#like his backside was just something else during this tour

[misskattylashes]

So Miles designed a lot of the EYCTE wardrobe with Ray Brown. Was his main brief 'Just design trousers that show off that peach to its fullest'?

[gallusrostromegalus]

I haven't seen any dog stories in a while. How are Charleston and The Hanukkah Goblin doing?

Dog updates!

The first one is a little sad, but also how life should go. Arwen is 14 now and while she's still moving, eating, pooping and generally enjoying life, she also has canine dementia and sundown syndrome where she gets extremely nervous and her dementia gets worse after dark. She'll be with us for a while yet, but it's something we have to manage now.

One person who is very much helping her manage is Herschel. My parents are traveling a lot while they still have the knees for it so I spend a lot of time up at their house, and Charleston and Herschel come up too. Being a Corgi, Herschel likes to manage things, and Arwen would like someone to manage things for her so he's become her self-appointed guide dog.

When I call the dogs for food or outside, he goes and finds her deaf ass and herds her to the location. Normally she doesn't go outside after dark but when the boys are there she's willing to wait for Charlie to chase away anything that might be lurking out there, and then follow Herschel's ass around the yard at night.

Very literally.

She's also got cataracts forming and I think his bright white backside is easy for her to see in the dark, so she follows it around.

During daytime walks she sees well enough but neither she nor Charlie are fans of strange off-leash dogs running up to them (a regrettably common problem out here. I don't care if your dog is friendly MINE ARE NOT!), so both of them prefer to walk half a pace behind Herschel so his more socially adept and knife-filled face is out front to intercept any unwanted solicitors. This does tend to give people the opposite impression though- because he is so much shorter, Herschel gives the impression of a tiny, charming mafioso flanked by his two large and surly bodyguards.

Like, they absolutely would kill a bear for him.

But Charlie and Arwen would also try to kill a bear on general principle.

At night, when Arwen barks at shadows, Herschel runs up and stand between her and the alleged menace, and does his best to look large and intimidating and for as silly as he looks, he does have a very good growl. After a moment, when the alleged bear or congressman or other horror fails to appear, he will stick his nose into the offending shadow, and finding nothing, be satisfied that their joint effort has successfully chased the problem off, and report back to her. This, more than anything else, seems to alleviate Arwen 's fears.

I guess we all just need someone to take us seriously when we're frightened.

Charleston, meanwhile, has gotten into giving safari tours of the front range's small vertebrates.

After eight years of managing his exceptionally high prey drive, something clicked earlier this summer and instead of immediately lunging his whole face at any approximately bite-sized animal in an attempt to expedite it's journey into his stomach, Charlie has started *pointing* at things until I come look at them and tell him he's a good boy. This started with a mole, something he'd never seen before and that moves above ground in a strange way, so he wasn't sure about eating it, so he only alerted at it. "GOOD BOY!" I shouted, giving him all the cuddles. "GOOD SPOT! GOOD JOB NOT EATING IT!"

It's important to reward behavior you want to see.

Since then, he's been trying out pointing at small creatures in the grass and then making very pointed eye contact with me until I come look at them. This is a little tricky when walking both dogs because Herschel is still very much in his "inhale wildlife" phase, but usually I can lock the little gremlin's leash and go look at whatever Charlie has cornered while Herschel attempts to develop telekinesis to will the critter into his mouth.

So far, Charleston has found: a baby rabbit, several baby rabbits in a cluster, an adult rabbit with Jackalope virus, several voles, several moles, a fledgling owl, only the two mice, several mouse-sized grasshoppers and cicada, someone's pet rat (the person was searching within earshot and 'Socks' was collected forthwith), a beanie baby that had me fooled for a hit minute too, a marmot which I didn't know lived down here, a groundhog which I didn't know lived up here, a mink, so many toads, a wild turkey chick, so many more garter snakes and last night, an aquatic shrew.

I don't know if there's an Audubon Society for small things that scuttle around in the undergrowth, but I am inclined to join solely to get Charleston recognition for his service in surveying them.

[badomensbaby]

buzz cut baby. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend, luke, returns home one night with a surprise. your reaction, however, wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. safe sane and consensual, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, established relationship, masturbation, flirting / teasing.

words: 3,910

a/n: i hate that i have friends because what the fuck! why do i do this to myself? anyway, i love buzz cut luke. enjoy!

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

Copyright © 2024 badomensbaby. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

You’ve always adored Luke’s curls.

Honestly, they’re probably what drew you to Luke in the first place all those years ago. Initially, anyway. 

It was some influencer party in the hills that your best friend dragged you to as a plus one, citing there would be hot guys and a pool and live music from a top-charting band, that you’d be stupid to decline. That shutting yourself away following your breakup wasn’t the best way to cope. 

And, in a way, you’ll really never be able to thank her for that. If you would’ve fought harder, resisted just the tiniest bit more, you would have never seen those bouncy, bleached curls and dark roots in the kitchen, messing around with a keg he swore harbored a personal vendetta against him. 

His curls might’ve been the reason you noticed him, but everything that followed was Luke just being himself. Stupidly charming but awkward and fumbly, especially when you offered to help and probably got way too close. 

You didn’t know him, not really, and finding out two hours later that you were the reason the band’s frontman was late to play their short set for everyone in attendance was a smack in the face. For all you knew, you were locking lips and clenching your thighs around the long, long fingers of some Hollywood wannabe. 

He wasn’t, though, he was Luke fucking Hemmings. And he had your cum on the edges of his lips while he sang about falling in love for the first time. 

That night was so unlike you. You weren’t fond of hookups, only long-term relationships that seemed to fail for one reason or another, but that didn’t entirely derail you. 

You didn’t know Luke but that night changed the course of both of your lives for the better, you’d like to think.

-

It’s six-thirty in the evening when your phone rings on the island. Interrupting your jam session, aided by the scent of the roasted chicken you’ve had in the oven the last hour and a half, a picture of Luke post-concert with his tongue dragging across your cheek flashing on your screen. 

“Hi, handsome,” You greet him, a smile tugging at your lips. He’s been at the studio since seven, planning the second half of his upcoming tour and reserving hotels with his team. You’ll never understand how he does it. 

“Hi honey,” He drawls softly, a sigh of relief following but there’s a hint of something in his voice that straightens your shoulders and furrows your brows. “What’s my perfect girl up to?”

“Just making dinner,” You say, leaning your backside against the island while you peek once more through the oven window. “How’s work? You almost finished?”

Luke hums in confirmation. “On my way home, actually. And..” He tapers off, the sound of his car chirping faintly in the background as he unlocks it. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“For me?” You feel heat rise instantly to your cheeks. Luke’s always giving you little surprises, likely since he’ll be kicking off the second part of his tour in just about two months means he’s feeling a bit guilty. He had done that during his first round, as well as the band’s tour last year. Luke always hates leaving you. 

“For you,” He hums again. The warmth seeping through your phone’s speaker speaks something else entirely though, a more lustful tilt to his voice. “I’ll be home in thirty. Think you can wait in the bedroom for me, pretty?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. Fifteen minutes until the chicken is done. “I think I can make that work,” You tease lightly, as if you’d ever think about saying no. Time spent with Luke is always appreciated, as you never really know when he’ll be swept away on another tour or some fashion show abroad. “Drive safe. I love you.”

“Always. I love you.” He says before promptly hanging up.

For the next fifteen minutes, you clean up best you can around the kitchen. Not that you had left it a disaster but you couldn’t stand to see a single dish in the sink. Once the chicken had been taken out and covered to keep warm while Luke was giving you your surprise, you trek upstairs with warmth pooling in your stomach and excitement riddling your veins. 

Though the unspoken promise of something intimate had been shared, you still weren’t sure how far exactly you should go. You settle for keeping your current outfit on, a simple sundress Luke had gotten for you the summer before — a baby blue satin fabric with small daisies printed on it, back propped against the headboard and a pillow in your lap as you wasted away the remaining minutes until Luke’s arrival scrolling through Instagram. 

Your toes tingle and your thighs involuntarily clench when you hear the front door fall shut. When Luke’s voice calls out a sing-songy, “Honey, I’m home!” that echoes up the staircase into your bedroom. You toss your phone carelessly aside and sit up, cheeks warm and fingers drumming excitedly on the pillow still in your lap.

“In here!” You call back. 

The sound of Luke’s shoes thump on the staircase, slow and calculated steps that make the warmth in your stomach ignite into a full on flame. Rising to your chest and resulting in your breath speeding up. He stops just outside of the cracked bedroom door. “Cover your eyes for me, would you, doll?”

It isn’t an unusual request, given your bedroom dynamic. So, you comply, placing both hands over your eyes. “Alright, I’m not peeking I swear.” You say. 

The door creaks lightly. “Keep ‘em closed,” You hear him say, a bit closer now. “You’re excited, huh? You’re blushing all over, baby.”

“I like your surprises,” You say honestly, softly, producing a light chuckle from your boyfriend. Your heart rate doubles from the titillation that fills the room. “Is it that pretty see-through set you saw me looking at the other week? I wanted to save that for your birthday, but—“

“Open.” Luke interrupts you lowly. 

You quickly remove your hands, blinking rapidly from the change to the bright room. 

It definitely isn’t that pretty lingerie set. 

A loud, sharp gasp falls from your mouth. You reel back, eyes widened, and goosebumps trail every surface of your flushed skin. 

Long gone are the blonde ringlets and dark roots that curled around the tips of Luke’s ears. The curls that you often found your fingers sinking into for comfort, or for pleasure, the curls you’d wash on the bad days and style on the good ones. 

“You’re bald.” You blurt in a panic. 

Your brain tries, tries so hard to make sense but there’s a big piece of the puzzle missing. Something that’s been such a heavy, big part of Luke for so long. The thing you noticed first about him. Gone. Shaved down and smothered in bleach. 

Luke raises one amused brow but the undertone of his own panic is evident. A nervous chuckle escapes him. “I’m not bald. I just shaved my head,” He says. “Do you.. not like it?”

“I.. don’t know,” You answer honestly in a breath. “I.. your curls.. why did you—?” Slowly, you climb off of the bed, hesitantly approaching your boyfriend standing still near the dresser. “What am I supposed to hold on to while you fuck me now?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Luke’s shoulders deflate, tension dissipating from them. “Y/N, I’ve talked about shaving my head before. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, babe. My ends were dead.”

“Yeah, but—! I thought you were joking!” You splutter, cheeks hot and furiously pink. “What the hell am I supposed to pull on now, your ears? I can’t deal with this right now.” 

“Y/N,” Luke steps toward you, hands hesitantly reaching for your hips to make contact. You let him but your chest continues rising and falling quickly while your eyes roam his short, short hair. “Getting rid of my curls doesn’t mean I’ve gotten rid of my ability to fuck you. What’s going inside your head?”

“It’s — a lot,” You say. “I wasn’t expecting it, like at all,” You reach a hand up to graze the fuzzy top of Luke’s head. It feels weird, the short hairs tickling the palm of your hand. “I’m serious though, Luke. Sex won’t be the same now.”

“That isn’t true,” Luke tugs the corner of his lip between his teeth, a habit still exhibited often despite the lip ring being long gone. “Baby, you know that isn’t true. C’mon, you don’t think I look like some bad boy from one of your romance novels?”

A smile threatens your lips but you stifle it, pursing them. You’re meant to be mad, your brain just can’t compute the sudden change, even if it was the best decision for his bleach-fried curls. You adored them. 

“Shut up,” You huff. “Don’t try to get me on your side.”

“Why? I’m having fun over here,” Luke’s fingers drum on your hips, teasing and threatening to pinch the fabric of your dress between his fingertips. “You’re really this upset about not being able to pull on my hair when I fuck you?”

When he says it like that, you feel stupid. But yes, you are, because it wasn’t something just for you. Luke loved getting his curls tugged while he ate you out, or fucked you, even from behind. He liked the pain, the urgency of it. This isn’t just about you. 

“You like — liked — it too,” Your pink lips jut into a pout. “Maybe I’m being unreasonable but yes— I’m a little upset.”

“Alright,” He hums, digging his fingers momentarily into your hips, thumbing the prominent bones there. He knows you’re sensitive. You think maybe he might part from you, your breaths bated as you hang on to his every movement. “I’ll just have to prove it to you, then.”

You swallow harshly. “Prove what to me?”

“That I can fuck you so well my curls will be the last thing on your mind,” He says, tongue trailing on the inside of his lower lip before clicking off the roof of his mouth. “How many orgasms will it take, huh? I’m thinking three.”

“Oh,” You breathe out. “I don’t know if that’ll be enough.”

“Oh, really?” A crooked grin tugs at Luke’s lips, brows raised curiously. “Four, maybe? I bet if I fuck you stupid long enough you’ll cum without a fucking touch.”

Good Lord.

You can’t trust yourself to respond. Luke isn’t a vulgar person often, and most of the time your bedroom affairs fluctuate depending on either of your mood. One night you could be draped over the mattress with Luke’s tongue tracing his own name on your heat and another riding him with slow, slow tilts of your hips as the sun comes up. It’s never the same experience twice. 

But this time — you have a feeling tonight will blow every other night out of the water. 

“Guess I should start off with an apology,” He mutters, almost missable between your ears, words lagged and not understood before Luke’s dropping to his knees before you. Wide, soft blue eyes with inky, dark lashes blinking up at you. Ringed fingers still clasping your hips. 

It takes you a moment to realize he’s silently asking for permission, as he does often, and you nod. Your tongue is so tied you’re afraid nothing good will escape your mouth if you were to make an attempt to respond verbally. Luke’s hands slowly slide along the fabric loosely clung to your thighs, speed consistent as he grabs hold of the hem and brings it upward. 

With one hand balled around the fabric of your dress, resting just below your stomach, you feel Luke’s warm fingers trace the material of your underwear. Teasing you. Taunting you. All the while your handsome boyfriend keeps his eyes locked on yours, a startled breath is knocked out of you when he begins mouthing at your clothed heat. Teeth threatening your covered clit. 

He’s always been impatient, and that sentiment proves right once again as he tugs the material to the side and wastes no time tasting you. Wedging himself between your thighs even as they rumble, even if the position isn’t the most desirable. His tongue traces every inch sincerely, writing his apology in the form of circles and figure eights and capturing your clit between his lips so suddenly it makes your knees threaten to buckle. 

You feel it in the way he moans at the simplest taste of you, the I’m sorry he hadn’t said aloud. You feel it in the way his fingers eagerly slide alongside his tongue and fill you, keeping you steady despite the desperation to fall apart right there. 

“Luke,” You whimper helplessly, his eyes threatening to fall away from yours and flutter closed in pure bliss. He loves this just as much as you do, if not more. This man was made to eat pussy. You’d bet your life on it. “God-“

He takes your strained whines and moans and ragged breaths endearingly, curling his fingers to reach the perfect spot that pulls a broken moan from deep within you. Every shake of your thighs, every wave of pleasure that builds in the pit of your stomach and threatens to crash over you, he eagerly takes it in stride. Luke knows you won’t last long but surely he’s counting on it. 

His mouth retreats, fingers still curled inside and finding every spot that makes you whimper. Luke looks fucking wrecked already, and if you thought you were in for it before, the sight of Luke spitting directly onto your clit nearly makes you cum on the spot. It’s demeaning and dirty in the best way, before eye contact is fully broken and Luke dives back in like he’ll never taste you again. 

It’s mainly his eagerness that turns you on the most. The desire he possesses to pleasure you, to worship you. You feel it when Luke begins to suck on your clit again, the dam threatening to break and drown you both. Without a thought, your hand flies to his head, grasping the back of it and holding him against you. Orgasm building and building, prickling the base of your spin and the tips of your toes, stomach tightening as he works his fingers and tongue in some kind of foreplay crescendo. 

The violins and cellos that resemble moans from the man with his tongue buried inside of you and the ones spilling from your lips build until you’re letting go. It feels insatiable. And you’re absolutely blubbering just as much as you rock through it, Luke’s fingers slowing and tongue working to lap every remnant of your release in earnest. 

Your mind feels hazy, post-orgasm, knees weak as Luke’s arm slithers around your backside to keep you upright. You spare a glance at him, when the bleariness fades from your vision, to see his lips glistening beneath the bedroom lights. Tongue dancing around every inch of his mouth to capture your taste and savor it. “I don’t know if I accept your apology yet.” You huff between broken breaths, thumb idly swaying back and forth across the side of his head. 

A look of challenge flashes in Luke’s eyes. “I figured,” He says, thumb swiping the top of his lip before dragging his tongue along the digit. Luke slowly rises to his feet. “Let’s get you more comfortable, hm?”

You nod, despite the lack of explanation as to what more comfortable really means, as you’re being handled rather briskly and bent over the edge of your bed. A small oh escapes you. 

“Get those knees up, doll. I can’t be doing all the work here,” Luke says, tapping your thighs. Sluggishly, you do as he says, now on your hands and knees, ankles just barely hanging off the bed’s edge. “Hm.”

Your dress is rucked up once more, now pooling around your lower back, underwear still pulled to the side and a low whistle sounds from behind you. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?” Luke groans lowly. “I swear to God, need a picture of your pussy in my wallet.”

You can’t help but moan. Luke’s belt clanks as he unfastens it, clattering to the floor, jeans sliding down his legs. You spare a glance, to see the material gathered at his mid-thigh. He hadn’t taken them off entirely. And for some reason, you find it hot how needy he is for it. 

“Maybe I’ll take a picture,” He continues, as you feel the tip of his cock drag slowly through your wetness, slicking himself. Preparing himself to utterly destroy you as promised. “After I’ve filled you up. Huh? How ‘bout that? A picture of my pretty girl’s pretty pussy full of my cum.”

Your arms wobble, sending your chest directly into the mattress. Only further aiding the ease of Luke entering you, slick and warm and thick as he slides in so effortlessly with a low hiss. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes— God, oh my—“ You mutter against the sheets, turning your head so that your cheek is flat against the soft material. Luke buries himself to the hilt, one hand fastened on your hip while the other is splayed and slowly traveling up your lower back to grab the fabric of your dress. Holding you in place. “Luke, please.”

“Since you’re begging so nicely, my perfect girl,” He says, pulling back only to bury himself inside you once more. It’s so wet and slick and obscene, the sound bouncing off of your bedroom walls alongside his low grunts and your sharp breaths. The angle alone is enough to make you cum, combined with the sensitivity from your orgasm. Luke continues the slow motions, withdrawing his cock only to sink back in. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Too slow,” You grumble. “Faster. Please— for fucksake.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Gagging for it,” He sighs in faux-annoyance, but you know he’s just as desperate to fill you, to claim you and leave you a mess. “As you wish.”

The curled fist against the middle of your back presses harder, pushing your chest flush with the bed with no room for movement. Fingernails sink into the soft flesh of your thighs as Luke’s cock withdraws slowly, one final time, before thrusting so harshly a broken moan is pulled from your throat. No mercy is evident in the way he fucks you, like it’s all you’re meant for, the tip of his cock nudging that spot just barely.

Tears pool in the corners of your eyes. 

“God baby, this pussy was made just for me. So fucking warm and wet,” Luke grits out between harsh exhales through his nose. “Taking my cock so well.”

“Luke,” You reach out desperately, fumbling to grab the sheets between your fingers as your body rocks from his thrusts. He’s been intense like this before, long ago, but you’d be a fucking liar if you said you hadn’t longed for it on the occasion. “Fuck, you feel so good. Please— please don’t stop.”

“I’d be an idiot to stop,” Luke says. “Christ, Y/N, you’re fucking soaked. It’s so fucking hot.”

A sudden wave of something hits you full force. Something more powerful than an average orgasm. Your thighs quiver so harshly that they cramp, Luke’s cock nudging the perfect spot dead on and the only sounds escaping you are desperate pleas and whines that can’t be deciphered. Your head feels like jello, holding on to something that’s begging to be free. So, you do. 

“Oh, fuck—“

The pleasure is almost blinding. Your body feels so warm, on fire practically, and Luke’s thrusts stutter. “Did you just—“

He doesn’t need to ask. You did, you both know it. The way your release floods your thighs, Luke’s cock and dampens the sheets. It’s only happened twice in the time you two have been together, and squirting definitely isn’t something you’ve practiced. 

“Oh fuck, Y/N-“ Luke whines. Broken and breathy, nails digging into your hip so harshly for dear life as he buries himself inside you fully one last time, panting your name on an endless loop as he comes undone. “Fuck.”

After a moment, Luke slowly retracts, and the sound of knees hitting the bedroom floor is unmistakable. You’re in no state to move, vision speckled and blurred, while you somehow manage to keep yourself upright. You aren’t sure if minutes pass or seconds, but you jump slightly when Luke’s hands softly clasp the back of your thighs. 

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Luke says weakly. “Holy shit, Y/N. What a fucking masterpiece.”

No doubt he’s taken a photo or two. Or three, or ten. Luke’s just sentimental like that.

You slowly attempt to rise on shaky arms, but Luke presses his thumbs into your skin with a tut. “Hold on, baby,” He says. The words for what sit on the tip of your tongue but Luke’s actions prevent you from asking, as a sudden warmth meets your most sensitive spot. 

Is he—?

Fuck. 

The tip of Luke’s nose ghosts the soft skin between your holes, as his tongue works to clean the mess you and he had made together. Catching every last bit, with hungry little groans. All you can do is sit and relish in it, in Luke’s desperation to taste himself inside you once more, that you don’t really register a slickness that isn’t due to your boyfriend’s current activity. 

Weakly, you spare a glance between your legs to catch sight of Luke’s arm furiously working. He’s getting off, you realize. To tasting his own cum inside you. 

Luke groans weakly against your pussy, lips quivering and he’s likely finished all over himself. The warmth that floods your stomach is preposterous. Luke backs off. 

“You were that desperate?” You ask, finally turning onto your side to see Luke, pink-cheeked kneeling beside the bed. Eyes wide and glossy as they meet yours. “You got off to eating me out? After cumming inside me?”

“Well, I—“ Luke clears his throat. “M’fucking weak for it, you know that. After I took a picture I just— fuck off.” He turns away, clearly embarrassed. 

“You’re cute,” You laugh softly, thoroughly exhausted and sweaty and way too warm than is desirable right now. “I accept your apology, by the way.”

“Figured,” Luke says. “You didn’t have time to think about my curls,” Reminded once more of the short hair that decorates Luke’s head, your lips part to defend yourself but Luke holds up a silencing finger. “Don’t even, Y/N. You know how long I’ve been dying to make you squirt like that—“

“Luke Robert Hemmings!” You gasp. 

“Just saying! More important things happening than my hair. I need to remember what I did so I can make you do that again-“

“That’s enough out of you, Slim Shady,” You shake your head, cheeks a roaring pink much like Luke’s. His jaw drops from the nickname, slinking back, cock half massed and hanging out of his boxers. “You heard me.”

Luke’s eyes narrow. Before you know it, he’s reaching for your ankles and a squeal escapes you. 

You’re definitely in for a long night. 

You may have always adored Luke’s curls, but you love him just the same without them. 

[tommybaholland]

bnha boys in love [valentine’s edition💗]

featuring: midoriya, bakugo, todoroki, kirishima, kaminari, shinso, amajiki, and dabi

for anyone who might be feeling lonely today, enjoy a lil something from ur fav bnha boy who loves u! 

midoriya is one that gets nervous but tries hard to turn it into excitement when thinking about what he’s going to do for or with you on valentine’s day. as an aspiring hero, he always wants to put a smile on others’ faces and you’re no different. actually, you could be an exception because he loves you and those feelings are different from acts of altruism. rather, he wants to give you something straight from his heart. he’s always wanted to cook dinner for someone else, even after he’s always had his mom make him anything he wanted. he receives some basic guidance for her over the phone but he still has zero clue what he’s doing until kacchan stumbles upon him in the dorm kitchen struggling to cut onions. after some threats, yelling, and lots of arguing, the two manage to make a decent meal, actually a whole spread of food for the night. you’ve never had someone put that much thought or make dinner for you so its absolutely surreal when he presents it to you. the meal itself is really good and the night ends with the you both falling into food comas on the couch, relaxing into one another. 

bakugo seems very distant leading up to the day. he didn’t seem like the type to make a big deal out of valentine’s day. then again, he had never gotten many chances to celebrate it, except reluctantly with classmates and his parents. you didn’t mind how he felt about it but it was strange that you hadn’t seen much of him the past few days. on the day, you want to not think about his absence so you decide to get some training in. not an hour passes before bakugo storms in, “there you are, IDIOT! i’ve been looking everything for you! you’re coming with me..” he doesn’t allow you time to change or shower and instructs you to close your eyes as he leads you by the hand somewhere. he voice goes soft as he stops and tells you to open your eyes. you open them to see your favorite dessert sitting in front of you and a lit candle to complete the ambience. you’re in complete awe. you knew he could cook but had no idea he could bake but he explains that sato helped him with the recipe and how he almost gave up the whole thing because he couldn’t get it right the first few times. he admits it might still not be perfect but he loves you so very much and-- he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before you’re silencing him with a kiss. 

todoroki could give you anything you wanted on a regular basis, being the son of a pro hero and all. it’s this ceiling effect that gets him in a bind for what to do for you because naturally he’d just spoil you extra. but something tells him he shouldn’t focus on the material items but rather the gesture, the sentiment, maybe even the experience. the beginning of the day is slow and lazy, with him coming to your room early in the morning to lay with you in bed. being the sleepy boy he is, he ends up falling asleep on you and you follow close behind. luckily, he set an alarm so you wouldn’t miss what he has planned. he takes you to a hot spring in a secluded location, where you (appropriately) share one together. it’s really nice and relaxing and a different type of alone you get to spend with him. he tries to rub your feet but you won’t let him because you’re ticklish and that starts a little tickle war. you surrender by wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as your ribs ache from laughing so hard. you stare at each other while catching your breath, lips slowly drawing closer. it’s all around a beautiful moment with such a pretty and kind-hearted boy. 

kirishima would save as much as he could to be able to spoil you on this day. he figures; that’s what it’s for, right? this man would try to go above and beyond for you any day because you’re so worth it to him but valentine’s is truly his day to shine. he decides to put together a scavenger hunt which involves one long tour of your previous dates, like the buffet restaurant and the arcade. he even sneaks in little nostalgic things during your time as a couple, like at the park where he learned how you liked to lay on your stomach while he’d draw little shapes on your back. it’s crazy but so fun and cute and special. it ends in a random backside of a building at UA and it’s familiar but you’re confused as to why he brought you here. “this was the place where you first told me you were interested in me..and i was so nervous but so flattered that someone as wonderful as you could like me.” and he goes on and on but he can’t help that he feels so much love for you, which is something he didn’t really think he’d get to experience. he’s oh so grateful to have you and so are you to have the manliest, cutest, sweetest boyfriend ever. 

kaminari feels the pressure of making your first valentine’s with him the best day you’ve ever had and tries to put on a front but fails. he loves that you’re so easygoing and chill with anything but he wants to make the day special. he wants to go above and beyond for you because you deserve it so much. he really likes the idea of an private outdoor dinner because the ambience is already pretty romantic. he sets it all up and when the time comes, he’s just too excited and can’t keep it a secret. he leads you outside as he tells you that he strung up all these lights but when you get out there, it’s real dark. he goes, “this is the best part.” he uses his quirk to simultaneously light up the small bulbs dangling from the strings. unfortunately, several of them blow a fuse and shatter, diminishing the full effect. you both laugh it off like normal and he says he was prepared for that, pulling out a lighter to light the candles on the table. it’s sweet and thoughtful, but don’t think you’ve escaped the ‘are you trying to romance me’ tiktok references. it’s okay though because a denki date night wouldn’t be complete without them. 

shinso is similar to bakugo when it comes to valentine’s, except he’s more so indifferent, rather than not caring about it. he’d be the type to ask you what you want or would like to do but he realizes that was a lost cause because of course you tell him it doesn’t really matter to you and you’d be happy with whatever. you’re so lovely to him everyday, despite his insecurities and trust qualms, so he silently promises to give you a day that you deserve. he tells you he has a surprise. it’s easy to hide as he takes you to your favorite cat cafe, a place where you two are regulars. there’s one cat there, a black and white tuxedo cat, that you are particularly fond of. he enjoys watching you smile as the cat rubs up against you and lays in your lap. you’ve completely forgotten about why you were there until he tells you that the cat is yours if you want him. you’re in complete disbelief but he tells you that he had arranged it with the owner of the cafe, who had noticed that the cat was very skittish and avoidant of other people, except for you. “and i told him, ‘yeah, me too.’” 

amajiki is nervous, of course. probably more nervous than on a regular basis. he knows he shouldn’t be because you’re so wonderful and accept anything he’s done for you with your sweet smile and kisses. he doesn’t like going out to public places too often but he wants to take you to several that you’ll both enjoy and he’ll feel somewhat comfortable. every place has something to do with nature: a zoo, an aquarium, and finally, a butterfly garden which he remembered you mentioning how you had always wanted to go to one. although he knows butterflies are gentle creatures, he isn’t so big on bugs in general, especially when there’s hundreds of them flying around him. you hold his hand the entire time, relaxing him as time goes by. you giggle as they land on the tips of his ears, making him smile as their delicate legs tickle his skin. he grins at your reaction as he pulls you closer. “nothing compares to your butterfly kisses, bunny.” he leans in to blink against your skin, his lashes brushing lightly like wings. you return the gesture to him, hugging him close to you as he pets your hair. he can be shy but your own little love language made up for it.

dabi has never been into something as trivial as a day about love. to him, it’s like any other day. but he never expected that he’d be scrambling around the city to find the perfect flowers to give to you. it’s the least he could do but it could never make up for everything you’ve done for him. you’ve made him feel loved and wanted; having proven it by sticking by him this entire time, such as the fact that he’s now a wanted criminal. he has to be discrete. this doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have standards and wouldn’t give you just any flower that was thrown out or forgotten. he starts to get frustrated as he stalks around in a forest and lets his quirk burn off a little steam, catching the trees and foliage into blue flames. then he sees it. you’re a little on edge when he gets home, worried that something had happened after you hadn’t seen him all day. he reminds you what day it is and then holds up what he found: a lonely flower, singed a bit on the ends of the petals but intact and tall. he explains that it reminded him of you, your relationship, what you mean to him. it’s rough around the edges and imperfect but resilient and strong.

happy valentine’s day from bnha night! any lovely requests may enter here..

[lipstickstainedred]

Champagne 2 🥂

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2098

Warnings: angst, DUB-CON/NON-CON (eventual), smut (eventual) NSFW (eventual), violence (eventual), kidnapping (eventual)

Champagne Masterlist

Previous Chapter

🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂

On your first day, under the Stark Industries employment contract, you ended up being late. What a great way to make a first impression, you thought. The bus commute was unusually crowded because some subway lines were down throughout the city. That wasn’t unusual but it had never made you late before. Having never been late to work a day in your life, you were nervous you’d get in trouble.

Fortunately for you, Phil was kind enough about the mistake over the phone. He just told you that you’d miss the tour of the facilities. He assured you not to worry, they’d have someone give you a quick tour after your check in with the HR department. Apparently the tour was mandatory due to some safety and security features in the building.

You had almost forgotten how extensive the security was at Stark Industries when you had come for the pitch. There were metal detectors and guards with large german shepherds, which you presumed to be some type of working dog. You even had to have your bags searched before you were granted access to the building.

Once you went through security you made your way to the elevator to head to the human resources floor. As you stepped up to the elevator and instantly saw a familiar face. Steve Rogers.

Your breath hitched upon seeing him casually leaned against the back wall of the elevator. His strong muscles clearly defined, in the button up shirt he was wearing. His stature was even more intimidating than you remembered. The super serum made him more than just strong, he looked absolutely massive. A stark comparison to your smaller frame.

You centered yourself as you entered the enclosed space and tried to keep your distance. Watching your feet, you tried not to make the mistake of tripping in your heels. You didn’t want to draw his attention to you, not like how you had when you tripped in the pitch meeting.

You were unsure why you felt so nervous around the first avenger. Perhaps your nerves made sense during your initial meeting as his eyes were on you then. Your nerves weren’t justified this time. He hadn’t even given you a glance, too entranced with the file full of papers he held in his hand.

All too quickly, the elevator began to fill with more people causing the distance you had purposefully placed between the Captain and you to dissipate. As more people entered the elevator you were forced to shift closer and closer to the large man that had you on edge.

Once the elevator was packed to the brim, oddly resembling what you’d imagine a can of sardines looked like, you were far too close to the super soldier. All of a sudden you felt claustrophobic. With Steve behind you, the wall to your right, and people surrounding your front and left side, you felt incredibly small.

The elevator doors closed and you felt an ounce of relief. At least no more people were going to cram into the already overstuffed elevator. The elevator started gliding upward toward it’s first destination and you sighed, the HR department was on the 6th floor. You hoped some of these people would get off on the next few floors. You did not enjoy being so crammed together.

As you approached the 1st floor you were disappointed when no one got off. Your disappointment slowly melted away and turned into something else as you smelt the musky cologne of the man behind you as he shifted his stance. His scent slowly drifted closer until you could sense his presence right behind you.

You froze. Completely stunned as you felt him draw closer to you. He didn’t stop his slight shifting and movement until his front was barely pressed up against your backside. He was so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

The heat of his breath lingered on the back of your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily. Time stood still, you couldn’t focus on anything else. As his nose ghosted across the nape of your neck, you choked on the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You tried to lean forward to remove yourself from his engulfing presence, but for every millimeter you shifted forward he seemed to follow. Your meager attempts to shift away from him seemed to do nothing. You had nowhere to go.

The ding of the elevator snapped you out of your trance. The little number displayed at the top of the doors said 5 but you couldn’t bear to stay in there another minute. You would take the stairs the rest of the way.

You pushed through what remained of the crowd of people, eager to have personal space once more. Finding the stairway, you started the trek up the steps. Each step you took had you contemplating the events that just took place. The more you thought about it, the less it made sense.

What transpired in the elevator made you question your sanity. You must have imagined the warm feel of his breath against your neck. Captain America had been a bit too close to you, but the elevator was packed. Everyone was too close to each other. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his closeness was somehow deliberate.

You reached the 6th floor and walked down the hallway until you reached the front desk of the HR department. After announcing your name to the receptionist, she seemed to understand why you were there, having been informed by someone that you’d be arriving late.

“I’m sorry dear. All HR personnel just got called into a mandatory meeting with the higher ups.” She chirped at you.

“Will I have to wait long?” you asked.

You were already late and didn’t want to leave your boss without his assistant for half of the day. You couldn’t lose this job, not when you fought tooth and nail to get it.

“I’m not sure. I can get you started on some of the paperwork but you have to go through the official tour to go over security details before you can start.” She sympathetically told you. You sighed in defeat before grabbing the paperwork she offered you.

After a while, you heard boisterous laughter and chatter down the hallway as you sat by the entrance of the office and waited. Eventually the noise stopped as footsteps made their way toward you. You didn’t bother looking up, too tired of waiting to care.

“How are you doing today, Lin?” the man asked as he popped his head in the door beside you.

“Ehhh Mondays.” The HR receptionist teased back. Your eyes slowly slid up the figure beside you as you realized the man was wearing the same outfit as Steve in the elevator.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Marketing?” Steve directed at you, his arms crossed over his chest. You weren’t sure if he was being condescending or not, but the way his cool blue eyes stared down at you sure made you feel like he was.

“Uh.. yeah. I got caught up on the bus this morning and now I’m waiting for someone to give me a tour.” You stumbled a bit through your words, your nerves again getting the best of you.

Back in school, you had learned about the first avenger. You had always loved history and learning about Captain America was no different. Reading about Steve Rogers’ life was an interesting chapter in your history book. How he overcame hardships had always been inspiring to you. Especially since you had grown up in less than desirable circumstances.

The Avenger was also commonly featured in the media. Like all of the Avengers, Captain America was shown saving the world countless times. Perhaps all of your nerves were simply because he was famous, a hero.

That was a logical explanation for your discomfort around him. You had never met anyone famous before, you tried to justify the way your stomach turned whenever you were close to him. You were just nervous.

He glanced down at his watch before directing his eyes back down at you.

“I have some time. I’m more than willing to give you a tour…” He slowed the end of his statement in search of your name.

As your eyes scanned his face, you had a feeling he already knew your name, but wanted you to give it to him. You mumbled your name to him, the same unease falling over you.

“Well, Y/N, What do you say?” He asked.

“I don’t want to be a bother. I’m sure Captain America has much more important things to do than give me a tour of the facilities.” You rationalized.

You hated the way your voice sounded so weak speaking to him. What you said was true, but you also felt unsure of being around him, especially after the elevator incident. If you could even call it an incident. You were still trying to wrap your head around whether you had imagined the whole thing.

“Please, Call me Steve.” He insisted.

“Steve.” You tasted the name on your tongue, a slight shiver coming over you as you saw the way his face changed when you said it. You weren’t sure what flickered across his face but the pit in your stomach only grew.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you around.” He chuckled, outstretching his hand toward you. The use of the nickname had the hairs on the back of your neck prick up.

You were so confused. His smile seemed genuine but your gut had you reeling every time you were around him. You had to get over whatever was causing your nerves. You were working in the same building as this man, you’d have to be around him occasionally.

With a sigh you took his hand and let him help you from your seat. His eyes beamed with what looked like pride and another emotion you couldn’t quite place as your hand touched his. Your soft hand felt small in comparison to his large calloused one.

He casually walked you through the hallways and offices, telling you about anything or anyone of importance. He pointed out all the security features that you had to be aware of, even showing you how to swipe your access card.

He would make the occasional joke and you’d laugh at his corny and playful humor. Only a few times did he ever make physical contact, his hand on the small of your back to lead you one way or another. Occasionally his hand would fall on your arm as he told a joke, but it didn’t bother you. It was casual and didn’t feel forced.

It felt like the heavy fog of dread had been lifted. Despite the overall discomfort you had with your previous interactions with Steve, this one was quite pleasant. Dare you say, amiable. You still tensed a bit when he would touch you, but there didn’t seem to be any malice or ill-intent in his contact. You just chalked it up to not being used to physical contact.

He even gave you the VIP tour, showing you the upstairs levels that only the avengers had access to. It seemed the more time you spent on the tour with Steve, the more of your guard you let down.

As the tour came to an end, you felt the tiny bubbles of anxiety and doubt melt away.

He dropped you off on level 8, the marketing department, your new work home for the foreseeable future. Steve wished you a good first day as he left.

As soon as you arrived at your desk, your boss barked his usual coffee order at you, even though you already memorized it. While you made the coffee you got to thinking about the Avenger that had been plaguing your thoughts since you first met him.

With a slight chuckle, you sighed to yourself. It must have just been your nerves and imagination playing tricks on you in the elevator. You had no reason to be afraid of him, he had never actually said or done anything wrong to you. The tiny glances and touches that had your stomach turning, were probably all in your head.

You were just nervous because he was famous, you convinced yourself. He was the man frozen in time. A real life story from your history book. He had saved the world time and time again and asked for nothing in return. He was a hero, after all.

~

shout outs to the following people who either helped me edit or helped me work through ideas for this series.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms @stargazingfangirl18 @christowhore

~Taglist

@basementwiveswritingchallenge @blithecapricorn @marvelfansworld @violetmoon74 @eralen

@ashpeace888 @stargazingfangirl18

[emkay512]

Once Upon A Time

Chapter 2

Summary: This starts at the beginning of TRR book 2 with the Fydelia ball but with a different series of events. This AU is based off the show Once Upon a Time with Riley and Liam mirroring Snow and Charming. Characters belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: I honestly CAN’T believe how much attention the first part got! I can’t feel very confident that this is as good, so please know that I have no idea what I’m doing!! But please continue to give me your thoughts and feedback. Thank you to anyone who is reading!

A/N 2: Thank you so much to @queenrileyrose and @bbrandy2002 for pre-reading!

Warnings: This will contain NSFW adult language and content. By reading, you acknowledge you are 18 and over.

I’m tagging those I’ve connected with and thought would be interested. Please let me know if you do or don’t want to be tagged!

@burnsoslow @ao719 @kat-tia801 @callmeellabella @charlotteg234 @neotericthemis

Tags: @kingliam2019 @iaminlovewithtrr @amandablink @iluaaa @jared2612 @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @secretaryunpaid

if I missed anybody that requested, please let me know so I can add you! Or if you’d like be added just let me know ☺️

For the first time, the walk to whatever room she’d be meeting Liam in was a complete dread. She hated the feeling of closing the gap between them knowing she had one mission, to save the love of her life with a lie. Her only hope was maybe he was questioning those ridiculous photos and she could maybe use that to ease into their separation. She reached his door and easily walked in. Liam was leaning against the open door frame leading to the balcony of his room, his eyes were glued outside, clearly anticipating Riley’s hopeful arrival.

Riley stood with her backside against the nearly shut bedroom door and closed it loudly gaining his attention. Liam whipped his head in her direction only to be filled with relief and joy at finally getting a chance to be alone with her. He raced across the room and grabbed her, holding her as tightly as he could, and with the easiest smile she’d ever seen on him, he kissed her with all his might. Riley shut her eyes tight and allowed the kiss, returning it with as little as she could, knowing it would be the last.

Liam pressed his forehead to hers, “Thank God you’re here. Riley, I’ve missed you so much. Please.. please forgive me, my love. I... I owe you so much, please give me a chance to make things up to you.”

“Make things up to me? Aren’t you wondering if the scandal is true? Aren’t you... aren’t you going to ask.. if the pictures are real?” Riley knew she was on borrowed time, but she couldn’t yet rip that bandaid, she hated herself, but she couldn’t stop from hearing him out.

“Of course not, I know those photos were a setup, which is why it was the catalyst to everything that happened that night. I’ll regret picking Madeleine for the rest of my life, but I knew in that very second the scandal was released that whoever was behind it would stop at nothing to keep us apart. My focus changed and was completely dedicated to keeping you safe! I had to make it seem like they had won, and that it appeared I severed ties with you. Because then you’d be removed from further harm. This was my only way to keep an upper hand, to make them think they won. God, please know I never wanted to spend a single moment without you... I love you.”

His last statement punched Riley in the stomach. His words, all his words constantly filled her with hope. Hope that if she simply told him the truth, they could fight Constantine together and win. But it was his life on the line, no one else’s, and like he made the sacrifice to choose Madeleine to keep her safe, she also felt like she needed to save him. She had to find a way to ask Liam if his father and his team were actually capable of killing.

“Do.. do you really think I’m in that much danger?”

“Yes.” Liam answered sharply and honestly remembering how someone betrayed his loving mother. “Yes, I do. I never told you what happened to my mother. She was killed, murdered with poison. And not even my father, the king, could discover her killer or even a fucking motive, just that it was an inside job. I can’t let the same fate fall to you. My mother’s death changed my father, that loss snuffed out what little light he had in his heart. It soured him and left him dark. And the worst part is that the powers to be covered it all up. Who knows what this traitor is capable of.”

There it was. Constantine may not have been responsible for his wife’s death, but with this information, Riley knew his blackened heart had been tainted beyond repair. That he truly hated the idea of love and his twisted mind really believed his own son would be better off dead if she didn’t go through with this.

Liam could see the anguish written all over her face, he assumed because of his dark recounting of this mother’s death. “Hey, I know this is, well, less than ideal, but we can still have each other. Madeleine, she knows I don’t love her. She doesn’t know the extent of my ruse, but she knows it’s you that I love. Her offer is to turn a blind eye when it comes to us, as long as she gets to be queen.”

“So, are.. are you going to marry her then, in the end?”

“No! No Love, that’s not my goal at all. I’ll take all measures during this godforsaking tour and stop at nothing to find who’s behind this and clear your name. I’ll find this traitor and bring them to justice. You know, I find that the more that’s taken away from me, the more daring I become.”

Liam had this look of confidence on him, like the ever conquering hero she knew he was. Riley started to panic, she let this conversation go on too long. This had to end, she had to do her part.

“Li-Liam,” she stuttered, fuck this is so hard! She thought to herself. “Maybe you shouldn’t work so hard at uncovering this.. I don’t think it’s worth it to find out, I doubt you really want to know who’s responsible, it’d probably do more harm then good..” fuck I’m revealing too much!

“What are you talking about? We have to do this, we love each other..”

“No!” Riley shuddered a breath in, trying to shift the sound from tears and into a stern aggression. “Liam. No... The truth is.. I don’t love you. Not anymore. Or, well, maybe I was never sure in the first place. Just - you rejected me, got engaged to a horrifying woman, and then allowed me to be abolished and ignored for three weeks. I.. too much damage has been done, and in all that time I realized.. this,” she gestured her hand between them, “this, was never love. So. I don’t love you, Liam.” Riley used all the efforts in her body to pull the lie out, she had to, she’d do anything to save him. “It’s... ok, it’s ok. Really. This is just for the best. You should marry Madeleine and be the king you were destined to be, spare yourself from thoughts of me. Everything will be ok. Goodbye, Liam.”

Liam could barely register words in the wake of his shattering heart. He stretched his arms out to try and grab hold of her, but she swiftly stepped out of reach. He couldn’t believe it. But her step back told him she was serious, and the last thing he’d ever do was force her to do something she seemed so strongly against. “Riley. Love, please...” was all he could muster. But she already had her back to him unable to fight the tears any longer. She stepped to the bedroom door, knowing she could again freely walk out under the blackmail Constantine was holding over her. She took notice of something she wished she had noticed in Applewood and spoke her final words.

“You should probably reevaluate the upper hand you think you have under this ruse.. Look, no lock on the door. Again.” She said trying to signal her only clue that she and he were both being coerced. And with that she gloomily walked out and shut the door behind her.

[scribblingfangirl]

GLOWING IN THE DARK #2 | The Punisher - Billy Russo

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Author’s Note: First of all: I am so sorry this part took so long (and it is very underwhelming as it’s just a few scenes of Y/N’s life on the base (all involving Billy - and I’m not sure if I got his character right in this one)). I tried to make it one longer coherent chapter, but I needed these scenes to be able to proceed to the more important parts of the story. Hope you guys don’t mind. I hope the next few installments will appear faster and will get better again. But for now, thank you for reading and enjoy!

word count:  ~ 2.7k

summary: Becoming Billy’s friend is weird - if whatever relationship you have is even considered a friendship.

warnings: //

| PREVIOUS PART | - | next part | - | SERIES MASTERLIST |

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You felt it – whatever or whoever it was – before you even heard or saw anything. 

As a Marine, you had undergone different kinds of training modules and boot camps and this wasn’t your first tour either. Your job before getting promoted to helicopter gunner had been to try and get in and out of places without raising any suspicion or getting in the way of the others that were fighting while you got the intel. Inevitably, however, sooner or later you had to fight your way out of wherever the hell you were as well.

It had heightened your senses, which made it almost impossible for you to have a good night's rest. The smallest change in the atmosphere or the slightest sound sent you straight to overdrive. No heavy eyelids, no blurry mind - just wide-awake and alert.

Of course, this wasn't the case with everyone though. After missions with the Blackbird crew, you’d seen Garth and Dane fall asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows and nothing could wake them up after that. You even had some conversations with Frank about it whenever you stayed over at the Castles during your military leave. 

You’d call the day you were able to fall asleep within the first ten minutes of getting into bed and stay asleep for the whole night a miracle. That is why your eyes opened wide and your body went rigid as you blinked desperately and tried to adapt your vision to the darkness. Or at least find the smallest shimmer of light. Obviously, you had no such luck. After all, it was somewhere around the early hours of the morning and it was pitch-black in the tent. 

Your hand automatically went for the gun under your pillow, only to end up empty, and it took you a millisecond to realize that you weren’t in your cot in the tent you shared with Garth and Dane, but rather in the infirmary where weapons weren’t allowed. 

You decided to do the next best thing. You used your body.

In a swift movement and without much hesitation you grabbed the thing - a person as you came to realize in that very moment - in front of you and used the momentum to turn both of you around, pinning him (as you still were the only woman on the base) down on the bed, straddling his waist and pressing your upper arm on what you expected to be his throat.

A soft chuckle resounded through the tent. In the next second, you were blinking against the white lights that illuminated the infirmary, realising that you were holding Billy in a tight grip. And worse, straddling him. 

As your senses were still on a high (heart beating fast and body frozen) you were unable to do anything else other than stare shocked at Billy.

“Gotta admit Frankie boy, you trained her well,” Billy smirked up at you, his hands going to your waist to support you a little bit and take the weight of your injured foot.

“Na,” Frank shook his head, “All that was already there. I just showed her how to properly use and manage her strengths. Reminded her of who she once was.” Frank approached you both from his place beside the entrance and gently pulled you away from Billy, who started to massage his neck as he slowly stood up.

Billy chuckled at that. “A clumsy girl?”

“Hey! Watch it or I beat your ass-”

“Again… was that what you wanted to say? Do I have to remind you that you didn't beat my ass last time? That's why I told you that there are less violent ways for you to see my backside.”

You had soon realized that flirting truly was Billy’s defence mechanism, just as Frank had said. And humour. Whenever something turned uncomfortable for him he either turned on his charms or tried to alleviate the situation by making some stupid remark.

You had also realized that Billy had been right. You were terribly out of shape. Everything had hurt the day after the game, but you had guessed it might also have had something to do with the fact that two grown-up men literally tackled you to the ground the day before.

So you had gone to Frank, because, obviously, you couldn’t give Billy the satisfaction (or more time with you) and had asked him to give you some training lessons. A little refresher of your earlier days. 

“Okay… What would you do if I did this to you?” Frank asked while cornering you against a wall and trapping you between it and his body, putting his hands on either side of your head.

“Really Frank. Are we really going to look at Self-Defense 101? I’m weak right now, not stupid. I remember the training.”

“Well, show me then.”

Sighing you looked him straight in the eyes as you punched your straight fingers into his ribcage under his left armpit, causing him to withdraw his left arm entirely. Then you punched your fist into his left rib cage that was now open to you, pushing him slightly away from you before punching his chin and knocking your head against his.

Tumbling a few steps back Frank caught himself quickly and grabbed you, hugging you from behind as you had already turned around to move away. “Not so quickly.”

“Do you really want me to give you a concussion?” you groaned, leaning closer into him and knocked your head back into his.

With a grunt, and while trying to regain his footing after stabilizing you due to the additional weight you put into his arms, Frank loosened his arms around you and you went for his right knee. 

Ducking down fast and sliding your hands down his leg to his foot you pulled it up before Frank could regain his balance, throwing him to the ground behind you. You quickly turned around and sat triumphantly on his stomach. 

“Satisfied?”

“It’s a beginning.”

“That’s enough Bill.” Frank's deep voice brought you back to the present. “She might be a little clumsy sometimes, but it’s clear that you can’t say anything against her senses.”

“Hey! Whose side are you on?”

“Kid, let’s be honest. I saw you tripping over nothing but thin air yesterday, somehow managing to injure your foot while doing that. And then you proceeded to fall face-first to the ground.” Frank said as he moved you to another unoccupied bed. Thank god you were the only one in the infirmary right now. Scoffing you rolled your eyes. 

“The ground wanted a hug! Not my problem you’re a heartless guy. Ever thought about the fact that it might not want to just be trampled on? And anyway,” you added after a short pause, “you heard them yesterday after you insisted on bringing me here. I’m fine! Just a misstep, nothing a good night's rest with limited movement wouldn’t fix… which well, is kind of the opposite of what you two just did.”

“Ah well, sorry ‘bout that. Colonel Schoonover wants to go over some strategic movements first thing in the morning. Thought you might want to get caught up with the most important details first.”

“Oh. I see. And both of you were needed to bring me a, and I quote, ‘clumsy girl’ up to date?”

“Oh no. I’m sure Billy, who very enthusiastically volunteered, will do that just fine. I just followed to make sure you don't kill each other. You are welcome by the way.” 

-

After that, you weren’t sure if you were actually becoming friends with Billy (because you didn’t actually need to ‘up your friend game’) or just accustomed to him because he was always there whenever you were doing something with Frank.

Granted, there were times when it was just you and Billy (and multiple other Marines). Like that one time when you were waiting for the showers to turn purple (a term the base had coined to show that it was your time to use the facilities without having to check your surroundings for possible men to appear and take a shower with you.... they had realized how bad it had sounded the moment they had said it to you.)

You had been waiting in front of the facility as there was still around 10 minutes before they would turn purple and Billy had decided to keep you company by starting to annoy you (you couldn't believe how incredibly childish he could be - he gave you wet willies!)

Nevertheless, you had grown close enough to him to tell him about your time as a foot soldier and how you had a knack for repairing stuff, especially cars and aeroplanes thanks to your father. That he had been a military mechanic and that, after your mother had died when you were a baby, he had taken you with him whenever he had to move or do something for the military. That you had practically grown up on military bases and that joining wasn’t even a question, it was the only valid option in your life. And that one day the Marines had asked you to join their new helicopter crew and you couldn't say no, as you had wanted to feel closer to your father who had died a few years prior.

You had also talked about how you never met in New York (or about how Frank skillfully managed to keep you both apart) and about the fact that you guys have the same call sign (well, he and your helicopter). 

That was apparently enough for Frank to give you the “I know I said, I know Maria said, but do not fall in love with him”-speech one night while you were sitting on Billy’s bed, enjoying some alone time with Frank after some hectic weeks of training and strategy meetings.

“Don’t worry,” you had said and patted his back, “you know that my heart belongs to the sky. And, well, to Pete.”

Little did you know that Billy had just entered the tent when you said that.

-

"- hell Y/L/N!”

“It was my pleasure. But you know, maybe next time you could just thank me, one might think you don’t have any manners.”

“You could have died out there!"

"It was a test run Garth. If anything, we would have died together. Also, here I was thinking taking risks is your life motto. I mean, isn’t your name practically Gar-'With some good food I can conquer everything?'-field?"

"With good food, you can conquer everything… and everyone," he winked at you, “because even though the saying goes 'The way to a man's heart goes through his stomach' this applies to women and everybody else as well!"

You laughed and clapped his back as you pushed aside the plastic tarpaulin and let him pass you before leaving the tent as well. 

"Sounds like you gotta invite me for dinner sometime, as soon as we're stateside again!"

"Sounds like it!"

Remembering that you had to get something from your cot you turned around to get it, but stopped in your movement when you caught a glimpse of Billy, his fist tightly shut and his eyes glaring after Garth. Realizing that you were watching him, he turned around and stomped over to his own tent.

-

This repeated itself on multiple occasions. You talking to a fellow Marine or crew member and Billy seeing it and getting angry. Sometimes you realized it, sometimes you didn’t. Like the time in front of the dining tent. 

One of the Marines, you didn’t even know his name, had waved you over to give you a piece of mail that had found its way to him instead of you (apparently your names were similar enough to confuse the guy who had distributed them), apologizing for opening it already. 

You had just shaken your head, saying it wasn’t his fault and had turned the envelope around, causing a beautiful ring hanging on a thin necklace to fall into your hands. Smiling at it while suppressing some tears that were threatening to leave your eyes you had looked up at him. “I doubt you would be caught wearing this anyway.”

Of course, your luck had it for Billy to see him giving you the envelope and the necklace and to disappear through another entrance into the mess hall before he was able to hear you thank the guy for bringing you the envelope.

-

And then there was that time when you were pretty sure that Billy had become more to you. You weren’t sure what exactly, but more.

A Skype call for you had come through during the day, which Billy who had just passed by, accepted and told the man on the other side of the screen to wait while he got you. Sticking around he had to admit that he felt a little green now that he knew that not only Frank but even you had someone waiting for them when they came back. He wasn’t near enough to hear what was being said, but near enough to see you touch the computer before the connection ended and see you starting to cry terribly after that and rushing away, making Billy think the guy just broke up with you.

Frank had found you shortly afterwards (after Billy had gone to him to tell him what had happened, not being a very touchy-feely guy but thinking you might want someone around). He had talked to you, asked what had happened and you had repeated yourself, telling him that “my heart belongs to the sky now. Everybody I ever loved has left me, even though I am the one risking my life every day.”

Frank had just hugged you closer telling you that wasn't true. That he, Maria and the kids would always be there for you, that you wouldn’t be able to get rid of them now, no matter how hard you tried.

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting there, but then Billy had entered the tent, telling Frank that Maria was asking for a Skype call and Frank requested for Billy to stay with you. 

You both had stayed quiet for some time except for your sniffles and hiccups that came from you crying earlier.

“You shouldn’t be crying. You have more than enough men falling on their knees for you.”

Confused you had lifted your head to look at him through teary eyes. “What?” “You shouldn’t be crying because of Pete. I heard Garth inviting you on a dinner date as soon as you’re both on leave again and saw the Marine in Frank’s squad giving you the neck-”

You had started to laugh at that. “Wait what? Please don’t tell me that you’re jealous!” 

“No! Just… just annoyed I guess. I get called ‘Billy the Beaut’ and get called out on my shit and… and then you come along and you’re allowed to dance on all of our noses?” 

You had snorted, wiping your nose on your T-Shirt sleeve. “Welcome to the world of a woman. As normally it's the other way around. Doesn't feel nice, right?” You had chuckled sarcastically. “Anyway, who’s Pete?” 

“Who’s… Who’s Pete? Your boy-, well, your now ex-boyfriend? The guy who just broke up with you over Skype?” 

Being reminded of that Skype call had hurt you, but you had laughed anyway. His stupid conclusions and obvious obliviousness had helped you think of other things. “I might have kissed a Pete once, but I might have lost the memo that he was my boyfriend because as far as I know, I never had one.” 

“But the man-” 

“Was my cousin's doctor and now close friend due to the time we had to spend together.” 

“But you told Frank something about your heart and Pete. Wait, was?”

Of course, he had heard that. “Pete's another name for our bird. Yes, our callsign is Blackbird, but the guys call him Pete and I guess it stuck. And yes, was. He just called me to tell me that my cousin died of cancer. No… please. I don’t need your condolences. I’ve been around death for quite a while. It feels almost normal already.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“I know… but what can I do? I cried and now I have to stand up and make sure that we don’t meet too quickly again, that's what she would want.” 

After that you both had sat there, quiet again, shoulder against shoulder, staring at the green plastic of the tent. Never realising that Billy, however unpleasant that situation might've been for him, never searched for a way out of it.

•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

Taglist:

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[harrywritingsbyme]

2, 26, and 27 ;)

The one where Harrys being a mad and horny devil and younger!y/n is being a tease

Based off of this ask

Prompt List

2. “You wanna say that again?”

26. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

27. “Watch your mouth.”

A/N: Little bit of Dom!Harry, some Younger!Y/N, and it hasn’t been proofread🙃. Enjoy😋

Harry had been invited to dinner with Jeff and a few higher ups from his label. So naturally he insisted that you went with him. You absolutely hated these dinners just as much as Harry did, but you sucked it up and decided to go for Harry. The only thing that made it slightly better was the fact that there was food, and even then, it wasn’t enough to make you enjoy yourself. Not to mention the fact that you had only one thing in common with everyone at the table, that being Harry. Besides that, you had zero common ground. On top of that, you were the youngest person at the table. You were even younger than Harry by a few years.

Now it wasn’t so crazy where it would be completely wrong on every possible level, but just enough to make Harry feel the need to protect you and scowl at every male or female who looked at you in a way that made him uncomfortable; even more than a boyfriend normally would. Even though you were also in your 20’s and were very much capable of taking care of yourself. Despite this fact, Harry never failed to bring the slight age gap up in every activity of your daily lives. Never in a demeaning way, but more of a joking/‘I’m older and wiser, and you should listen to me’ type of way.

Somehow this control Harry took at times also translated into the bedroom. And it worked, very well.

You absolutely loved it when Harry took control and just ravished you any way he wanted (of course establishing boundaries and limits way beforehand). Now this didn’t at all mean that you didn’t love it when he took his time and practically worshiped your body. You could practically burst just thinking about those moments. It also didn’t mean that you haven’t taken control in the bedroom either. You have and you throughly enjoyed watching Harry beg for you to let him cum, it gave him a taste of his own medicine. Plus, it was so hot to see him beg for you. You loved the rush it gave you to have Harry restrained against the bed, waiting for your next move, hoping you’d let him release. But if you had to choose between being in control or being under his control, you choose the latter any day. It was just something about calling him daddy and following his orders that sent you off the rails.

It not only made you go crazy, but it also made Harry almost lose his mind in some cases. He loved watching you follow his orders, getting on your knees in front of him just from a single look. Or simply bending over the arm of the couch without him having to tell you when you know you misbehaved. He couldn’t get enough of you. He loved how you were down for almost anything (some things were just too much for you, even for Harry). How you were filthy when it’s just the two of you, but when you were with other people, you switched to your sweet, innocent self. Even when you were with others, how you still managed to bring out that side of you that only he had the privilege of seeing could make him crazy. And it did. You riled him up so much that that there were numerous times where he had to drag you both to the bathroom and take care of his swollen cock.

Whether it was you calling him daddy in his ear, or your soft hand undoing his pants underneath the table. Even you giving him a soft kiss on the cheek every once in a while at different functions got him worked up. Just like tonight. Except this time he was a bit more frustrated than usual. Thanks to you of course.

Now there were many reasons to his frustration. The first being that the nonstop sex you guys were having was brought to an abrupt end. See, you had just gotten back home from a business trip that took you away for about a week. So you and Harry were in a sense trying to make up for lost time, and then some. So you decided to take two days off to spend with Harry. But as the time went on, two turned into three and now four. The two of you didn’t leave the house for almost four days.

Your routine turned into this:

Wake up, have a good first round of morning sex, get in the shower, have another round of sex in the shower, cuddle up in the bed or on the couch and watch whatever you could find on Netflix, have sex again on the couch or in bed, cook dinner together, eat dinner, then end the night off with a ���final’ round of sex.

“We’re running low on supplies” you mumble bending over to look into the nearly empty fridge. Out of the blue, Harry strolls into the kitchen and finds you bent over the fridge. He seized the opportunity and he delivers a heavy swat to your ass. “Harry!!” You screech, coming up from your previous position to face him. “That hurt” you pout, rubbing over the stinging spot on your backside.

“Need daddy t’make yeh feel better?” He rasps, pulling your into his chest. His arms wrap around you and his hands go straight to your ass, kneading the supple flesh in his large hands.

“No, I need food” you huff, deciding to not indulge him any further. Harry has other plans though. He guides you over to the kitchen island and before you have a chance to rebuke him, you’re already being hoisted onto the counter.

“I already have something I want to eat” he spreads your legs and attaches his lips to your neck.

“No” you close your legs, trying to stop Harry from continuing. You do this only for him to spread your legs again. Which leads you to snap your legs shut. The both of you continue in this pattern for a little longer until you push him away completely.

“Baby” he slumps, pouting in your direction.

“We can have sex when I get back home.” You keep your hands on his shoulders and you hop off of the counter. You make your way to the front door with a now mopey Harry training behind you.

“Not even a taste. Y’not going to let daddy have a taste?” He tries to coax you into letting him have his way

“I’m not going to be long” you chuckle at his eagerness. You shrug on your coat and you slip on your worn out sneakers. “I have no idea how you survive on tour. Your like a horny teenager” you tease grabbing your purse and keys.

“Well first of all, I’m a grown man. Older than you to be exact. Second, it’s easier on tour because you’re not around.” He states matter of factly. You roll your eyes at his comments and you make your way out of the door.

“So you’re blaming your horniness on me now?”

“Yes, yes I am.” He reply’s curtly. You turn around and you press a quick peck to his pillow soft lips.

“Love you” you mumble against his lips.

“Love you too” he sighs giving your hips a slight squeeze. Before he can even try to deepen the kiss, you pull away from him and you make your way to your car. You hop in and you back out of your parking space, leaving Harry leaning against the door looking soft and cute, yet utterly fuckable. During your entire ride to the grocery store, the image of a needy Harry lingered in your head.

When you make it to the store, you dash inside, wanting to get in and get out so you could go home. As you’re walking into the next aisle, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You pull it out to see that it’s a text from Harry.

Harry: A few people from the label invited us out to dinner. Want to go?

You thought it would be good to get out of the house for the night instead of watching Netflix in bed.

Y/N: Sure! I’ll be home soon.

You throw your phone into your bag and you zoom around the store grabbing the last items you had on your list. You surprisingly make it through checkout fairly quickly and you make your way back home. With the help of Harry you manage to get everything put away in enough time for you to get ready.

“Y’want me to hop in with you. Save time and water?” Harry rations. But you don’t fall for it at all.

“If we get in this shower together, we won’t make it out of the house.” you shoot down his proposal, leaving him alone in the bedroom. You take a quick shower and you rummage through your closet for something to wear.

“Y’should wear this” Harry leans against the door to your closet with a hanger dangling from his finger. The dress on the hanger was in no way appropriate for the event what so ever. It was the dress that never failed to make Harry want to drag you away from any party.

“Absolutely not.” You grab the hanger from him and you put it back where it belonged. You eventually settle on a simple dress that you could just throw on. You’re surprisingly able to finish getting ready with a few minuets to spare; mainly due to the fact that you made Harry go downstairs and wait for you. When you come down the stairs, you see Harry sitting on the couch mindlessly looking at his phone. The clicking of your heels against the floor, causes his attention to shift over to you.

“Now if you don’t let me bend you over the arm of this couch, it would be so cruel” he pleads with you.

“As soon as we get home I’m all yours.” you wrap your arms around his neck and his circle around your waist.

“You better be. Gimme a kiss” he puckers his lips and you give him a few kisses.

“Let’s go, don’t want to be late” you smooth your hands over the lapels of his jacket. You give him one last kiss on the cheek and you pull away from him. You grab your jacket from it’s hook by the door and the two of you make your way out to dinner.

The dinner goes the way it always does. You sitting next to Harry, not talking much while he talks to everyone else about his upcoming projects. The dinner surprisingly goes by faster than usual. You and Harry having your own little conversations away from everyone else at the table helped when it came to passing the time. You were impressed at how Harry was able to contain all of the pent up sexual frustration from the day. Well, you were impressed at first.

Now to add onto his sexual frustration, you were starting to frustrate Harry. While everyone was ordering desert, Harry decided to settle on a cup of tea. This opened up a big can of worms that you were going to have to pay for.

“How do you deal with an old man like him?” One of his colleagues jokes, directing the question at you. You thought it was the perfect Opportunity tease Harry a little, and get in on the conversation.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s that hard dealing with old man styles over here” you begin turning towards him with a smirk across your face. You look over at him and you see an unamused expression spread across his face. “Aww, is my old man mad” you laugh and you lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth, but he pulls away from you. Causing you and the entire table to erupt with laughter.

“You’re a grumpy old guy” You turn your attention from the conversation over to Harry who’s sitting quietly next to you.

“You wanna say that again?” He grits through his teeth, planting a firm grip onto your exposed thigh under the table.

“Say what, that you’re a grumpy old man” you continue to tease, deciding to let Harry see how it felt.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because I suggest that you watch your mouth” he leans closer to your face. You roll your eyes at him and you see his eyes darken. Not only was he rock hard from the entire day, but he was also irritated by you. It wasn’t what you said that frustrated him, it was the fact that you weren’t listening to him at all.

“I’m not a little girl, and you can’t tell me what to do” you decide to stand your ground.

“Your mine, and I’d shut up if I were you, you’re already in hot water.” Harry growls lowly at you.

“Make me” and that’s what completely threw Harry over the edge. He takes a deep breath and he leans over to you, his breath fanning over your skin.

“I want you to go into the bathroom and wait for me. Right now.” You freeze in place and you realize that you were in some trouble. You excuse yourself from the table and you do as Harry told you. You wait for about five minuets, which seems like forever when you are awaiting a punishment. Harry bursts through the door and locks it behind him. He strolls over to you and traps your body between his and the counter behind you.

“Y’think you could just talk t’me like that and not get punished?” He asks you, gripping onto your chin go look at him. You shake your head no through his grip. “Use your words” he says sharply.

“No” you whisper through your shaky breath.

“Get on your knees” he instructs. You follow his orders and you kneel in front of him. He begins to undo his pants. He pushes his pants down his legs and his cock springs to life. It looks like he could just burst. His cock was an angry reddish purple color. You could see a bead of precum coming from his engorged head. He grips his cock and he jerks himself a few times before pulling your head back. He lines his cock up with your mouth and he maintains eye contact with you. Keeping his eyes on you, he pushes his cock past your lips.

“Fuck” he growls down at you. He gains a firm grip onto the back of your head and he wastes no time in thrusting into your mouth. You feel his cock going all the way down your throat. The head of him going so deep that you gag around him. “Old man? Couldn’t fuck this pretty mouth if it was baby” he pants, continuing to thrust into you. Your hand moves up to his thigh, squeezing him so that you could stay in place. All you could hear were the wet sounds of Harrys cock pistoning into your mouth and the pants leaving his mouth. You swallow around him, causing your throat to tighten up, resulting in you squeezing his cock. “M’gonna cum” Harry growls, continuing to thrust into your mouth. You move your hand from his thigh to his balls and go squeeze them in your hand. All of a sudden, Harry presses your head into him, stilling his hips, feeling his release coming. Then you feel spurts if his cum pouring into your mouth. He shoots rope after rope of his cum down your throat, finally getting the release he’d been in need of all day. He catches his breath and pulls out of your mouth. He looks down at your kneeling figure and a big smirk spreads across his face when he sees your smeared lipstick and watery eyes. He tucks himself back onto his pants and fixes his appearance in the mirror above you.

“Maybe that’ll make you think twice before talking back” he whispers, looking into your watery eyes. He notices a drop of his cum gathering in the corner of your mouth, and he swipes his thumb across the area, collecting it onto his finger. You part your lips for him, but he pushes it past his own instead. Your face falls, causing him to chuckle at your reaction before opening the door. “Don’t take too long in here” he says walking out of the bathroom as if nothing ever happened, leaving you alone on your knees on the floor.

Masterlist

[vindicatedvirgil]

keep going / prinxiety

this is inspired by something that i do a lot; i’ll often list out the reasons why i keep living, why i keep going. in the past things like “the bananas i just bought aren’t ripe yet” or “i just put down my deposit to go to grad school” or “i just bought a new box of tea” and things like that. because even if the reasons are small, you gotta keep going for something. 

so, naturally, i decided to put Virgil in that position. but i also wanted to tie in a little bit of prinxiety, because i love them.

includes mentions of: depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide (not attempting or succeeding, just a mention/question of it)

(masterlist)

Virgil had taken to making a list. He had this pocket-sized notebook that he would keep in one of his hoodie pockets, and whenever something made him smile or question life or make him interested in continuing on, he would scribble it. The notebook was filling up rapidly, with notes like Patton’s birthday is soon! or Logan promised to teach me about constellations.

And on the nights where things got unbearable, when he wanted to throw himself off of the roof or into the ocean, when the scars on his wrists and thighs tormented him, and when the voices just wouldn’t shut up, he read these lists. He repeated them like a mantra. Patton just conjured up a new kind of tea, Logan made ice cream with Logan’s Berry Jelly, Roman is taking us on a tour of the imagination tomorrow, and so forth, until the clouds left his presence and he could breathe again. 

The others had noticed the notebook, had noticed the scribbling, but were almost too concerned to ask about it. Remus tried stealing it to take a peek but only got stabbed by one of Virgil’s spider legs. Janus tried sneaking up behind him to get a glance of the lists but was only hissed at as Virgil sunk out of the room. Logan, being the one known for writing things down, was intrigued, but was never sure of how to ask someone about their hobbies or musings.

Late one night, after all of the other sides had gone to bed. Virgil was drinking some tea and sitting at the dining table, scribbling and mumbling to himself. Footsteps made him freeze, and he slammed the notebook shut when he saw Roman approaching. The prince was in a fancy robe, his hair in a bonnet, and he looked like he was having trouble falling asleep. 

“Hey, Virge,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Is there still hot water for tea?” Virgil just nodded, and the creative side went into the kitchen to fix himself some tea. The anxious side immediately opened the notebook and began scrawling.

Roman without makeup

Roman in a robe

Roman in a bonnet

Roman looking sleepy

Roman smiling

Roman

“What are you writing?” Roman had come back into the dining room and sat down across from Virgil at the table. He took a long sip of tea, watching as Virgil closed the notebook again. 

“Just… a list,” he responded, not meeting Roman’s eyes. “I uh… write down reasons to stay alive. It’s stupid.” Roman reached his hand across the table, and Virgil thought he was going to take the notebook but instead he took Virgil’s hand in his own.

“It’s not stupid,” he said reassuringly. “If that’s what you need to keep going, to stay motivated, and to feel like there’s something worth staying around for, then it’s not stupid, Virgil.” The anxious side said nothing, his eyes still trained on the table in front of him. All the while, Roman sat there, not pushing, holding Virgil’s hand. If Virgil wanted to talk, he would, but Roman knew better than anyone that sometimes all you need is someone to listen or be there with you, during the good and the bad moments.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this,” Virgil finally said, breaking the silence. Roman took a sip of his tea, waiting for the other to continue his thought. “I feel weak. I shouldn’t have to write lists and repeat reasons to myself, but… I do… and I wish I could stop.” He finally looked up, and saw Roman’s eyes focused only on him, compassion practically bleeding through the glance he was being given. 

“I want to show you something, if that’s okay,” Roman finally spoke, a calculated, careful, but pleading look in his eyes. Virgil nodded, and the two sunk out of the living room. When they rose up, fingers still held tightly together, they were in the imagination. Virgil looked around; it was an art studio, with an easel, a cart full of paints, and canvases laid out on the floor and against the walls. He let go of Roman’s hand, tucking his notebook into one of his pockets, and wandered the room, investigating all of the paintings. Roman stood firmly in the same spot, watching the other very carefully. He spoke again, his deep voice echoing. “I paint when I can’t bear to do anything else. And when I paint, I paint the things that make me happy.”

It seemed true; there was a painting of Patton and Logan in their onesies, a sunset that Virgil recognized from one of Thomas’ outings last autumn, there was even a painting of Roman with Remus as children, on a swing set, smiles on their faces. What startled Virgil the most, though, was the sheer number of paintings of him. 

Virgil in his vampire costume. Virgil giving his small smile. Virgil surrounded by bright lights. Virgil in his original jacket. Virgil sleeping comfortably on a couch.

It startled Virgil to see himself portrayed in such an… innocent, soft way. Roman had perfectly captured his likeness, but it wasn’t harsh or dark; it was light. He was surrounded by brightness. He finally turned around to look at Roman, who was standing at his easel again, painting quickly, mouth twisted in deep focus. Virgil didn’t say anything, instead he sat down in a lounge chair, bringing his legs up underneath him. He took his notebook out of his pocket and began writing again, describing the art studio and Roman in immaculate detail. He didn’t want to forget this moment.

Eventually, Virgil had dozed off in the chair. When he woke up again, there was a blanket covering him and his notebook was on a small table next to the chair. He glanced around the room, and saw Roman still painting, but a new painting was leaning against the backside of the easel. It was Virgil, sitting at the dining table, hunched over his notebook, writing. It was beautiful.

He slowly got up from the chair and walked over to stand beside Roman and looked at the painting. It was him sleeping in the chair, face so peaceful, and he couldn’t help but smile at it. Roman set his paintbrush down and looked at Virgil, a splash of purple paint on his cheek. This made Virgil laugh, and he brought up a thumb to get the paint off of Roman’s face. He wiped the paint onto his jeans, but when he looked back up, Roman was giving him a tender glance.

“What is it, Ro?” He asked, breaking the silence. Roman brought his own hand up and settled it on Virgil’s cheek, cradling his face gently. The anxious side leaned into the touch, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“I hope that you can see that writing down the things that make you happy or give you reason to keep going isn’t weird or bad,” the prince said, stepping closer to Virgil. “But if you ever need a reminder, you can come in here and see all of the times that I felt down or useless or… not listened to, and look at the paintings to show you the beauty of the world around us and inside of you.” Virgil nodded, his eyes fluttering shut, a wave of calm passing over him. There was something so peaceful about the art studio, about being that close to Roman, about being touched in such a gentle manner. Roman’s voice brought him out of this thought. “And if this room isn’t enough, I can remind you, too. Virgil, there are so many reasons to keep fighting, to keep going, you just need to hold onto them, even if they are small.” Virgil opened his eyes, meeting Roman’s, and felt the urge to never look away.

“Thank you, Roman,” he said, voice low. Roman nodded, smiling softly. Virgil hesitated, but leaned up to kiss the prince’s cheek. He could feel Roman stop breathing, and when he settled back onto his feet, he saw that the taller side was blushing, looking down. 

“Virgil… can I kiss you?” Roman asked, meeting his eyes again. Virgil nodded, and Roman leaned down, their foreheads pressed together as their lips met, Virgil’s arms wrapping around the prince’s neck.

Later that night, when he was back in his room, he opened his notebook and wrote down a few more reasons to keep going.

Roman’s lips on mine

Roman looking at me like I’m a constellation

Roman holding my hand

Roman’s painting of us kissing

[pedros-mustache-main]

couldn’t utter my love

summary: some words are simply too dangerous to speak.

word count: 2k+ 

warnings: big hoe for the angst

a/n: long time reader, first time writer (for this fandom, anyway). i’m eager to write for these guys––majority being gwil, bri, and joe. let me know what you think & what you’d like to see. i have some more ideas coming in the future which i’ll share soon. 

(disclaimer: i do not own gif below.)

he’s been there, hovering in the back of your mind like an itch, for the past week.

it’s not totally uncommon, thinking about brian. since meeting in the early days of your university studies, he’s been a friend, and fleeting thoughts––whether he’s finished his term paper, if he’d like something other than a sandwich for supper, if he’s phoned his parents recently––filter through your mind on repeat during any given day. you mother him; it’s an unfortunate habit as the eldest sibling of five, but he’s never seemed to mind. and your silly worries over his health and his studies? they’ve never bothered you either.

that is, until your worries shifted to something... unexpected.

you blame freddie. 

if it hadn’t been for freddie, smile likely wouldn’t have become queen, and queen wouldn’t have taken the u.k. by storm, and you wouldn’t have gotten a front row seat to your friend’s talent and success, and then you wouldn’t have found yourself thinking of brian may as anything other than a good schoolmate. so, in actuality, freddie is at fault for the new course of your thoughts and the new course of your worries.

now, brian is like a spectre in the corner of your eye. he’s always there, even when he’s not. every turn you take around a corner, you imagine he’ll be standing there, all long legs and curly hair. every night when you slip under the covers, you find yourself wondering if brian is alone in his own bed. every morning, when you look at your reflection in the mirror, you try to guess what he sees when he looks at you.

it’s positively infuriating, and it’s freddie’s fault, so you avoid them altogether.

but brian is too smart for his own good, and he catches on fast. he knows the spots around campus you hide in when the going gets tough, and he finds you one thursday afternoon.

it’s raining. you’re snuggled beneath an over-sized, pill-ridden sweater, the latest draft of your senior thesis spread across your lap. the pen in your mouth is worn with teeth marks, and your hands are stained with red ink. you fingers are attentive to the work—you shuffle through the pages of your paper with expertise and purpose—but your mind is elsewhere. you’d dreamt of brian the night before (and not for the first time). he’d been singing to you and you alone, and it’s gotten to be—

“thought I might find you here.”

you look up, the replay of your dream stuttering to a halt. his hair is sodden by the rain, his face covered in a fine mist. he’s smiling, though the smile is soft as ever, as if he’s shy despite it only being you and he in dimly lit corridor. 

“here.” he hands you a paper cup. steam rises from within, smelling vaguely of berries. “can i sit?” he motions to the small space on the window seat not overtaken by your work or your feet.

you nod, and he squeezes himself in between the wall and your legs. you scoot your knees closer to your chest in response.

“i haven’t seen you ‘round lately,” he says. “i––we missed you at the last few shows.”

with a sigh, you set your cup of tea on the floor. “i’ve got my thesis. it’s due soon.” he only looks at you, so you hurriedly add, “i’d be there if i could. you know that.”

he shrugs, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. “i haven’t been paying much attention to my coursework myself. thing’s are kinda crazy.”

at this you have to laugh. he’s effortlessly humble about queen. you suspect he views it as a hobby; at least, he did at one point. what with the recent tour around the u.k., you’re surprised he’s still enrolled in his doctorate program. anyone else would have jumped at the chance to drop out and focus entirely on rock n roll.

but not brian. he’s different. and that’s why you like him.

that’s why you like him as a friend. nothing more.

the silence stretches, thinning but not yet brittle. quiet has always been a part of your friendship. whether it’s studying in the library or reading in one of the common rooms, you feel at ease in the subdued moments you share with brian. but this silence... it’s different. you shift on the bench, your backside gone numb. you open your mouth to say something, but he speaks first.

“we’re going on tour... after the holidays.”

your brow puckers in a frown. “you only just got back from a tour. a small one, but still a tour.”

“this one’s bigger. it’s america... japan too, if they can fix it.”

your first instinct is to question him, to mother him: what about his program? what about his family? what about all the travel, the logistics of it all? what about his health?

what about you?

instead, you smile. you lean forward and squeeze his shoulder. “i’m happy for you, bri. truly i am. that’s wonderful news!”

the tension in his shoulders seem to ease under your fingers, but you chalk it up to the happy news and his excitement. still, you leave your hand on his upper bicep, your touch feather-light. 

“i’m really happy about it. all the guys are. but it means i’ve got to let go of my studies for awhile. i just came from submitting the withdrawal forms.” he shakes his head with a rueful sort of chuckle. “never thought i’d say that.”

“it’s not every day you become a rock star.”

head still bent, he peers at you through his long lashes. “i came to tell you first. i mean, besides the registrar. i thought you should hear it from me instead of... i dunno... someone else.”

as cliche as it is, butterflies take flight in your chest. you try to squash them, but they won’t be moved. you’re left with a hammering heart and increasingly hot palms. you pull your hand away from his arm, but nudge his leg with your foot.

“well, i’m honored. it’s not every day a girl’s lab partner suddenly decides to tour the world with his band. just so long remember me when you start winning awards or something. after all, i was the one who helped you through literature 101.”

you’re rambling now, nervous and trying to underplay the rising giddiness in your chest. likely he meant nothing by his decision to come and give you the news first. your mind, however, which has run through wistful thought after wistful thought for the last week, jumps at the chance to imagine that he could mean something more.

his gaze is serious, as is customary, but there’s something decidedly more intense about the way he’s looking at you. you look down at the floor and reach for your tea. the cup is growing cool, perhaps hurried along by the chill of rain against the window. you take a sip, try not to smile at his remembering your favorite flavor. 

“you mean a great deal to me,” he suddenly says. 

your eyes snap up, meeting his. you swallow past the lump in your throat. something about the tone in his voice and the uncertainty in his eyes makes you wonder what more he’s trying to say.

“you mean a lot to me, too, bri. i’ll miss you loads while you’re gone.” you force your lips into an easy smile. “but you’ll be back and then i’ll keep pestering you about whether you’ve eaten enough for dinner. maybe i’ll call you in japan just to make sure.”

“[y/n]...” his voice is but a whisper, so much softer than it normally is, heavier too. he twists where he’s sitting, and you feel your heart squeeze painfully. 

you know what he’s going to say then. you can see it written across his face, in the way he watches you every movement, in the way his hand moves to cup your bent knee then falls to his lap. god, you’d dreamed of this––him wanting you. only you hadn’t planned on the fear which is creeping up your spine. you hadn’t planned on feeling so afraid when it truly happened. you aren’t even sure what you’re afraid of, but the giddiness of moments past is quickly replaced by panic.

before he can speak, you surge to your feet. the force of your movement sends papers scattering to the four winds, falling through the air like leaves in autumn. you set the tea aside and drop to your knees, muttering under your breath as you scramble to grab the papers and put them back in their proper order. brian joins you (as if he wouldn’t?). your hands brush amongst the mess, and, by george, you want to take his hand and hold it, maybe even kiss his knuckles if you’re daring enough, but you’re too afraid. too afraid of what it will do to your friendship which is good and solid and comfortable. and you’re too afraid of what will happen if you do hold his hand and then he leaves and meets someone else, someone more suited for life beside a rockstar. 

so you ignore the fleeting touch, mumble a thank you as you stand, papers gathered––out of order, but gathered.

he towers over you. it’s not threatening, but it’s not as comforting as it once was. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his face colored by frustration.

“when do you leave?” you ask.

“februrary, i think.”

“i really will miss you.” 

your words have an air of finality you weren’t intending. you don’t mean to say goodbye forever. aside from a handful of others, brian is your closest mate at school. he has been since year one, and you don’t want to lose that. you don’t want to lose that to a world tour or a shift in your relationship.

even if it means shutting off the part of your heart that is screaming––screaming––for you to push to your toes and kiss him hard in the quiet hallway.

brian has the decency to nod in agreement, though you can see the disappointment in the way he holds his shoulders. “i’ll miss you, too.” clearing his throat, he jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “i should go tell my parents the news.”

“yes!” your voice is loud in the cramped space; you suppress a wince. “yes, they’ll be thrilled.”

“well”––he shrugs, the awkward, gangly boy of your first year––“bye.”

leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your cheek. it’s all you can do to not turn your head and capture his lips, wind your arms around his back, and throw fear to the wolves. instead, your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the softness. he draws back, and the moment is gone.

“bye,” you whisper. “i’ll call you over the holiday, yeah?”

he nods. you both know the truth. 

with a grim sort of smile, he turns and walks down the hall. you watch until he disappears around the corner. 

months later, you catch a glimpse of him on the local news. the reporter is raving about queen’s success across north america and hyping the band’s journey to asia. the images of him which flash across the screen are brief, a second here and there in between shots of roger and freddie. 

you slowly sit on the couch, hands curled around a mug of tea. berry flavored, like the one he gave you. you watch, entranced, until he appears, just him, speaking to someone just off camera.

“i guess we just want to say thank you.” his voice is slightly garbled by poor quality, but it wrenches your chest because you hadn’t realized how much you missed the sound of it. “it’s been great fun over here, and we’re excited for japan. should be exciting.” his eyes slide to the camera, and he laughs with ease. “i think i’m having trouble remembering to eat, though, we’re so busy, but it’s all good.”

you know in your heart of hearts he’s speaking to you. and you wish, not for the first time, you could change the past. you wish you had ignored the fear and said what you both felt.

you wish you had kissed him when you had the chance.

[cintanna-stuff]

a-z for 🍅 stay safe✨

So many Castiel requests 🤣 He definitely is a popular boy, I love him too.

 Also stay safe you all 💕

NSFW alphabet for Red tomato head (Castiel)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Castiel is very busy so most of the times he’s tired, so he’s actually the one who falls asleep faster. However, Castiel is very protective, Candy’s well being is one of the most important things for him, so he won’t fall asleep if he sees there’s something wrong.

B = Body Part (His favourite body part of their partners)

Hehe, obviously her boobs. He mocked her saying she had no boobs in high school when actually he had a huge crush on her, doesn’t matter if you were his route or not. Let’s all admit Candy has the most perfect boobs in UL and LL, obviously Castiel loves them.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Guess what, he also likes to finish on her breasts (I’ll elaborate on this later). I’ve something else dirty to say about this; during his last days on tours, he usually stops touching himself to wait for when he sees his Candy, so he makes a bit of a mess when he finally gets home...

D = Dirty Secret

He’s always had dirty thoughts about Candy, Always. Doesn’t matter the route.

E = Experience (How experienced are they?)

Castiel has always been experienced. Back in HS he wasn’t a virgin, in UL he obviously knows what he’s doing in bed even though I believe he chose his few one night stands carefully before seeing Candy again.

F = Favourite Position

Castiel likes taking her while she’s lying on her side, with one leg hooked on his shoulder while he stands on his knees between her legs, to look at her face. He also likes doggy style since he can get rough and fast and also appreciate her backside.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in bed? Or are the humorous?)

Not goofy but he does joke a little sometimes or mostly teases her

H = Hair (Are they groomed down there? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

We all know the carpet don’t match the drapes in this case. His hair down there is black. So Castiel usually shaves down there, but sometimes he’s so busy he doesn’t have time for it and just let’s it grow. Still he keeps it short.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, are they romantic?)

Castiel is very much in love with Candy, he also likes to have sex and isn’t good with words usually, so he puts a lot of efforts into showing how much he loves her during sex. He’s passionate. He also kisses her a lot, everywhere; on her lips, nose, cheeks, he runs his lips up and down and licks and sucks where he knows she likes it. 

He might say some romantic things in the heat of the moment and right after finishing: “I love you” “I missed you so much” “My little girl” “How greedy”

J = Jack Off

Before being with Candy or when he’s on tour for a long time, he does it usually. He has his needs and has no problem relieving himself.

K = Kink

He’s passionate and willing to experiment, but atm I don’t think he has any particular kink.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

In private and preferably indoors, if they’re in an isolated place it could be outside. He’d die if they got caught by paparazzis.

From here, he’d take her anywhere, specially if they haven’t seen each other for a long time. When Castiel comes from his tours, he’s x10 hornier than usual, or maybe more than horny he really needs to be with her, so any safe place works.

M = Motivation (What turns him on? What gets him going?)

Sexy lingerie (black), a nice cleavage. Candy in general, he’s Candysexual.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do.)

No sharing, no harming, no risk of being caught, besides that he’d be willing to try anything with her.

O = Oral (Do they like to give or receive? Are they skilled?)

Oh, he likes to give. He so much likes to give. This man lives to eat Candy’s pussy and he’s incredibly good at it, we’re all aware of it after that one night stand. I believe Castiel eating Candy out was one of the best and hottest scenes BV has written (if we forget about the dam). This man loves to bury his face between her tights. He not only knows how it is done, he also knows to set up the mood for it.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Most of the times he’s vigorous, passionate and hungry.

Q = Quickie

Like I said before, he will need Candy nonstop when he comes back from one of his tours, so many quickies in many places will happen. 

R = Risk (Do they take risks? Are the willing to experiment?)

Yes he’s willing to experiment. In fact, before meeting Candy again he wasn’t too much into girls riding him, but he loves Candy doing it and worshiping him from time to time. Also loves when she’s horny and starts being demanding with him.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Like I said, he’s usually very busy and very tired. But if he hasn’t seen her for a while he could go all night almost non stop, after so much time he just wants to drown in her.

T = Toy (Do they own toys?)

Yep, I think he could use them to tease her, I can already see his excuses. “This? someone gave it to me... we can try it if you want to 👀”

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

He’s a big tease. Loves seeing her moaning because of him and begging for him, to torture her with pleasure.

V = Volume

Not very loud. He doesn’t usually moan, only sometimes when he comes. For the most part he grunts and does some mild dirty talk.

“Look at you, so greedy and so beautiful”

W = Wild Card

Sometimes when they’re watching movies they have long make out sessions. In some occasions those won’t even get sexual, just passionate kissing, caressing each other and cuddling there under the blanket, until Pancake also wants love and jumps on top of them.

X = X-ray (What’s going on down there?)

He’s actually pretty average but has a good girth. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

High when he was younger and then average, except for Candy, then he gets horny more easily.

Z = Zzz (How quickly did they fall asleep?)

Yep well, if he’s very tired he’ll fall asleep quickly. Satisfied, happy, in a warm bed with the love of his life after making love, yep he’s going to be sleeping in no time.

[croonerboy1965]

As Many Forms of Love: Chapter 2- Thief of Hearts

By librarian-von-sassypants and croonerboy1965

Eddie didn’t detest formal dances exactly. He knew there wee good reasons for this one. It solidified his social standing, gave him less of an air of “crazy loner with the damaged son” which many people wanted to attribute to him. He just never saw the point of them otherwise. Crowding one hundred of your closest neighbors into a too-small room, making them dance and fraternize and eat food that everyone secretly thought was sub-par, where everyone talked about everyone else behind their backs, and smiled prettily to their faces.

Eddie had the good fortune of being a conventionally attractive man, and wealthy. He never lacked for conversation or dance partners, and he played the part obligingly, but if he had his way, he’d spend the evening with a book and a glass of brandy, or perhaps reading Christopher bedtime stories.

He’d made one ally early on. Lady Lena Bosko. Utterly beautiful, charming, and, as far as Eddie could tell, utterly uninterested in the company of men, at least in a romantic sense. She was the only female in the room, it seemed, who was not trying to foist hints of marriage upon him, and thus had become a wonderful companion with whom he could simply stand back and observe the party.

“Lady Fortense is absolutely sleeping with the Earl of Viconze,” she whispered to him behind her fan.

He was slightly enamoured with the way her vibrant red hair caught the candlelight around them and reflected it back like fire.

“She would never admit to it, of course, and neither would he, but you can bet her husband knows.”, she said.

Lena was abreast of all the latest gossip, and the circle she chose to share her vast knowledge with was small indeed.

“Poor Viconze,” Eddie remarked as he took another sip of his wine. “She’ll eat him alive.”

Lena smirked.

“She most certainly will.”, she said, biting into the ripe berry she pulled from the lip of Eddie’s glass.

Eddie was well aware that most people took their lingering on the edges of the room together to be a declaration of intent to marry, or at least of amorous feelings. In a way he took it for granted. He needed to find a wife. He knew, and Lena would make a spectacular one.

“So what about you?”, he asked. “Any inclination to nab yourself a husband? I am single, you know.”, Eddie said, as he took her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers gently.

Lena giggled and pulled her hand away, feigning shyness as she fanned herself, turning away.

“Well, you are charming, sir. And I can definitely see the benefit of a mutual bond.”, she said.

“Sadly, I have no real interest in the carnal pleasures of the company of men...You on the other hand,” She gave him a knowing look.

Eddie, looked down at his feet, and flushed hot in the face.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”, he said with mock indignation. Then he broke into a smile and they both laughed out loud.

“I guess we’re both just a couple of mavericks.” she said, taking his hand again and giving it a squeeze.

“Still-- it’s nice to have a friend in all this.”, Eddie motioned to the crowded ballroom.

It had been a month since he’d gotten settled into his country estate, made the tour of the surrounding homes, and introduced himself and Christopher the neighbors. Lena was by far his favorite of the lot, and he had visited her estate, where she lived with her aging father.

To their left, a hush seemed to ripple over the crowd, as a new guest arrived.

“Lady Arielle Valens, and Escort”, the announcer said. Lena commented without looking over.

“Everyone’s been up in arms about who she will invite to her ball later this year. It’s supposed to be one of the most exclusive and sought after invitations of the season.” She said to Eddie as she took a long swig from his wine.

A voluptuous woman entered the room, with a dashing, young, strawberry blonde man on her arm. Her face was set in a smile that seemed chiseled from stone, not quite real, not quite false. She wasn’t remarkable looking by any stretch of the imagination.

“There’s something… mysterious about her---intriguing.”, said Eddie. He had only met her once when he’d introduced himself initially, but on second look, was caught up in her strange web. Something about the way her blue eyes latched on and didn’t let go. Or how there was a secret second smile hidden beneath the veneer, one blossomed like the sun, when she’d sat in her drawing room with Christopher, who had regaled her with tales of growing up in London. That boy could charm the pants off of a gargoyle if given the chance, and Lady Arielle could not help but let her guard down, in spite of herself.

She and her companion were making the rounds of the room, and when they drew near to Eddie and Lena, she looked over, and winked conspiratorially.

Eddie couldn’t help but grin.

“A friend of yours?” Eddie asked.

Lena, he noted with some surprise, flushed so red she was nearly purple, and buried her face in her fan with a small grin she couldn’t seem to pry off her face.

“We have...met.”, she said.

“Well, we will absolutely be discussing that, later.”, Eddie said.

Eddie let his gaze linger over Arielle’s companion. She was, to everyone’s widespread knowledge, quite single, but managed to show up to parties with ridiculously attractive men on her arm, and this new one was no exception. Tall, thin, with strawberry blond curls, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a smile that whispered of both sex and confidence with each glance. There was something vaguely familiar about him, Eddie thought, though he couldn’t quite place it.

“Her new one is rather attractive,” Lena commented as the two of them watched the newcomers make a slow circle of the ballroom. Every single eye in the room was doing the same, though most everyone pretended to be busy doing anything else.

“Hmm?” Eddie was distracted.

“Lady Arielle’s new companion. I haven’t seen him before.” Lena said. There was jealousy in her eyes, Eddie was sure of it, but she didn’t take well to teasing, so he held his tongue.

Once they had made a full circuit of the ballroom, Lady Arielle and her companion ended up in proximity to Lena and Eddie, as several of the guests slowly gravitated into their orbit.

“Lord Diaz, Lady Bosko, delighted to see you again,” Lady Arielle made a small curtsy, and nod of her head. “May I introduce my friend, Sir Evan, Lord of Buckley Manor.”

Eddie had never heard of Buckley manor, and he’d studied the surrounding area extensively during his decision to move. Still, no one would ever call her out on it, definitely not Eddie, so he stayed comfortable in the knowledge.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Eddie sticks out his hand for the man to shake. Lord Buckley takes his hand gingerly, and even through the gloves, Eddie can feel the heat radiating off him. The man doesn’t do that usual firmer than necessary handshake, as men so often do with Eddie, in an attempt to assert dominance.

“This is Miss Lena Bosko,” Eddie introduced them, as Buckley took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the air just above it.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Buckley said, and the smile he gave her was absolutely breathtaking. ‘Too bad he’s barking up the wrong tree.’, Lena thought to herself.

“You both must come to my house for tea next week,” Lady Arielle smiled, though it was a mere whisper of her full force. “Do, bring Christopher!”

“Christopher?” Buckley asked the question, and then looked like he wished he could stuff the words back inside himself. Lady Arielle either didn’t notice or chose not to.

“Lord Eddie’s son!”, she said brightly, a little bit of sunshine leaked out when she talked about Chris. “Absolutely the most charming human I’ve ever come across. Buck is staying with us for a few weeks... He loves kids, don’t you Buck?”, she said.

So it was Buck now. Eddie made a note in his mental ledger.

“Indeed!” Buck says with a smile, but doesn’t quite meet Eddie’s eyes.

Just then, a waltz began to play.

“Shall we have a dance?”, Lena said, in an attempt to break the tension.

“Of course.”, Eddie said.

“Shall we?”, said Buck, as he took Lady Valens by the arm and led her to the floor.

Arielle followed and soon they were swallowed up by the whirling flashes of color from a room full of glorious gowns.

Lena looked at Eddie as he led her round, her brow furrowed.

“Eddie, what is it?”, she asked.

“Nothing.”, he said as he guided her, a bit stiffly, in any direction that might put some distance between them and the Lady Valens.

“Eddie.”, Lena pressed. He was looking off in Buck and Arielle’s direction.

“How well do you know, the Lady Valens?”, he asked.

Lena cleared her throat, and said, “Fairly well.”

“How well?”, Eddie insisted.

“Well. Very well.”, she retorted, indicating she meant to add no more.

“Why?”, she asked.

“It’s just--her companion--”, but he was cut off as the pair of them bumped into he and Lena, throwing them ever so slightly off their rhythm.

“I beg your pardon, sir.”, Buck said, throwing Eddie a mischievous grin.

“Mind your steps!”, Eddie spat through a tight smile. As he came round to meet him on the next turn, Eddie almost caught his foot on the hem of Arielle’s gown, his eyes locked on Buck’s.

“Mind yours!”, Buck said, in mock indignation.

“Wha--?!”, Eddie scoffed.

“Buck! Mind your manners!”, Arielle said.

“Apologies Miss.”, Buck said, eyeing her buxom breasts. He thought perhaps he brushed them inadvertently.

“Not me, you nit!”, she said.

They had stopped in mid-round.

Buck looked up, face now red, and met Eddie’s gaze yet again. Try as he might, he could not speak. He felt embarrassed, yet --there was something else.

Lena turned away from Eddie, and tapped Arielle, on the shoulder.

“Might I cut in?”, she said. Arielle’s face became sunny, and she said, “But of course, Madame.”

Arielle met her palm in Lena’s and Lena placed her other hand around Arielle’s waist.

“Men.”, Lena sighed.

As they began their first turn on the floor, Arielle pushed her backside into Evan’s and he came immediately up against Eddie. Not knowing what else to do, he took Eddie in hand and began leading him in a waltz. The closeness, their eyes locked together, the slightest scent of sweet anise on Buck’s breath. His lips were crimson, almost blood red against his pale skin. Buck was slightly taller but his taught frame felt sinewy in Eddie’s arms. This made Eddie harden in his nethers, in spite of his better judgement.

Buck felt Eddie pressing against him, and his own rig twitched with desire.

He recalled the same sensation a few weeks ago, on the road. Buck could not believe he did not realize it sooner. This man. Sure, he is more groomed, more cultivated, more polished. But it is the same man. The one he almost robbed. The one he inadvertently molested.

He can see the exact second Eddie sees it on his face. Eddie can suddenly see through him. The brigand from the road. Nearly unrecognizable in a fashionable emerald waistcoat and cravat, but Eddie would recognize those eyes anywhere. Those stunning blue eyes.

It hits them both like an avalanche.

“YOU!?”, they said in unison. They separated, suddenly aware they had been pressed together a bit longer than either one intended. Then covered themselves as each one spied the other’s reaction to said closeness. They quickly covered themselves with their hands in as polite a clasp as they could manage. Evan could not believe this was the same man. He was so...regal. So...handsome. Not at all like the disheveled traveler he’s nearly robbed a fortnight ago.

“I believe it might be time for you to call it an evening, Lord Buckley.” he said, mocking the title.

“Indeed.”, Buck said, turning to go without another word. As he left, he slid past Kingston, who glared at him, and then looked worriedly at Eddie.

Eddie put up a hand, and then put it quickly back down again, to cover himself. “It’s alright, Kingston, it’s been taken care of.”, he said.

“What have you done?”, Arielle said, looking accusingly at Eddie. “Buck! Wait!” she called after him, but he was gone. Lena shot him a look.

“What?”, Eddie said.

“Miss Valens…” Eddie said. “My deepest apologies, I shall have Kingston call you a carriage, and escort you home.”

“I think you’ve done quite enough.”, Lena said. “I shall escort Lady Valens home.”

Lady Valens, gave her a sheepish look. “How kind.”, she said. And they paraded past Kingston, who looked quite confused.

==============================================================================

Buck walked briskly toward the gate, and as he opened it, he was met by the two henchman he was in league with. He stopped, hands raised.

“Hi fellas.”, he said.

“Hello to you.”, the larger of the two said, his gun drawn on Buck.

“Griff…”, he said, “We are calling this one off.”

“Cawlin’ it off??!!”, Griff said. “I don’t fink so.”, he stepped forward and Buck stepped back.

“I s’pose you were finking of leaving me and Shep out in the cold and taking all the booty for yourself, eh?”. Griff said.

“Yeah, yew tryin’t’ cut us owt?”, Shepp said. He puffed out his chest. He was a full head and a half shorter than Griff and Buck. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat. Griff looked over his shoulder at Shepp, making sure to intimidate him. Shepp shrank down and looked at the ground.

“Look, they just moved here, there really isn’t enough to bother looting.”, Buck tried to sound convincing,

Griff looked back toward the manor, and he could hear the chatter of voices and the strains of music off in the distance.

“Sounds to me like it’s ripe for the picking, wut wif all the fancy laawds and laydees and wot not.”, Griff said.

Buck tried to sound forceful in his protest.

“NO! I hired you and I say what goes! And I say, we aren’t doing this!”, Buck said as he stepped to Griff.

Griff took the butt of his gun and cracked Buck on the head, knocking him out. He fell like a rag doll to the ground.

“Who’s the boss now, eh?”, Griff said.

They stepped over Buck’s unconscious body and off in the direction of the house.

Just as Lena and Arielle, made it to the door, they stopped dead, as Griff pushed his way in and forced them back inside. Once in the ballroom, he announced, “Awright everyone, This is a sick up! Get your ‘ands in the air!”

The crowd stood still for a moment as the music stopped, unsure if this was really happening.

Griff shot the pistol into the air over his head. The loud blast cause some of the ladies to scream.

“I said, get ‘em up!”, he ordered. Now, if you do as we say, no one’s gonna get ‘urt…Put all your money and fancy jewels in this here bag,”, Griff said, as Shepp took out a satchel and went around the room collecting valuables.

Griff looked over at Eddie, who was stepping protectively in front of Lena and Arielle. He motioned at them to join the crowd now pressed against each other at the far end of the room. “Now nobody move and we will be off shortly, and y’can go back to your li’l soiree--“, Griff said, just as he heard a small voice from behind, him.

“Papa?!”, Christopher said as he made his way bleary eyed down the stairs.

Griff whirled on him and instinctively fired his gun.

“No!” Eddie shouted and he ran at Christopher and dove to grab him up.

The bullet went straight into Eddie’s back, just as he reached his son, shielding him from the blow. Christopher screamed.

Buck burst into the room, his eyes as wide as plates, and his mouth dropped open. Blood was streaming down the side of his face, as he looked first at Lena, then Arielle, then Griff and finally Eddie. He thought he should charge at Griff, but Kingston was already there and tacking him to the ground. Kingston smashed the man to his back and throttled him with one hand while gripping Griff by the wrist with the other. He put his full weight to bear on him and bashed his gun hand on the marble flooring repeatedly until the gun came free. Sheep, dropped the sack of valuables and made way to the gun, but Lady Valens was there first and cold cocked him squarely in the face, sending him flying, flat on his back. This made Buck smile just for a moment, and then his thoughts returned to Eddie. Lena was already at his side, when he reached them. Christopher was crying and squeezing his father around the neck, his face buried in Eddie’s shoulder.

“Papa! Pappa, NO!”, he cried.

Lena tried to calm Christopher, so she could turn Eddie over, but he would not be moved.

“Eddie…Eddie! Wake up!”, she wailed into his ear. Buck moved in and managed to pry the boy off so Eddie could be laid on his back.

Griff tried to wrestle himself free, but Arielle had him. She scooped up the pistol, cocked the hammer and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

“You go collect the little one, I’ve got this one well in hand, sir.”

She motioned for Kingston to get up and she took his place, straddling Griff, sitting her full weight upon him. Griff thought for a moment this might be something akin to fun, in any other context. He half smiled at her as he felt her fit into his lap.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, you hear?” She pointed the barrel down to the waistband area his pants, pressing the barrel against the fabric of her skirt hard enough where he could feel it tucked neatly between them. Griff’s half-grin faded to a look of horror as Arielle leaned in and whispered, “Best save that for the boys in the big house, eh? I hear they like a stodgy man-toy.”

Kingston, took the binding cords from the drapes and bound Shepp. “Someone fetch a doctor! And get the constable!”

Eddie loosed his hold on Christopher, who immediately threw himself forward on to Eddie’s chest and wept. His glasses were all akimbo as he pressed his face into his father.

“Right away!”, Buck stood and dashed out the door. He headed for the carriage house and unhitched and mounted the nearest horse. “Hyahh!”, he commanded. The horse bolted forward and off he rode into the night.

[rhinkthreeways]

Bus Ride (Smutty Version)

Link couldn’t remember what made them think touring in the winter was a good idea. It was cheaper to tour during the off-season, he thought to himself. Or, for that matter, why a tour bus? That part was Rhett’s fault. He said it was more romantic. Cinematic, Link preferred.

A tour bus made them feel like rockstars. Living out teenage fantasies that never quite came to fruition. They’d traded them for something they’d never dreamed of as kids, because this career trajectory hadn’t existed back then.

But now, in the midst of their multi-city jaunt to promote their tv show, based on their bestselling novel, their bus had gotten stuck - snowed in.

Link didn’t feel like a rockstar.

He felt like a prisoner.

He could do worse for bunk mates. Rhett was quietly reading a book. He was being deliberately quiet, and Link could tell he was trying not to annoy him.

It was kinda cute.

He decided to be considerate too. He’d made a habit of daily meditation, but let it slip while on tour. If ever there was a time for mindfulness, this was it.

He sat up to expand his lungs, and tried to bring his legs into a tucked position. But his maneuvering extended himself the wrong way and his calf muscle seized up into a painful cramp. It was the size of his fist, and the pain was sucking the air from his lungs. Well, there must’ve been some air in his lungs - enough to make audible groans of pain that startled Rhett from his reading.

“Hey! Do you need some help?”

Link grit his teeth and hissed, “No! Just… cramp. I— it’ll pass…”

Rhett approached Link’s bunk and isolated the knot of muscle through his pajama pants, massaging it as Link buried his face into Rhett’s shoulder; muffling his howls into Rhett’s shirt, gripping onto him so tightly he’d likely leave bruises. He didn’t know if Rhett’s touch was making it better or worse, but he didn’t want him to stop either way.

The cramp passed, the pain eased, and Link was left breathlessly clinging onto Rhett - who never stopped massaging Link’s calf as he asked, “You okay, man?”

Link nodded, and tried to catch his breath.

“Is this... okay?” Rhett asked softly, nodding to his hands on Link’s leg.

“Yeah,” Link nodded. “It… it feels really good.”

“You wouldn’t cramp so easily if you stretched regularly, like I do.”

Link rolled his eyes, but then thought better of mocking him. “Can you... help me with that now?”

Rhett appraised Link skeptically. “Sure, Link. I can do that for you. These pants seem loose enough.”

“I could take them off?”

“That would be… real helpful.”

Link stripped his pants off, and Rhett’s eyes widened as Link revealed that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Rhett didn’t acknowledge the revelation further as his large hands roamed Link’s long legs. Trailing the smooth skin from ankle to thigh.

“You’ve started shaving again?”

Link blushed and nodded. “It feels nice.”

“Fuck yeah, it does.”

Rhett pressed Link’s legs together tightly and folded them toward his chest.

Link’s heart hammered in his chest with anticipation as he allowed Rhett to expose the white understudies of his thighs - and he didn’t know exactly what else. He wasn’t familiar with the view of himself from this position and angle.

Link whimpered as he felt Rhett’s mouth licking and nipping at his delicate skin. Working its way toward the center of Link’s body.

Link then sensed Rhett’s hot and heavy breaths against the sensitive skin of his sack, wedged between his thighs and presented to Rhett for tasting.

He moaned aloud as Rhett’s wet tongue caressed him. Gently licking and suckling on his balls, isolating each testicle beneath the loose skin and releasing the sack, covered in saliva.

Link’s voice broke as he tried to speak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I have lube in my bag?” He offered weakly.

“You… what? Did you plan this?”

“Yes, Rhett,” Link snipped, half embarrassed. “I planned a snowstorm, and our bus getting buried.”

“Why did you bring… lube?”

“I planned on being stressed out, man! Because of the tour… I planned on jerking off at some point.”

Rhett shrugged and retrieved the lube, generously drizzling it over Link’s thighs, massaging it into the tight musculature.

“Fuck, you look good, all wet and slippery…”

“You can do more than look,” Link whined. “Please?”

Rhett experimentally slipped a finger and then his entire hand into the warm slippery embrace of Link’s thighs. Link then heard Rhett unzipping his pants, and Link tightened his thighs together, wanting Rhett to use him.

He felt Rhett tapping his hardened cock against his backside, and Link wiggled his butt for more attention. Rhett tapped Link’s balls lightly with his dick, teasing him a bit before he began to slide himself between Link’s legs. The warmth and wetness was unreal. Rhett soon began to thrust more forcefully between his thighs.

Link fought the urge to spread himself for Rhett, and let Rhett seek his pleasure in Link’s body however he wanted. Link was able to catch a glimpse of the pink head of Rhett’s cock as it pushed its way between his thighs muscles. Poking in and out like the world’s most obscene game of peekaboo. Link brought a hand down to rub at the shiny head when it pushed through and Rhett went at him harder and faster until he was dribbling streams of come between Link’s gorgeous thighs.

Rhett reached down to Link’s own neglected and wanton cock, and the same hands that had massaged Rhett’s aching cramp from his leg worked his throbbing cock to completion.

“That’s your stretching routine, huh?” Link asked, once he was able to form words.

“That’s just one variation,” Rhett assured him with a wink. “They can’t get this bus moving for long enough, and I’ll show you all kinds of ways to relax your muscles.”

[cultivatxr]

@giftofthegodess​ whispered: silence. 

nsfw prompt list || our muses having to keep down during sex.

Laughter lingered in the balmy evening air, the melody of young love flourishing in the wake of earlier frivolity. She could’ve just said goodnight and been on her way; but there had been so much promise in the sway of hips and the deviancy of a smile, it would be rude to just abandon him. And so the impulse had been born, a beckoning finger having  lured him in and led him, like a piper from the bright lights of a dancefloor and out into the streets of Midgar. It wasn’t something she made a habit of, but there was a time for spontaneity and this was apparently it.

Fingers intertwined against the warm sanctuary of a palm, Aerith had led him home; barely checked carnality residing in the slew of open mouthed kisses upon her doorstep, hands knotting in strands of copper while she’d tried so hard to stifle the breathless amusement that had ensued. Gaia, she was happy. Intoxicated and high on his heady mix of love and distraction. “Shhhh.” She warned with a finger to her lips, hoping to avoid waking her mother and explaining this irritatingly handsome house guest as she led him inside and stumbled into her own umbrella stand in the process.

“You’re the one making the noise, love.” It’s a purr against her neck and she can’t even argue, teeth biting down into her lip to stop the giggle that wants to ripple forth. Her hand tugged his own, footsteps measured and well practiced to avoid creaking floorboards as she leads her beloved Freckle up the staircase, with an expression that is far more mischievous than it ought to be. She’s almost sorry he’s not getting the full house tour, although perhaps a little glad too that the blanketing shroud of darkness has masked a multitude of cluttered sins.

It isn’t a long journey and yet it feels like an age, seconds stretching into what feels like days until the door of her bedroom can safely click closed behind them and usher the redhead into her own little piece of the world. It’s all down hill from there; restraint forgotten in a flurry of hands and lips, clothes shirked off beneath wandering digits and scattering themselves across a darkened floor. As frantic as it is frenetic, her mouth claimed his throat, nipping at tender flesh, marking out all the promises she’d made earlier in the evening, until he returned the favour.

It’s carnality plain and simple; when Genesis snaked his arms beneath her thighs and hoisted her up, legs encircling his waist with a hitch of breath that was unexpectedly sinful. The feel of him was dizzyingly addictive; the warmth of his skin, the sturdiness of his chest, the insistent hardness pressing just shy of where she’d very much like him to be. It was maddening - and he knew it.  

Their eyes locked briefly, even beneath the inky shroud of her unlit room; vibrant green drowning in storm flecked blue to affirm consent before everything becomes a sordid blur. There was never really any doubt, but there’s an understanding there, a mutual respect and consideration underpinning the more provocative of actions. The act warranted a kiss, something drawn out and sensual, tongue probing, exploring the intricate caverns of an overly dramatic mouth until her backside met with the cold grain of a paper strewn desk.

Aerith had barely realised they were moving until she was there; rolled her eyes too at the complete disregard for her bed some six feet away, but there was excitement in the spontaneity, something distinctly Freckle about it too, although she didn’t have much time to tell him. Groping sideways for her bedside lamp, soon the room was awash with a muted yellow, light casting streaks of shadow across his toned musculature and her own corresponding curves. Yet it was a magazine that had served to distract, smug amusement stretching far and wide across the First’s face at the image of himself daubed on the cover of Firaga, the resident gossip rag, just shy of their position.

“Think about me a lot in your bedroom, do you?” The tease was inevitable, the barest hint of a whisper against her skin accompanied by an intrepid hand sliding between her legs. “About these hands…” His mouth found her neck. “…and this mouth…”   It earned him a smack. Or rather a stuffed panda to the head, as it’s all she can reach, but there’s no denial in it, just the subtle arch into his touch and half stifled laughter against his shoulder. It’s all it takes in the end, flirtation paving the way to action as hands had seized her hips, drawing her down onto his throbbing length in a single fluid motion.

Lips part in a satisfying ‘oh’, nails clamouring at his shoulders as the flower girl leant back, tugging him with her in a tangle of warm limbs and lust strewn debauchery. It takes more effort than she’d like to bite back the sounds he conjures, his body playing her own like a harp with every well timed thrust. Aerith’s breath falls in delicate pants, chest rising and falling, until the beginnings of a moan part her lips and she has to bite down to stop it, red blooming across her own flesh in a sanguine smear.

The salve to her own self inflicted injury came in the form of a kiss, a soft and tender thing amidst such lubricity; but it was also a mouth to muffle her moans as he continues to conjure them, the rhythmic rock of his hips remarkably soundless, all too well practiced in the art of covert affection. The thought made the ancient blush, pelvis rising to meet him, to deepen that connection and edge closer to a release. Knotting her fingers in strands of vivid copper absentmindedly, there’s no hiding the moment it hits, her tug suddenly involuntarily sharp as her back arched and she clenched around him, wordless prayers sung against his lips in a connection forged of tongue and teeth.

In the throes of an orgasmic haze, her arms slackened against him, fingers splayed across his back, holding him there, so intimately connected as Genesis sought his own release. Ever obliging, the brunette rolled her hips, rising to meet him as much as their position would allow, coaxing out a hard won degree of mutual satisfaction until at last she could feel the tension ebb and the warm glow of post coital contentment danced across freckle strewn cheeks. Aerith exhaled as he withdrew, trailing sticky life down her thigh as a lofty sigh ensued. She shouldn’t pout at his absence, but it was inevitable, an unconscious act, forged from the sudden loss of contact in a way that was so intimately vulnerable it held a meaning that transcended mere carnality.

The pout warranted another kiss; a blessing of lips far more sedate than all that had come before. Maybe it was a come down, but it was still enjoyable, still cherished and pivotal even in the wake of such an improvised high. Coiling his arms around the brunette’s form, the redhead stepped back, tugging her with him towards the softer promise of a mattress, plushies unceremoniously knocked to the floor to make room for them both beneath a patchwork shroud. There was only one thing left for it; fingertips dancing up and down a bare arm, heralding sleep in a sweat slicked tangle of limbs as he became a defacto pillow.

He’d definitely slept in worse places and with worse company; and while the occasional mouthful of curls nearly strangling him had proven to be a small health hazard, there was something sweet about the tranquility of falling asleep with someone in his arms. Particularly when that someone had stolen his heart from his chest the very first moment they’d met and was now a welcome dose of sunlight in a sea of clouds. For a good five hours he’d managed to stay like that, nose pressed to the slope of a creamy neck, his own eyes closed and content in this, the most innocuous of pastimes. Yet like any good thing, it couldn’t last forever.

As the sun began to creep across the horizon and birds began their incessant cheep, Genesis stirred, a quiet kiss blessing a sleepy temple, as he pried himself from their contortion worthy sleeping arrangement. “Blossom, where’s the bathroom?”  Without cracking open an eye, Aerith gestured vaguely sideways, her face buried in the pillow as she mumbled her own response. “Second door on the left.”

Resisting the urge to chuckle, the auburn soldier rose to his feet, eyes scanning the room for something to lessen the likelihood of streaking through the unfamiliar house. While he certainly had no problem with displays of nudity; there was still an element of good manners to be had while occupying someone else’s space. Besides, there was an awfully tempting looking bath robe just begging to be modelled for his sleepy-headed paramour.

And so it went, the famed and revered Genesis Rhapsodos, clad in a fuzzy lilac robe that didn’t strictly cover all that much, had emerged from the recesses of a flower girl’s bedroom, after a night of being magnanimously and dare he say it, diligently discreet only to come face to face with the stern and unyielding face of her mother. A lesser man might’ve panicked. Might’ve dropped everything and simply run; but where was the sense in that? He may as well own it. Sheepishly the first grinned, hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he ignored the glaring daggers being burned into his soul.

“Good Morning; where’s your coffee maker?”

[babblingblondegenius]

You Can Take the Girl Out of Vegas (but you can’t take Vegas out of the girl)

Hi fam!  In lieu of doing a Mancrush Monday post, I decided to write a little something for Fictober.  My muse and real life have been uncooperative for quite some time and every word has been a struggle.  But I saw the prompt for ‘it will be fun, trust me’ and managed to string about 1500 of them together in a way that I hope makes sense and a fun fanfic.  Hope you enjoy!  :)

Fandom:  Olicity    Rating:  T   Warnings: Tipsy Felicity.  Also, no beta.          Plot:  LOL.  It’s Olicity and strip poker.  Felicity is winning, until she isn’t. Can she regain the upper hand?  (aka there is no plot.  Just good old banter and silliness with our favorite couple).  Set during Olicity’s summer of love world tour.  

"Take it off."

Felicity huffs a resigned sigh at Oliver's request as she deftly removes the stiletto heel from where her left foot is tucked behind her, dangling the silver strappy footwear from her finger before tossing it in his general direction.  

"Just so you know, you only won that hand because I was distracted by your...your..," Felicity slurs the words and gestures wildly at his half-naked body,"...ev-er-yyyyyyy-thing."    

Secretly relieved he has some tactical advantage against his girlfriend's superior poker skills, he gives a self-satisfied smile in response to her petulant pout.  Felicity is still slightly buzzed from her rather lucrative win at the blackjack table earlier, not to mention all the complimentary cocktails bestowed upon his high roller.  But that alcohol-induced impaired judgment hasn't stopped her from dominating every hand they've played since returning to their suite from the hotel's opulent casino and she suggested a 'friendly' game of strip poker.  “It will be fun, trust me,” she purrs in an attempt to be flirtatious but is just adorable when accompanied by her signature wink-blink.  Either way, he can’t ever say no to her and that’s an offer he doesn’t want to refuse.

The game started in his favor, or so he thought, since Felicity didn't appear to be wearing as many articles of clothing as he was.  Just the deep-vee neck curve-hugging like a second skin hot pink gown that has been driving him crazy all night and the shoes she referred to as her ‘lucky heels.’ She only gave a coy smile when he inquired about undergarments.  The vast amount of cleavage make him pretty confident that she isn't wearing a bra and lack of panty lines conjure up an image of her favorite black lace thong but he really wants to find out firsthand.  

Instead, her gown is still covering those luscious curves and he's only managed to get one shoe.  Conversely, she is in possession of both his shoes, along with his socks, suit jacket, bow tie, suspenders, and white dress shirt, leaving him barefoot and bare from the waist up.  

"It's your turn to deal," Felicity reminds him tersely, holding out the deck while trying to look anywhere but at him.  Taking the cards from her, he manages to not-so-accidentally brush his fingers along the soft skin of her inner wrist.  He can't help but notice the involuntary shiver and the goosebumps that skitter up her arm.  Her reaction to his touch only fuels his desire to win.

He shuffles the deck, showing off with a couple of fancy techniques, one of the few things he learned in college, and flexing way more than necessary.  She doesn't seem to be paying attention, still looking everywhere else except at him, but the lip bite is one of her tells and he knows she noticed the bulging of his biceps.  

Oliver deals the cards and peruses his hand.  As luck would have it, he has three sevens, the best hand he's had all night.  

He is so getting her other shoe.

Carefully schooling his features so Felicity won't see the excitement that is bubbling up in his chest, he casually glances at her, noticing that she is still worrying her bottom lip and studiously avoiding his gaze.  

Oliver has spent the last seven weeks since they drove away from Star City learning everything he didn't already know about Felicity Megan Smoak and every piece of newfound knowledge, down to the most minute detail, is embedded in his psyche.  

Seemingly forever, if their history is any indication.  Like the exact day they met.  What color pen she had in her mouth that day.  Her fear of heights, kangaroos, and all things pointy.  The way she would dance and spin in her chair when she didn't know he was watching through the glass partition at QC.  The sound of her loud voice when she's angry.  

The fact that he noticed everything and could never forgot anything he knew about her tormented him all those days, weeks, months, when he was struggling to deny his feelings for her, when he was convinced she was better off without him.  

But now, finally, today is the day his Felicity-centered eidetic memory is working in his favor.  

Because that particular lip bite, coupled with the subtle peeking out of her tongue to moisten that plump, kissable bottom lip, means that she is aroused.

He watches for a moment more, as she rearranges the cards in her hand and shifts her legs, seemingly pressing her thighs together under the constricting fabric of her long gown.  

Oh yeah, definitely aroused.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, he leans forward to get her attention.  "Fe-li-ci-ty," he murmurs in that special voice that is only for her, "it's your turn."  Not able to resist taunting her just a little, he smiles and asks sweetly, "Are you going to hold on to what you have?"  

She purses her lips and tilts her head, reminding him of the day he walked into her life with a bullet-ridden laptop and a bad lie that she saw right through.  When he thinks about that, it makes perfect sense that she is beating the pants off him, almost literally at this point, because she could always tell when he is bluffing.  She discards one card and draws another.  Seemingly satisfied, she waits for him to fold or hold.  He tries to build up some suspense but he only lasts about 30 seconds before declining to draw.  Felicity eyes him up and down and he feels the heat from her gaze inflame his skin. Her smile is a feral combination of sultry and smug as she lays down her cards and reveals she has two pair.  

Oliver nods in acknowledgement before he lays his cards down on the carpet in front of him, showing Felicity he has the winning hand.  Again. Her outrage, as evidenced by her narrowed eyes and heaving chest, at his second consecutive win does not escape his attention but he is more focused on her foot.  More particularly, how to remove her shoe from her foot.  There are only three straps holding it on but he can't find any buckles and the straps don't give an inch when he pulls on them.  

“Could you just…,” he pleads.  

But she just shakes her head.  "Okay, Cheaty McCheaterson, how'd you manage to stack the deck without me noticing, huh?  Were you letting me win earlier?  Was being naked part of your strategy all along? "

Wow, he’s not sure whether to be insulted or flattered.  But he loses track of her rant when she reaches for the back of her shoe and slowly unzips it, easing it off her foot.  He reaches over to collect his prize and can’t resist wrapping his hand around her foot, skating his thumb across the arch up to her toes.

"Felicity, I didn't--I wouldn't--cheat," adding under his breath, "no matter how much I want that dress off of you."

Her eyes widen at his admission and she licks her lips.  "That's it...you're going down."

Abruptly letting go of her foot, he chokes on her choice of words but she seems oblivious to her double entendre.  His throat is suddenly as dry as the Nevada desert they drove through just a day ago so he turns over on his hands and knees, crawling over to the mini-bar to grab a bottle of water.  

He doesn’t even have the cap off before he feels her hand on his ass.  She plasters herself to his backside and whispers in his ear, "This dress could be off in the next five seconds if you'll concede that I won."  

Oliver steels himself against the onslaught of her soft curves pressing into him and her enticing ultimatum. "Nope.  No way, not conceding.  We each have two pieces of clothes on.  It's a tie."

Felicity giggles and somehow manages to press herself even closer to him.  Her hands glide around his waist, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and wrap around him in a makeshift hug.  Her warm breath tickles the nape of his neck, the words whispering across his sensitive skin, "It's only a tie if I'm wearing panties.....which I'm most definitely not."  

Desperately trying to tamp down the sudden surge of arousal at that piece of information, he grits out, "You do realize you just admitted that I'm actually winning and gave me incentive to keep playing, don't you?"

Felicity responds by stroking her palm straight down the middle of his abs, until her finger reaches the waistband of his pants, giving the button a tug.  "Or I just gave you incentive to forfeit this game for much more fun one. Dealer’s choice, Mr. Queen."

 FIN

So, fam, what do we think Oliver decided to do? ;)  Hint: if I could write smut, this would have been a lot longer lol.  Thank you so much for reading!  I <3 you all! Since I didn’t do Mancrush Monday, here’s a visual of shirtless Oliver staring at Felicity while she tries to ignore him.  

Also, here’s a pic of Felicity’s lucky heels.  They are very lucky indeed! ;)

[abzilp]

The modern German novel begins with The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus (Der abenteuerliche Simplicissimus Teutsch, 1668) by Hans Grimmelshausen (1622?–76). One of the greatest novels of the 17th century, this 5-part, 400-page book is a boisterous Oktoberfest of genres bumping bellies: bildungsroman, picaresque, allegory, (anti)war novel, hagiography, fantastic voyage, romance, ghost story, sermon, and utopian novel. Referring to the frontispiece depicting a leering satyr/phoenix/bird/fish creature pointing at a book, one German critic admitted “the history of literary forms stands helpless before such a Tragelaph.”64 Initially, it resembles a picaresque novel, especially Alemán’s Guzman of Alfarache, which had been adapted into German by Aegidius Albertinus in 1615. Beginning about halfway through the Thirty Years’ War (1618–48), the narrator explains how he was raised nameless and uneducated among peasants until the marauding Imperial army looted his village when he was 12 or 13; he escapes into the nearby forest and is taken under the wing of a religious hermit who names him Simplicius because of his ignorance—he’s never seen a horse, and assumes soldiers riding them are a centaurlike hybrid of man and wolf—and brainwashes him with Christianity before allowing him to read more books borrowed from the local pastor. After the hermit dies, Simplicius returns to the world at war and yo-yos from one camp to another; treated like a fool, he becomes a professional jester until he can work his way up the ranks. He becomes a marauding prankster known as the Hunter of Soest, and on one occasion discovers an abandoned treasure in a haunted house, which seems to ensure his fortune. Knowing he’s betraying his Christian upbringing but powerless to resist, Simplicius then accompanies a young nobleman to Paris, where he becomes an actor and a gigolo, the beginning of a downward moral spiral that takes him back penniless to Germany, where he scrapes by as a traveling quack until he’s forced back into the army. Determined to settle down, he marries a country lass (who turns into a drunk), reunites with his “father” (who tells Simplicius he is actually the son of the hermit who raised him, a Scottish nobleman who abandoned the world in disgust), travels some more (Russia and Asia) before returning home disillusioned with everything, and becomes a hermit—choosing the life that had been forced upon him as a frightened boy. So it seems the entire novel has been a sermon against unchristian behavior, and a religious call for renunciation of the sinful world. 

But Grimmelshausen complicates this picaresque pilgrim’s progress in many intriguing ways. On the one hand, the novel is graphically realistic, much more so than spiritually oriented works are. The attack on young Simplicius’s village is described in sickening detail: the soldiers ransack and torch everything, torture the peasants, and rape the women. Later, peasants capture a soldier, cut off his nose, and force him to lick their assholes before they bury him alive in a barrel; when other soldiers capture the cleansed peasants, “They bound their hands and feet together round a fallen tree in such a way that their backsides (if you will forgive me again) were sticking up nicely in the air. Then they pulled down their trousers, took several yards of fuse, tied knots in it and ran it up and down in their arses to such effect that the blood came pouring out. The peasants screamed pitifully, but the soldiers were enjoying it and did not stop their sawing until they were through the skin and flesh and down to the bone.”65 Young Grimmelshausen was an eyewitness to such atrocities—the first third of the novel is somewhat autobiographical; his handling of a child’s POV is superb—and his willingness to report what he saw so unflinchingly makes Simplicissimus a primary source for historians of the Thirty Years’ War. (You’ll recall the Spanish Estebanillo González is also set during that conflict and captures some of the chaos of war, but Grimmelshausen focuses on the civilian population.) 

Such language also makes the novel a primary document in the rise of realism in fiction; not since Thomas Nashe had any novelist dared to describe the aftermath of battle in such gruesome terms as he uses: “there were heads that had lost the bodies they belonged to and bodies lacking heads; some had their entrails hanging out in sickening fashion, others their skull smashed and the brain spattered over the ground; . . . there were shot-off arms with the fingers still moving, as if they wanted to get back into the fighting, . . .” (2.27). The dialogue is equally realistic: “Pox on you, brother, are you still alive?” one soldier greets another. “By the holy fuckrament, the Devil looks after his own!” (1.26). As a licensed fool, Simplicius doesn’t mince words when asked to describe a fashionable visitor: “This lady has hair as yellow as baby shit and the parting is as white and as straight as if she had been hit on the scalp with a curry-comb. And her hair is in such neat rolls it looks like hollow pipes, or as if she had a pound of candles or a dozen sausages hanging down each side. And oh, look at her lovely smooth forehead, is it not more beautifully curved than a fat buttock and whiter than a dead man’s skull which has been hanging out in the wind and rain for years?” (2.9). Simplicius often embarrasses himself by farting noisily; people vomit, shit, swear, scratch at lice and fleas. There’s sex and some nudity: sailing on the Danube for Vienna, Simplicius “had eyes for nothing but the women who answered the calls from the boats with literal rather than verbal bare-arsed cheek” (5.3).66 The point is religious writers don’t write like this—nowhere in Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress does a farmboy tell a dairymaid “that she could kiss his arse and go fuck her mammy in the bargain” (3.23)—which calls into question the ostensibly religious orientation of the novel. Something else is afoot. 

Though highly realistic, more so than most pre-20th-century novels, Simplicissimus is, on the other hand, highly unrealistic and brazenly supernatural. Grimmelshausen’s novel often reads like a Grimms’ fairy tale, for Simplicius lives in a demon-haunted world where people still cast spells, foretell the future, and consort with devils. When he leaves the forest for the town, some citizens “thought I was a spectre, a ghost or some such phenomenon” (1.19)—phenomena as real to them as the butcher or the baker. In book 2, Simplicius is foraging at night and sneaks into a farmhouse, where he spies a few people who “had a sulphurous blue lamp on the bench by the light of which they were greasing sticks, brooms, pitchforks, stools and benches. Then, one after the other, they flew out of the window on them.” Puzzled, he sits on one of the benches and instantly shoots out the window and lands about 150 miles northeast to witness a witches’ dance, described with Boschean extravagance. Invited to join the dance, “I cried out loud to God, at which the whole crew vanished” (2.17). Simplicius insists this actually happened, and wasn’t a dream; citing similar stories from reputable scholars, including the story of Faust, he dares the reader to disbelieve him: “if you don’t believe it, you will have to think up some other way in which I went in such short time from Hersfeld or Fulda (I still don’t know where I was, wandering round in the forest) to the vicinity of Magdeburg” (2.18). There he is taken into a regiment that includes a prevost-sergeant who “was a true sorcerer and black magician who knew a spell for finding out thieves and another to make not only himself as bullet-proof as steel, but others too.” To find a thief, “the sorcerer muttered a few words and puppies started to jump out of people’s pockets, sleeves, boots, flies and any other openings in their dress, one, two, three or more at a time” (2.22). A little later, Simplicius invents a pocket-sized instrument that enables him to hear things taking place miles away, and again taunts the reader: “However, I am not surprised if people do not believe what I have just written” (3.1). The treasure he discovers is guarded by a “ghost or wraith” (3.12), which is not a product of his imagination, nor is the demon who speaks to him from inside a man undergoing exorcism (5.2). Near the end is the greatest test of the reader’s incredulity: tossing some stones into the “enchanted” Mummelsee, “a supposedly bottomless lake” (5.10)—a real lake in the Black Forest, but now known to be only 55 feet deep—some sylphs come to the surface, give him a magic jewel that enables him to breathe underwater, then take him to the center of the earth for a 16-page tour of their subterranean world and discuss their place in the Christian scheme of things.67 

All this takes place on the “factual” plane of the novel, and doesn’t include numerous instances where people are mistaken for devils, or Simplicius’s allegorical dream of the military establishment as a tree (which allows Grimmelshausen to criticize further the suffering inflicting upon civilians) “with Mars, the God of War, on the top, and covering the whole of Europe with its branches” (1.18). One chapter is entitled “How Simplicius Was Dragged Down into Hell by Four Devils and Treated to Spanish Wine” (2.5), followed by “How Simplicius Went to Heaven and Was Turned into a Calf” (2.6), but these are merely pranks soldiers play on the naïve lad. Later he meets a madman who calls himself Jupiter, whom Simplicius plays along with by referring himself to Ganymede or Mercury, and layered on top of other references to classical mythology and German folklore is an elaborate set of references to Chaldean astrology. It’s tempting to call this magic realism were it not closer to the aesthetics of the medieval morality play, where figures representing devils or the sun shared the same stage as mortals. Christianity is part and parcel of this magical/medieval world: throughout the novel, saints and angels are evoked in the same breath as figures from myth and folklore, supernatural events are defended with citations of similar events in the Bible, and Christian theology is indistinguishable from the world of myth and magic. If you believe in the miracles in the Bible, the novel implies, then you’re no different from those who believe witches ride broomsticks and sorcerers cause puppies to magically crawl out of your pocket. As in Don Quixote, there is a clash between old-world and new-world weltanschauungs, and by the end of the novel, Christianity has been so thoroughly contaminated by its association with outdated mythology that Simplicius’s quixotic decision to renounce the world at age 33 and become a Christian hermit can only be regarded as the act of a simpleton. The novel encourages figurative detachment from the world, not literal. 

Grimmelshausen certainly didn’t drop out to play the holy fool: he managed estates, ran several inns, was the mayor of a small town, had 10 kids, and wrote more than 20 books. He converted from Protestantism to Catholicism when younger (to help his careers, it’s been suggested), but he knew the only real magic is the act of artistic creation. There’s a lovely passage near the end of book 1 in which an officer’s secretary praises writing as a way to make a living; Simplicius thinks he’s talking about magic (and is reminded of “Fortunatus’s inexhaustible purse”), but Grimmelshausen is also praising the novelist’s art of creating something from nothing: 

I once criticised him for his dirty inkwell but he replied that it was the best thing in his whole room for he could draw up out of it anything he wanted: fine gold ducats, fine clothes, in short all his possessions had been fished out of his inkwell one by one. I refused to believe that such magnificent things could be obtained from such a paltry container. He replied that it was the spiritus paperi, as he called the ink, that did it, and that an inkwell was called a well because you could draw up all sorts of things out of it. (1.27) 

Out of Grimmelshausen’s dirty inkwell came this devilishly clever satire on 17th-century society, a world “so full of foolishness that no one takes any notice or laughs at it anymore,” as Simplicius notes (3.17), encouraging him to “castigate all follies and censure all vanities” (2.10). Simplicissimus begins like a picaresque bildungsroman but opens up into a Menippean satire, a blitzkrieg against pretension, hypocrisy, superstition, and especially the alleged nobility of war. There’s no bullshit here about dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, a con kings and politicians have been using to recruit cannon-fodder ever since Horace penned that piece of propaganda. The Thirty Years’ War was essentially a family squabble between the Hapsburgs and the Bourbons for territorial control over Europe (with some Protestant vs. Catholic window-dressing), about as noble as a mob turf war, and though Grimmelshausen sarcastically notes war is good for business (5.5), he rubs his reader’s face in its barbaric nature with a force that wouldn’t be felt again until the antiwar novels of the 20th century. As Simplicius fools his way through war-torn, phantasmagoric Germany, I was remind of Slothrop in Gravity’s Rainbow; Grimmelshausen even indulges in some Pynchonesque personification: on one of his foraging expeditions, Simplicius sees “a sight for sore eyes or, rather, empty bellies: hanging up in the chimney were hams, sausages and sides of bacon. They seemed to be smiling at me, so I gave them a come-hither look, wishing they would come and join my comrades in the woods, but in vain; the hard-hearted things ignored me and stayed hanging there” (2.31). Simplicissimus belongs to the same insubordinate platoon as The Good Soldier Švejk, The Tin Drum, and Catch-22. 

Though Grimmelshausen drew upon personal experiences for the early parts of the novel, he drew mostly upon his extensive reading. Scholars have shown that more than 150 books went into the making of this erudite novel, ranging from classical authors and the medieval Parzival to the 6-page passage from Antonio de Guevara’s 16th-century theological tract that concludes book 5. A German translation of Charles Sorel’s iconoclastic antinovel Francion (see pp. 182–86 below) was a major inspiration, but Grimmelshausen also drew upon Italian novellas and German jestbooks (like Till Eulenspiegel), encyclopedias and almanacs, and manuals on witchcraft like Johann Wier’s De Præstigiis dæmonium (2.8). A battle scene that sounds like an eyewitness report actually comes from a German translation of Sidney’s Arcadia (which should give military historians pause). On one occasion, Simplicius visits a pastor and finds him “reading my Chaste Joseph” (3.19)—a biblical novel Grimmelshausen published in 1666, though it’s only 1639 at this point! That’s so obviously an anachronism that it has to be deliberate, another taunting call for the suspension of disbelief like Simplicius’s magical bench ride and his sylph-escorted journey to the center of the earth. It’s all one to “the old inkslinger” (2.4). 

Cervantes waited 10 years to publish a sequel to Don Quixote, but Grimmelshausen jumped on the unexpected success of Simplicissimus. When the 5-book novel was reprinted in 1669, he added a 6th book simply entitled Continuation (Continuatio), though scholars are divided on whether this forms an organic whole with the previous part, or is the first of several sequels Grimmelshausen published over the next few years. 

Like most hastily written sequels, the Continuation isn’t very good. Picking up where book 5 left off, Simplicius’s solitary life as a hermit seems to be driving him crazy, for first he recounts a long, allegorical dream that starts in hell with Lucifer gnashing his teeth at the declaration of peace that ended the Thirty Years’ War, which morphs into a didactic tale of a rich young Englishman who ruins himself through conspicuous consumption. Our hairy hermit then encounters a statue that comes to life, and—after Simplicius decides to hit the road as a pilgrim—he gets into an argument with some toilet paper, who delivers a long economic history of its many metamorphoses from seed to paper (a remarkable set-piece that again brings Pynchon to mind). Mistaken for the Wandering Jew, spooked by ghosts, Simplicius has further bizarre adventures as he travels to Egypt, then is shipwrecked on a deserted island off the coast of Australia, where he leads a Robinson Crusoe-type existence—this section was based on the popular English novelette by Henry Neville, The Isle of Pines (1668)—and there he writes the entire Simplicissimus novel on palm leaves. Refusing rescue by a Dutch sea captain, Simplicius intends to live out the rest of his pious life on his island hideaway, “an example of change and a mirror of the inconstancy of human life.”68 Although the book offers further displays of the author’s outlandish erudition, it’s too didactic, too medieval. 

Grimmelshausen returns to form in The Life of Courage (Die Landstörtzerin Courasche, 1670).69 Near the end of Simplicissimus, our protagonist had boasted of seducing and dumping a beatiful lady, a “man-trap” whose “easy virtue soon disgusted him” (5.6); nine months later, she leaves a baby on his doorstep, who Simplicius reluctantly makes his son and heir. Audaciously blurring the distinction between fiction and reality, Grimmelshausen states in a headnote that this unnamed woman read Simplicissimus and was so insulted at her portrayal therein that she decided to avenge herself by telling the story of her life, revealing that the woman he took for an aristocrat was actually a promiscuous adventuress infected with syphilis—which raises an intriguing possibility: Did Simplicius contract the disease from her? Untreated, it can cause insanity, which would explain the underwater sylphic adventure later in book 5 and the talking toilet paper. Indeed, the entire bizarre Continuation can be read as a neurosyphilitic hallucination. If nothing else, it stinks up the odor of sanctity with which Simplicissimus ends. 

Just as the Continuation anticipates Robinson Crusoe, this short novel anticipates Defoe’s Moll Flanders, but with no apology at the end for the life she’s led. (Grimmelshausen, however, tacks on a homiletic warning against following her example.) Inspired by a German translation of Lopez de Úbeda’s Justina, Grimmelshausen backtracks to the very beginning of the Thirty Years’ War. Born in Bohemia, 13-year-old Libuschka disguises herself as a boy to avoid rape from invading soldiers and joins the army: “I made a great effort to get rid of all my woman’s habits and acquire man’s. I took great pains to learn to swear like a trooper and drink like a fish . . . so that no one should suspect there was something I had not been endowed with at birth” (2). When it’s revealed during a fight she lacks that certain something, she defiantly calls her vulva Courage, which becomes her girl-power nom de guerre in her fight against male prejudice as well as opposing armies.70 Over the next dozen years, she is repeatedly married to soldiers, repeatedly raped by other other soldiers, then becomes a prostitute, then a black marketeer, doing whatever it takes to survive the war, and marrying whoever promises shelter from the storm. (Through no fault of her own, her husbands usually perish before their first anniversary.) She’s smart, as courageous as her name implies, and fiercely independent; she doesn’t really descend into criminal behavior until later in life, when she joins a band of Gypsies. And that child she left on Simplicius’s doorstep? Not hers, but her slutty maid’s. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Courage takes self-incriminating delight in telling Simplex (as she calls him) how wrong he was about everything. 

Like Simplicissimus, Courage is graphically realistic but includes a few magical elements. The Spanish Justina tried to dodge sexual encounters, but Courage welcomes them: she’s a novelty in novels of this period, a sexually active woman who doesn’t feel guilty about scratching her itch (as puts it). While we have to remember that a man is writing this, Grimmelshausen was a worldly one and knew that women have sexual desires too, which you wouldn’t guess from most novels published before the 20th century. Like Simplicius, Courage occasionally reads courtly romance novels, but only to pick up “pretty turns of phrase from” for the purposes of seduction (5; cf. Simplicissimus 3.18: “these books taught me how to lure the female sex”). Rebelling against the polite romance tradition, Grimmelshausen opposes his hard-core realism to their unrealistic fantasies; like his model Charles Sorel, he was out to destroy the mainstream novel, and Courage is an earthy and bracing alternative to most 17th-century fiction. 

One of Courage’s longer-term relationships was with a lackey/paramour she nicknamed Tearaway, from the time she told him, “Tear yourself away from that cart and go and fetch the dappled grey from the grazing” (16). After she dumped him for drunkenness and domestic violence, this rascal became one of Simplicius’s gang during his Hunter of Soest period. He tells his story in Tearaway (Der seltzame Springinsfeld, 1670), which begins when the young scribe Courage had hired to write down her memoir runs into Simplicius, lately returned from Australia, and his old servant Tearaway at an inn.71 The scribe tells them what Courage dictated to him—Simplicius interrupts to admit he was also banging Courage’s maid, so that baby is his son after all—and also of her life with the Gypsies. (Grimmelshausen may be the first to write about them in fiction.) We learn that Simplicius, as pious as ever, is annoyed that readers are treating his Simplicissimus merely as a jestbook like Till Eulenspiegel instead of the Christian allegory he intended. Incongruously, he is now making a living as a traveling salesman peddling an elixir that improves wine, using a magic book as part of his spiel—another occasion Grimmelshausen uses, like the dirty inkwell, for a tribute to the power of imaginative writing—and after nine chapters of metafictional scene-setting, Tearaway tells how he spent the war. Like much of Simplicissimus, Tearaway is a grim, grunt’s-eye view of war, where greed for booty trumps patriotic duty, and which brings out the worst in everyone. Tearaway admits “Soldiers are there to persecute the peasants and any that leave them in peace aren’t doing their job properly,” but also notes “some peasants were worse than the good soldiers themselves. They not only murder soldiers, innocent and guilty, whenever they managed to get hold of them, when they had the chance, they stole from their neighbours, even from their own friends and relations” (13). This section is sketchy, obviously worked up not from firsthand experience but from the same war chronicle Grimmelshausen used for Courage, Eberhard von Wassenberg’s Erneuerter Teutscher Florus (1647). After the war is over, Tearaway marries a widow and becomes a crooked innkeeper, abandons both, then marries a hurdy-gurdy player and scrapes out a living accompanying her on the fiddle as wandering musicians. This colorful, realistic account of tramping morphs into a fairy tale in which his wife discovers a magical bird’s nest that confers invisibility on its owner; Tearaway’s too cowardly to use it for gain—she isn’t, and winds up being burned as a witch as a result—and the tatterdemalion is still playing for pfennigs when he runs in to his old master. Simplicius tries to recall him to Christian principles, which Tearaway initially dismisses as “a load of monkish tripe” (27), though he repents just before he dies. 

“The Miraculous Bird’s Nest” (Das wunderbarliche Vogelnest, 1672 [part 1] and 1675 [part 2]) is the title of the last two sections of what Grimmelshausen eventually called the Simplician Cycle. In part 1, a do-gooder named Michael uses the cloaking device to obstruct various misdeeds while searching for an honorable way to make money; in part 2, an unnamed merchant, less scrupulous than Michael (and more like Tearaway’s wife), takes advantage of invisibility to commit various acts of greed, lust, and sorcery. The miraculous bird’s nest functions as a “lens through which the bearer perceives reality” (Negus, 124), another analog for one of fiction’s purposes. Simplicius’s son appears in one episode in part 1, but otherwise the 2-part novel is only thematically related to the preceding novels, emphasizing once again the inconstancy of fortune, the prevalence of evil, and the consequent necessity of adhering to Christian principles. Books 1 through 8 of the Simplician Cycle depicted a world at war, but in these final two books Grimmelshausen argues that the world at peace is just as dangerous. They sound mildly entertaining, but as they’ve not been translated, I can only direct the interested reader elsewhere for more on the conclusion to Grimmelshausen’s 10-part, 800-page meganovel.72 

Unlike part 2 of Don Quixote, the second half of the Simplician Cycle isn’t as impressive as the first half (i.e., Simplicissimus), but that doesn’t prevent Grimmelshausen from occupying the same lofty position in early German literature, and his influence on later German writers is profound. He impressed Ludwig Tieck and other German Romantics, the Grimm brothers and Goethe, and his work played a patriotic part in the unification of Germany in the 19th century. Most major German novelists of the 20th century have paid tribute to him: Thomas Mann borrowed from his work for his Felix Krull and Doctor Faust, and in his introduction to a Swedish translation of Simplicissimus, he wrote: “It is the rarest kind of monument to life and literature, for it has survived almost three centuries and will survive many more. It is a story of the most basic kind of grandeur—gaudy, wild, raw, amusing, rollicking and ragged, boiling with life, on intimate terms with death and the devil—but in the end, contrite and fully tired of a world wasting itself in blood, pillage and lust, but immortal in the miserable splendor of its sins.”73 Hesse greatly admired Grimmelshausen, and from him Bertolt Brecht conceived the idea for his play Mother Courage and Her Children (1949). Grimmelshausen’s earthy, erudite, punning language was an inspirational starting point for Arno Schmidt’s even more outlandish diction. I implied earlier that the young Simplicius has something in common with Oskar Matzerath in Günter Grass’s Tin Drum (1959), and Grimmelshausen steals the show in Grass’s erudite critifiction The Meeting at Telgte (1979), an imaginary conference of several German authors in 1647, in which Grass affectionately roasts the old inkslinger: 

In his green doublet and plumed hat he looked like something out of a storybook. . . . [After he] had offered his services in a long-winded speech well larded with tropes, Harsdörffer took Dach aside. True, he said, the fellow prates like an itinerant astrologer—he had introduced himself to the assemblage as Jupiter’s favorite, whom, as they could see, Venus had punished in France—but he had wit, and was better read than his clowning might lead one to suspect. . . . His lies, said Harsdörffer, are as inspired as any romances; his eloquence reduces the very Jesuits to silence; not just the church fathers, but all the gods and their planets are at his fingertips; he is familiar with the seamy side of life, and wherever he goes, in Cologne, in Recklinghausen, in Soest, he knows his way about. . . . Hofmannswaldau stood dumbfounded; hadn’t the fellow just quoted a passage from Opitz’s translation of the Arcadia? . . . His words seemed as trustworthy as the sheen of the double row of buttons on his green doublet. (6–7) 

In this novel Grimmelshausen is still in his mid-twenties, but someday, the narrator predicts, “he would let every foul smell out of the bag; a chronicler, he would bring back the long war as a word-butchery, let loose gruesome laughter, and give the [German] language license to be what it is: crude and soft-spoken, whole and stricken, here Frenchified, there melancolicky, but always drawn from the casks of life. Yes, he would write! By Jupiter, Mercury, and Apollo, he would!” (112–13).