avoid making that flight. “It just isn’t the right time. Things are crazy right now,” she would tell her sister before hanging up the phone and heading out to smoke weed and shoot picklebacks at a rooftop bar.

So she did not call to cancel now, much as she wanted to. Instead, she read Ta-Nehisi Coates on the flight and blasted Lemonade and stuffed dry peanuts in her mouth to prepare herself for the world she was landing into, a world where she knew that most of the people she had grown up with wouldn’t bat an eyelash if suddenly all of the water fountains and bathrooms and schools in town were Whites Only.

***

Early November in northern Wisconsin is a cruel time of year. When she landed in Milwaukee and drove her rental car forty-five minutes up to West Bend, the clouds hung low and gray in the sky like they were holding their breath for winter too. A steely wind slapped against the car as she drove and she found herself having to actively stop herself from turning the car around and flying back to the safety of her bodegas and beer gardens and discerning podcast listeners.

When new friends asked her where she was from she would give away information begrudgingly in small morsels: the midwest, near Chicago, Milwaukee-area, and, if she was unlucky enough to talk to a fellow Wisconsinite, finally West Bend. Sometimes she lied and said Madison so she could joke about it being an island amidst a sea of crazy but she had visited just once and could only wax poetic about the farmer’s market for so long before she was discovered.

On select occasions a look of recognition crept slowly on the listener’s face. “Wait, wait, I’ve heard of West Bend. Why does it sound so familiar.” Tessa would sit there, knowing full well what their brain was searching for, but unwilling to say it aloud. “Oh wait, yeah, I remember! Y’all were the people who sued your own library for having books with gay characters, yeah? With that church that wanted money for it being so ‘disturbing’, right?”

She would nod slightly, averting their eye contact, and pretending she could hear someone call her name from across the bar. “Uh, yeah,” she would say and then run away. She hated being associated even in passing reference to such ardent stupidity and she got a B.A. in Political Science from an expensive private liberal arts school in the Northeast as a defiant push against it.

When she arrived in West Bend, she saw with dismay that the red and blue TRUMP/PENCE signs littering almost every lawn had survived the recent sleet storms. Some were as large as the front doors behind them, waving arrogant and proud in the icy wind. It made her sick to think how many joyous celebrations were still taking place inside these lower middle class split levels; men drinking beers and watching the Packers while the women giggled from the kitchen, living comfortably in their gender roles.

Candace hated when she made these sweeping generalizations. “What good was that pricey college degree if it just taught you to hate everyone you grew up with? Everyone who loves you?” She had asked once when Tessa was home from her first semester. Like Candace contributed a cent to that college fund, she practically strong armed their father into not paying for any of it either. 

“It’s not us that hate everyone,” Tessa spat back. “We just don’t tolerate people who perpetuate white supremacy and systemic oppression.”

Candace sighed. “You learn all these big words that teach you to hate your own people. But when you’re in trouble, who’s going to take you in? Your black friends in the Bronx or wherever or your own family?”

That conversation rattled within Tessa for years afterwards, following her like a specter of a past and identity she could not shake. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why she had been able to escape those narrow mindsets her sister and father and classmates had all embraced so easily. But now that she knew everything that she knew, it was impossible to go back –– both intellectually but also physically, to enter the home that she had grown up safe and happy and healthy with anything but a thick layer of disdain.

***

She pulled into the driveway just as the last of the dull light faded in the sky. She could see the yellow lights from the kitchen window and a shadow of her sister, heavy-set and scrambling, and the flickering whites and blues of the television from the other room, likely with her father reclined and mumbling. She turned off the engine and closed her eyes, bracing herself before her entrance, not knowing whether she would be more saddened by the hundreds of pill bottles cluttering every counter and tabletop or the Make America Great Again poster hanging in the dining room. For a second, a flash of shame filled her like an electric shock; could she ever feel real pain for her dying father if she couldn’t let go of her pulsing contempt? At this moment, sitting alone in the driveway where he had taught her to ride a bike and lifted her up off the concrete every time she fell, she did not know.

Her father’s cancer had been slow but ruthless, crawling through and licking every surface it touched like an encroaching wildfire. When Candace first called her over a year ago, Tessa had been in bed with a boy she had met at a bar down the street. Frank, perhaps, or maybe Francisco, she couldn’t remember. He had spent twenty minutes going down on her and she didn’t stop him although his tongue flitted in and out of her aggressively like it was blindly trying to find the exit. She finally had coaxed him out of her vagina when the phone rang and her sister’s straight-toothed smile flashed on her screen. Moment over. She pulled up her panties and answered while Frank/Francisco heaved to the side of her bed.

“Yeah, Candace can I call you back?”

“T-Tess––” Then a cascade of sniffles. “Tessa. You’ve got to come home. Dad, he’s––” Another cascade, this time punctured by heavy sobs.

“God dammit, Candace. What? What’s up with dad?”

“He’s got,” Candace’s voice dropped to a whisper, “he’s got cancer, Tessa. In his bones. He’s got what the doctor’s are calling Osteosarcoma and he’s not going to get better.”

A ring had begun in Tessa’s left ear, a baritone hum that grew and echoed. Soon, it reverberated through the right ear too until Tessa let her head drop to her pillow and eyes pull shut.

“Uh, are you okay?” The boy whose tongue had been inside her just seconds ago pressed his finger to her arm tentatively. “Should I, um, go now?”

Tessa could not remember what she said to him, could not remember how or when he left, but the next time she opened her eyes, she was alone in her room, her mouth dry and eyelids crusted at the edges. She saw six missed calls from Candace and one from her father. She called him.

“Daddy?”

“Hey baby.” Tessa had spent the better part of her late teens and twenties distancing herself emotionally and physically from her father. She dyed her inherited blonde hair a dark umber and ran ten miles a day to outpace her father’s genetically poor metabolism; she policed her Wisconsin accent with its long a’s and o’s and dontcha knows, sliding into the neutral tones of transplants all over New York. But it took just those two words to catapult her back into her childhood home, sitting on the couch squeezed between her father and sister watching old Law & Order reruns.

“Daddy, I’m so –– I don’t know what to say. How are you feeling?”

“Well, I been better, sweetheart. But you know Candace, she’s got me set up with everything I’d need, like we’re going down into a bunker or something. I told her, ‘the doc said I gotta year to live, no need to treat me like infirm already.” He laughed quietly and fell silent. Tessa didn’t know what to say. She stared at the wall across from her bed, Gloria Steinem holding a sign that read “We Shall Overcome” stared back.

“Are you getting chemo? What are you going to do?” She felt like a puppy dog clawing at the toes of their owner, desperate for a resolution to their anguish they did not understand.

“I’m not sure, honey. I spent this whole day at the hospital squirming with Obamacare welfare junkies and whatnot. Not sure there’s much else those doctors can do for me. They got me on a whole cocktail of drugs, don’t worry, I’m going to be as loopy as the kids you hang out with in Brooklyn every day.”

“Okay, dad. I’m going to come home soon okay? I’ll see when I can get some time off of work and then I’ll fly out and we’ll figure it all out. I’ll be there before you know it.”

That was September, just as New York’s air had begun to deflate into a cool, short Fall. She didn’t go home until the end of December and by then, there wasn’t anything much left to figure out. Her father was dying and there wasn’t anything to be done.

Almost a year had passed since that last visit and now she sat in the driveway of her childhood home and practiced breathing exercises she had learned at Vinyasa Yoga classes.

Breathe in with the whole body and out. The tips of her fingers trembled in the cold. She walked up to her door and considered knocking for a second before twisting the handle. The house was cleaner than she had been expecting, teeming with the smell of lysol and simmering garlic tomatoes. She knew that smell well: a staple of her youth. Before it had been uncool, her friends loved coming over to her house for dinner: her father’s thick, creamy pasta sauces –– garlicky and herbaceous. He loved to cook for a crowd, sent her to school with plastic tupperware packed with last night’s feast enough to share with her whole lunch table. She was embarrassed by the assertiveness of the aromas –– how they overtook the room of Lunchables and peanut butter sandwiches –– but she slurped up each noodle anyways, loving how it warmed every inch of her mouth, throat, and stomach as she swallowed.

She turned the corner into the kitchen and saw Candace at the stove, slowly stirring the sauce as it splattered across the counter and up her forearms. She flinched and then saw Tessa.

“You’re here. Thank god. I was beginning to worry the food might get cold waiting on you.” Candace threw a roll of paper towels at her. “Now wash off all that plane grime and we’ll sit down to eat in a sec. Dad’s in the living room.” She jerked her head towards the other room as if Tessa might have forgotten where that was in only the year since she had been home.

“‘Kay. Nice to see you again,” Tessa said, waiting for her sister’s begrudging nod and smile before continuing to the living room.

“Daddy?” Tessa peered through the door into the dark room, the only light throbbing from the television screen. House Hunters played on mute. “Daddy, I’m going to turn on the lights okay?” She flipped on the lights and almost screamed at the sight of the room now illuminated. In the year since she had been home the living room had transformed from a clichéd, frilly, TV den with embroidered bible quotes on throw pillows and clean glass surfaces to a makeshift hospice. She could barely see her father embraced by a deep recliner and swallowed by wires attached to monitors and tubes attached to hanging bags. The floor was littered with old pill bottles, just as she had expected, but also with napkins stained with dried up blood and gray clumps of hair.

When she finally got a full view of her father, she had to do a double take. All of her life, her father had been an intimidating man –– scaring off prom dates and trick-or-treaters with his wide shoulders and thick gut. She had known that it would be bad; Candace had warned her –– “It’s metastatic, that means the cancer’s eaten out his bones and now has started eating other things too. His lungs, his throat…” She had trailed off then, or maybe Tessa had stopped listening. Either way, nothing could have prepared her for seeing her father look like the carved out inside of a man –– wearing the remains of his bones and veins and decaying muscles on the outside of his body.

She kneeled next to him and grabbed his hand. She hadn’t realized before that he was sleeping. “It’s me, Tessa. I’m here.”

He opened his eyes and parted his cracked lips into a half-smile. “Hi honey. You here for Thanksgiving already?”

“No, Daddy, it’s not quite Thanksgiving yet. I’m here just to visit you.”

Her father let out a gruff laugh, somewhere between a wheeze and a chuckle. “Oh dammit, don’t tell me I’m dying already. I was just dreaming I was golfing in Mexico again and I really thought I was going to do it this time.” Tessa rolled her eyes. How could a man that looked like an alternate reality version of her father still be so unmistakably him?

“You hungry? Candace made your special pasta.”

His mouth turned downward as he scrunched up his nose. “Not that filth again.” He lowered his voice to somewhere even below a whisper, “Don’t tell your sister this, honey, but she’s a terrible cook. I haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“Dad!” Tessa tapped his hand lightly. “You’ve gotta eat. No wonder you’re looking like the first guy on the food chain.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl. Good to have you home. Now bring out some noodles, no sauce and I’ll see if I can work some magic.”

She returned to the kitchen. Candace was scrubbing the pans in the sink vigorously, muttering a string of curse words under her breath.

“So, do you usually eat in the living room with him?” Tessa asked.

“Some days. Honestly, Tess, it’s been next level depressing to stay in there all the time with him. He won’t eat and I hate cooking, you know that. Sometimes I’ll just get so tired I’ll just take a plate up to my room and watch TV instead. You haven’t been here so you don’t ––” Tessa sensed Candace winding up for one of her soliloquies, so she walked over to her sister and rubbed her shoulder.

“You’re right. I haven’t been here. But I’m here now. Whatever I can do to help, I will.”

***

It didn’t take more than two days at home for Tessa to begin falling into a deep pit of equal parts fury and despair. It was bad enough that Candace had convinced herself that she must be her father’s nursemaid, attending to his every need with an exacting level of care that drove both Tessa and her father up a wall.

They would be sitting in the living room watching another rerun of Law and Order: True Crime, nearly bordering on a nice moment, when Candace would jump out of her chair with the inertia of an electric shock and run to the kitchen to find whatever pill their father had to take, all the while mumbling, “I can’t believe I almost forgot. I can’t believe it. If I had forgotten, who knows what could have happened. How could I forget?”

The stress Candace placed upon herself rippled out to poison them all. Every time an alarm went off on Candace’s phone, Tessa watched her father twitch and scrunch up his eyes in a kind of pain she had never before witnessed from him. He was a man transformed from the one she had known growing up. He had been a heavy, sharp presence in her life. The kind of man to yell at his children in restaurants for spilling their juice, to push them into playing team sports even if all they wanted to do was chase butterflies through the soccer field, to demand longform birth certificates from their boyfriends.

Tessa had spent enough time unpacking her father’s mind games during overpriced armchair therapy sessions in wide-windowed offices on the Upper West Side to know how this had affected her upbringing. Ladies with round glasses and high-waisted khakis would say cookie-cutter phrases like, “It sounds like you still harbor a lot of resentment about your father,” and Tessa would laugh all the way to the bar.

When she told Candace that she was seeing a therapist, her sister’s voice had dropped to whisper. “Don’t tell dad,” she said, “You know he thinks therapy is a liberal conspiracy.”

She did and she loved telling her therapists about her father’s conspiracy theories, as if the only reason she paid $200 a session was to give them a well-rounded character arc. Sometimes, although she would never give her sister or father the satisfaction of knowing this, she wondered if therapy was indeed some kind of machination on the part of a government that wanted to fill its people with an unending supply of self-doubt. She bought it in bulk from Whole Foods alongside the kale smoothies that would also likely give her father a conniption.

Now that her father’s sharpness had melted along with his beer belly and thick jowl, revealing a softer, calmer man, Tessa thought that maybe she wouldn’t have to have the conversation with him that she dreaded the most. She had been home for nearly three days, with just passing mentions and references made to the recent political shift in the country, before they stumbled upon it head-on and must as she attempted to pivot away, it was too late.

They had just finished up lunch –– tuna fish for her, mashed potatoes for him –– when he looked up at her with his shrunken face and asked, “So how is your snowflake island dealing with the latest reality check?” For a man with nearly no muscle on his body, he sure didn’t pull his punches. This was the father she had slyly avoided for the last nine years; the man who demanded a recount at her elementary school class president elections when the girl who campaigned on building a compost heap won, the man who created a facebook page just to share articles he found on Conservative Daily.

She thought about saying nothing, biting the insides of her cheeks until they burned like she had so many times in her childhood. Unlike when he would say things like this over the phone, she could not just roll her eyes and make up a quick excuse to hang up. She had to say something.  

“Well, we’re not doing so great, dad,” she said, her eyes bouncing across every surface in the living room to avoid her father’s eye contact. “I’ve never seen so many people cry in public than on November 9th. On the bus, in the streets, waiting in line at the pharmacy. People think their lives are in danger.”

He sighed and shook his head. If he had been the man he once was, he might have raised his voice, but he couldn’t anymore. He could only mumble. “Danger from what? The only people who are in danger are those who don’t deserve to be here anyways. I honestly don’t understand why you can’t get that. It’s like you’re pretending that the first eighteen years of your life never happened. Like nothing I said mattered at all.”

Tessa knew she shouldn’t be shocked anymore by the things her father said. Nothing should shock her, and yet. “No, I don’t even want to have this conversation with you. How is it up to you to decide who deserves to be here or not? Why do we deserve to be here just because we’re white?”

“White! This fucking liberal arts education I shelled out for really did a number on you, Tessa. Paid $200,000 for you to hate yourself and your own family. This has nothing to do with being white and you know that.”

There was no arguing with a brick wall –– this was the logic she had used to squirm and sidestep her way out of confrontation with her dear, dying father for the last year. He was a brick wall, now cemented even further in righteousness due to the victory of his belief systems personified.“I can’t, anymore,” she said and held her hands up and walked away.

***

Her father didn’t die, at least not right away, like Candace thought he would. He lived from day to day, breath to breath. In the early mornings when frost crept like spidery fingers across the window panes, Tessa would wake up and touch his shoulder lightly, half-expecting him not to open his eyes. But he kept living –– angrier and more hollow every day.

A month into being back at home, Tessa spent most of the interminable hours of the afternoon when Candace was at work and her dad slept scrolling through flights and trains and rental cars she never booked. The longer she stayed, the more her feet sunk in the quicksand of her childhood home. She knew she’d suffocate soon, but she couldn’t get herself to move.

Headlines pierced the vortex of everyday life: CIA concludes with 'high confidence' Russia tried 'to help Trump get elected'; Trump chooses fossil fuel industry ally to head EPA; Trump attends 'heroes and villains' costume party as himself. Outside of the vortex, the world churned.

After he could not keep down his lunch, she wiped the vomit off her dad’s chin. When he fell off his chair trying to get the TV remote, she picked his bones back up, horrified at how easy they were to lift. As she walked by the living room one day, she pretended that she could not hear his brittle, aching sobs. It didn’t take four weeks for her to come to wish that she wanted him to die. And she soothed her own aching sobs by assuring herself that he likely wanted to die too.

Candace, meanwhile, was quickly unraveling in her own way. She had stopped doing the dishes and keeping the rest of the house clean, so soon the maelstrom of the living room infected every other room too. Although she only worked four hour shifts these days at Kohl’s on Main St., she wouldn’t come home until well after dinner –– usually plain noodles, rice, or cereal these days –– and arrive with her hair matted and eyes darting, making up lazy excuses about a broken exhaust pipe or customer service emergency. Tessa thought that perhaps this was Candace’s way of exacting revenge for not being there all those months of spoonfeeding and doctor’s visits and chemotherapy.

One thing was certain: each of them were completely alone. Her father –– empty, dying, boorish eyes in the body of a house of cards, falling but not fast enough to the end. Her sister –– one knot atop another, bloody fingertips, a mind meandering off the ledge. And Tessa –– the one who finally came home and stayed, but still every morning awoke with a jolt to notice that she was back in her childhood bedroom. The world spun on while they spun out.“You know I love you, right?” Her father said one day as they sat, for hours in silence, watching the wind thump against the branches of the bare willow tree in the front yard.

She pondered that for a moment. Maybe she hadn’t known. “Yes, of course, daddy,” she said instead, reaching out to pat his hand, pulsing with thick, purple veins. “And I love you too.”

He smiled and put his hand over hers and they sat there in silence once more for another two hours.

A week later her father was dead.