#look at his bristly ass i love him

[leaflingsound]

one of my favorite bugs I've ever photographed, juriniopsis adusta. august 2021.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Quick Warm Up for A Long Marathon

This is literally just being silly. I know it's super short, but honestly for this part of the story? I think it's just hilarious. I love how this story turned out! Anyways, enjoy some hybrid!CoD

TWs: None, except König being an ass

Wordcount: 800

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Quick Warm Up for A Long Marathon

So the cafe was a disaster. Well, not every idea can be brilliant. You'd hoped to break the ice between you, but so be it. You’d still keep trying with König, even if it killed you. Of course with how determined König seemed to shut you out, it started to look like you’d be taking yourself out pretty soon.

You’d dealt with difficult hybrids before. You’d dealt with a tokoloshe shifter that had been determined to undermine any and every attempt to get through to her. You’d eventually won her over by providing her a plethora of fruits from South Africa and two weeks of vacation to visit her aunt during the summers over the holidays, and after that, it was smooth sailing. Maybe König needed something similar? He seemed so closed off all the time. Maybe it was because he was just overworked?

The thought helped calm you. It was a light at the end of the tunnel to look forward to. The knot that had worked itself twixt your shoulder blades started to unwind as you walked down to the gym. You wondered if maybe König would actually be a bit more relaxed once in the gym. Usually, a bit of light jogging was enough to clear your head, so maybe your hybrid might be more friendly when he’d unwound a bit. That, or he’d be particularly bristly. It was a coin flip, really. Not one that you really wanted to hedge your bets on either. You’d really rather not have to put your fate in somebody else's hands, but König had a firm grip on you and he was happily dragging you down to the bottom of the crab bucket.

The walk to the gym led you winding round the base until you came to a wide door, which in turn led to what seemed more like a stadium than a gymnasium. Inside, you turned around as you walked to get a full lay of the land. Around you was a giant track while the ceiling was lined with hoops for hybrids to duck through or swing off of. Hurdles lined one end of the track while a great obstacle course took up the center of the room. Finally, you spotted the equipment lining the far wall. There, you made your way to the back corner, where a small group of hybrids were training using punching bags and kicking pillars. At the end of a line of ten sandbags, König was practising his hooks.

“Hey!” you held up a hand as you walked over to where your colonel stood, “sorry about being late. I got a bit busy.”

König glanced over towards you before focusing back on the red punching bag.

You looked at the bag and then back at him, “So, do you need me to hold some pads for you?”

König stilled, then slowly turned his head towards you. He didn't bother hiding how his eyes squinted as he looked you up and down, “You think you can do that for me?”

You scoffed, “Of course I can! I’m your handler. It's my job.”

König gave you another once-over before dropping his stance. He shrugged and said, “Try your best.”

You turned away to hide your eye roll, but you figured it was time to finally prove your worth as a handler. If you couldn’t get to him on a personal level, he could respect you as a trainer. You’d dealt with plenty of hybrids before König, how could he be any different?

You sauntered back to him with a hefty body bag over one shoulder, your other hand swinging easily by your side. König tilted his head back, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one foot in a perfect show of bemusement. You snorted to yourself as you held up the pad to your side, shifting to a proper front stance as you readied yourself for the blow.

“Ten roundhouses on the right, ten on the left,” you declared, “sound good to you?”

“What about stretching?” König countered.

The tips of your ears were flushed as you scrambled and sputtered, “I mean, you were doing some exercise earlier, so didn’t you already do some?”

König shook his head, “I did, but did you?”

You paused. He had a fair point.

“Okay, um, can you give me fifteen and I’ll come back to you?” you asked.

König shrugged, “I’ll be here.”

Good enough.

A good fifteen minutes later, you were fully stretched and ready for whatever König was about to throw at you. You picked up your body bag and returned back to your place by König’s side.

“Alright big guy,” you gave him a wicked grin, “I’m not letting you put off leg day anymore!”

König glanced down at his legs, then back at you. The fact that his thighs were thicker than your head was left unsaid.

“So, remember, ten on one leg, ten on the other, alright?” you hoisted the pad up, “starting on the right. Ready?”

König nodded and fell into a comfortable front stance.

“Alright, one!”

Boom.

With one swing, you were sent clean across the gym. You fell into a jumbled mess of limbs, scrambling for traction on the floor mats as you sprawled out. When you managed to find your footing, you stumbled to your feet and turned to face König.

“Maybe you should use the pillars,” you mumbled.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that König was grinning behind his mask.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universe Stories

[comatosebunny09]

naughty | r. kyojuro

Genre(s): Smut, Modern AU

Warnings: Thigh Riding, Bodily Fluids, Language, Female Anatomy, Spanking, Exhibitionism (?), Not Proofed, Let me know if I missed anything please

Music: Naughty - Irene & Seulgi

Sorry not sorry. I'm going through things, and Kyojuro is the only muse that can satiate those things. Thank you so much for reading, lovely! ❤️

You don’t like to wear underwear when you’re home. 

Panties and bras are cumbersome. Prefer to let your lady bits breathe. You see no need for undergarments unless you’re leaving the house. 

So, of course, you saunter up to your husband—seated on the sectional—with your booty meat and tits a-jiggling, nipples puckering beneath the frail polyester of your dress, engrossed in your phone. Not an underwire or waistband in sight.

“Baby,” you ask, stopping to hover over Kyojuro’s leg, sunlight filtering through your dress’ slit. You don’t think much of your position. Too busy scrolling through DoorDash, gnawing your bottom lip. “You hungry?” 

Kyojuro is quiet for all of nine seconds before—

You yelp as hands suddenly shoot out to latch onto your waist, tugging you down until the seam of your cunt kisses the rough wool of Kyojuro’s sweats and your thighs frame either side of his. 

“Ravenous, darling.”

You cut your eyes at your husband as your phone slips through your fingers, thumping soundly on the rug. The position is uncomfortable, your hands scrambling for his shoulders to stay upright. His grip is possessive, rooting you in place, searing you to the bone.

He wears a close-eyed grin. A look deceptively innocent, though you do not miss the slight twitch of his bristly brow. His palms, once perched on your hips, move to encircle your middle, gently urging you forward until your warm breasts push against the hardened planes of his body. And the slow drag of your clit up his quad sends a warning pulsing through you.

“Babe?” you caution against the pleasant hum of your body. 

A hand rests at the small of your back while the other cups your cheek, coaxing you to look into his eyes. They simmer like liquid spilled over hot coals, etching a sluggish triangle between your hooded gaze and quivering lips. Your breath flees from your nostrils as Kyojuro’s plump lips pan in to capture yours.

And he kisses you. Lazy, slippery, and lust-ladened, filled with tongues curling and hoarse groans poured into your mouth. Your belly does somersaults. Hips unconsciously undulate against Kyojuro’s thigh, adrenaline like glass and needles in your limbs. Greedy fingers scramble for purchase of his hair, tugging until he fitfully pulls away to growl into the junction of your shoulder.

“That’s it, my love. Take it. Take what you want.”

Weighted hands glide southward to hold the apples of your ass, bunching up your dress until supple skin skates beneath his fingers. He guides you into a steady tempo along his quad, squeezing, lifting, baring your pulsing, driveling pussy hole to the cold air as your slick mottles his sweatpants. You chase that idle, sparkling rush that causes your hips to stutter and your breath to hitch, clitoris bumping against the thick muscles of his thigh with the perfect amount of friction.

Kyojuro chuckles against your skin, his voice akin to cured leather and mahogany. He mars your shoulder with hot, open-mouthed kisses, nipping at your aggravated flesh until you keen into his hair. 

“Like that, darling?” he rasps, enticing you to ride him faster. “Want to cum on my thigh, pretty girl?” 

You can do nothing but whine into the crook of his shoulder, your clit dewy and engorged, the coarseness of his pants causing pleasure to burrow deep into the pit of your stomach. You cling to him, panting wetly, your fingers buried in the folds of his hoodie, hips creating a choppy, wet cadence against his thigh.

You’re whimpering behind clenched teeth and eyes screwed shut, the feel of sweltering lips stamping your skin, and skillful digits slapping and pinching your ass, pushing you further to the brink. 

Kyojuro murmurs sodden obscenities in your ear. How wonderful you feel. How good of a girl you’re being. How wet you are. How sexy you sound, bearing down on his quad, chasing that searing, white-hot flurry. He knows what his voice does to you. How that doting, persuasive tone makes your pussy throb and your legs shake. 

When your breath catches and your thighs shiver, he knows you won’t be much longer.

“That’s it, baby. Cum. Cum for me. Please.”

The knot coiling in your stomach reaches its limit. Pulled taut like rope until it quickly unravels. And you careen towards the edge, the sounds of your wet pussy grinding against Kyojuro and his breath—hot and ragged in your ear—crowding your senses. Your hips still, a moan corked in your throat.

Your orgasm consumes you. Deafness. A brilliant whiteness that makes way for fireworks shooting across the inky stratosphere of your eyelids. Thighs quaking, toes curling, the crown of your head tingling. You descend from the sky after what feels like eons, the world slowly filtering in through the haze of your peak. 

There are hands soothingly stroking up your spine. Lips, tender and languid, prying your mouth open to swallow your shallow breaths. You’re loose-limbed and boneless, leaning into him, drawn to the comforting warmth of his body like a beacon. 

Kyojuro draws back, the ache of a smile on his lips, affection shining like water in his eyes. You curl up into his welcoming arms, his thumb skating slothfully over the side of your breast, sending lethargic waves of delight vibrating through you. 

He’ll have to give you some time to recover before you’re ready for another round.

You smile drunkenly. Sleep beckons you, her voice sweet and sticky like dolce. And as you relent to her kind embrace, the clearing of a throat causes you both to cut your eyes to the living room’s other occupant. 

“Damn,” Tengen says, a smirk canting his lips whilst he fans himself, adjusting his pants to hide the tent between his thighs. “That was hot as fuck.”

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

Love is an open wound

Zevlor x Rolan, past Zevlor x Kanon.

Inspired by this post, which I misread. 🤦‍♀️

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers, mild canon divergence for Act 1, panic attack, nightmares, horror, body horror, semi-graphic depictions of violence, PTSD symptoms, nonconsensual enthrallment, nonconsensual use of the Calm Emotions spell (consent is given after), survivors guilt, (minor) character deaths, canon character deaths (more like Kanon character death).

______________________________________________________________

The Absolute had been defeated and peace, or as much peace that a city such as Baldur's Gate could hope to have, had been restored. Ravenguard had managed to purge the worst of the corruption which had infested the highest reaches of government, and the city had been rebuilt.

The tiefling refugees were thriving in the port-city. Alfira had almost a dozen music students. Dammon's forge had months worth of commissions lined up, with more coming in everyday. Rolan had become the Master of Ramazith's Tower and business was booming at Sorcerers Sundries. He had also recently opened a free public library that anyone was welcome to use— so long as they treated the books and scrolls with due care. Bex and Danis had recently adopted a cat. Zevlor had refound his faith and was a paladin once more.

Zevlor was also in a committed relationship with Rolan. To say he was shocked when the mage had approached him after the elder brain had been defeated and asked him on a date would be an understatement. Zevlor was dubious anent the younger man's desires; why would a powerful, young, handsome man like Rolan want an old, washed up, soldier such as him? But Rolan was nothing if not determined, and after much reassurance Zevlor allowed himself to give into his "selfish" desires, and now (just over a year and a half later) they were living together in Ramazith's Tower.

Zevlor had fretted about how Rolan's protective siblings would react to their brother dating an older man, but Cal and Lia welcomed him with open arms (after giving him a shovel talk). "He's had a crush on you since he hit puberty." Lia had told the old Hellrider, much to Rolan's chagrin.

Zevlor was elated to find that he got on well with the mage's siblings. Cal was delighted to have another level-headed person to diffuse Lia and Rolan's constant bickering. While Lia was eager to train with the old Hellrider. She had even privately thanked Zevlor for being a calming influence on her bristly brother.

"Rolan isn't as pissy now that the stick that was shoved up his ass has been replaced with your great sword."

(Zevlor couldn't look her in the eyes for 2 tendays.)

The commander had also befriended the local population of stray cats. Zevlor was fairly certain that most of them only saw him as a meal ticket, but there were a few who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

Life was good and Zevlor was content, most of the time. But sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of Rolan out of the corner of his eye, or he'd see the younger tiefling approaching with the evening sun brightly blazing behind him, and for a split second he'd swear that he'd seen Kanon.

The two young men were very different people, in both their looks and their personalities— but both of them sported shoulder length hair, and their horn structures were almost identical; making them look just similar enough that, in the right light, Zevlor would see brief glimpses of Kanon when he looked at Rolan.

These bittersweet moments made Zevlor's heart ache. Guilt and anxiety made his stomach churn. Zevlor was worried that he was somehow cheating on Rolan in his wistful reminiscing on his prior swain. He worried that he was trying to replace Kanon with Rolan. He worried that his previous feelings for Kanon were preventing him from fully loving Rolan in the way that the man deserved to be loved— wholly and without question.

Compounding his guilt, Zevlor hadn't told Rolan about Kanon— but there wasn't really anything to tell. He hadn't been in a romantic relationship Kanon. In truth they were nothing more than friendly acquaintances... But there was an undeniable mutual attraction between them, and they'd been getting closer. Their relationship had just begun to blossom into something more when Kanon was killed.

Unfathomable remorse filled the old Hellrider. Kanon should have never been on the ramparts with him, but he was because he and Zevlor were flirting. Gods damn it, the man didn't even have any armor on! How could Zevlor have allowed himself to be so negligent in his duties!? If Zevlor was even half the paladin that he thought he was in Elturel, then Kanon wouldn't have died on that wall.

Despite his best efforts, Zevlor often found himself ruminating over his actions on that fateful day.

As soon as Zevlor had spotted the goblins nearing the Grove he yelled out an order to open the gate— he had directed the order to Akra, who had armor on, but Kanon was closer to the windlass— and so he took it upon himself to try to save Aradin's sorry backside from certain demise.

Zevlor saw the goblins nocking their arrows, he should've realized that a man who was a tailor by trade wouldn't have the reaction time of a trained soldier. But instead of diving on top of Kanon to shield him from the incoming volley of arrows, Zevlor had crouched down and covered his own hide because he (incorrectly) assumed that Kanon would also duck for cover.

Helm's unsleeping eyes, he remembered Kanon's death in perfect, agonizing, detail. The horrid sound the young man had made when the first arrow struck him. The sickening squelch as it effortlessly pierced his unarmored flesh.

Kanon may have been able to survive the initial arrow, had the second arrow not struck true by slotting between his ribs and piercing his heart.

The anguished wail that Kanon's sister, Akra, emitted upon seeing her brother's demise haunted Zevlor in his dreams.

Zevlor's night terrors had been intensifying as of late. His nightmares had started to combine the horrors he experienced in Avernus with how he had failed his kinsfolk in the Shadowlands.

In his dreams the refugee tieflings were being slaughtered by demons while he dispassionately stood by, watching as their souls were dammed to perdition in the hells.

The felled tieflings surrounded him, and the only thing louder than their wails of pain and terror were their loathsome screeches of blame and anger. They demanded to know why he had let them die when he had promised to protect them. They castigated him for his cowardice. They lambasted him for his audacity in thinking that he deserved happiness. He didn't.

Other nightmares solely featured Kanon. His bloated and decaying corpse loomed over Zevlor as blood poured from his mouth while he stared accusingly at him with his dead, hate filled eyes. Kanon didn't need to say anything for Zevlor to know that he was angry with him for idlily standing by as his sister was murdered, to know that the young man (correctly) blamed him for their deaths.

And then a familiar sneer would twist Kanon's reddening face until it morphed into Rolan's unmarred visage.

"How long until you cause my death?" Rolan pointedly asked Zevlor as his face began to decay, sloughing off in grotesque chunks as 10,000 tormented voices emanated all at once from Rolan's rotting mouth when he accusingly screamed at Zevlor. "ł'₥ ₲Øł₦₲ ₮Ø ĐłɆ ฿Ɇ₵₳Ʉ₴Ɇ Ø₣ ɎØɄ!"

"NO!" Zevlor yelled as he shot up from bed. He couldn't breath, he couldn't seen anything other than the static that filled his vision. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn't hear anything else.

He was dead. He was dead and he was dammed to relive his failures over and over again for the rest of eternity. He had never actually escaped the hells. Tav hadn't rescued him from the mind flayer pod at Moonrise Towers. He was dead. He was-

A gentle wave of calm washed over the old Hellrider. He could suddenly breath again as the ringing in his ears quieted and the world around him came into focus. Rolan was in front of him, saying soothing words to him.

"He looks worried." Zevlor distantly thought.

"Just focus on my voice Zevlor. Good. We're going to breath together now, follow my lead." Rolan instructed him.

"Breath in." Rolan inhaled as Zevlor copied him. "And breath out."

They repeated the breathing exercise several times until Zevlor had fully returned to his body.

The former commander was drenched in sweat, his skin was clammy and cold. Zevlor's whole body was shaking from the aftershocks of his night terror.

It wasn't until Rolan carefully wiped the tears from his face that Zevlor realized he was silently crying.

A sudden, wretched sob erupted from the very depths of Zevlor's soul. Years of repressed emotions spilled forth from, unfettered by shame or pride.

Rolan held him tight. It felt as though his love was the only thing holding Zevlor together as he was soothingly rocked in the mages arms.

Zevlor must have fallen asleep— as an indeterminate amount of time later he was gently roused from his slumber by Rolan, who handed him some water and softly ordered the old soldier "Drink."

Zevlor nodded in both acquiescence and a gesture of gratitude as he silently accepted the cool glass of water from the other man. He hadn't realized how parched he was until he started drinking. It took more restraint than he'd like to admit to swallow the refreshing liquid at a moderate pace instead of desperately chugging it.

When Zevlor was done drinking he handed the glass back to Rolan, who put it on the nightstand.

"You didn't put a coaster under it." He told Rolan.

"What?" Rolan asked.

"The glass," Zevlor said as he pointed to the offending object "you didn't put it on a coaster, it'll leave a mark if you leave it like that."

Rolan's face skewed in... confusion? Incredulity? Bewilderment?

"I know that you don't like water rings on the furniture, that's why I pointed it out." Zevlor lamely added, fearing he had offended his romantic partner.

"Zevlor, dear," Rolan said slowly, as though he was speaking to Minsc someone whose mental faculties were chronically understaffed. "I don't give a cranium rat's ass about potential condensation rings right now, I am worried about you." Rolan replied in baffled, albeit fond, exasperation.

"You are?" Zevlor asked.

"Yes." Rolan answered while looking at Zevlor as though he'd grown another horn. "I woke to you thrashing around in your sleep from terrible night terrors, I tried to wake you but I was unable rouse you. Then you suddenly bolted upright while screaming in a terror-stricken, anguished voice."

Rolan took a deep, steadying breath before he continued.

"You were nonsensical, saying that you were dead and being tormented in the hells or that you were still trapped in a mind flayer pod. Your eyes were open but they weren't seeing." Rolan shakily told him.

"Oh." Was all Zevlor could think to respond.

"I couldn't get though to you, so I used Calm Emotions on you in the hopes that it would free you from wherever your mind had you trapped. I'm sorry I used my magic to to control your emotions, but I didn't know how else to help you." Rolan said.

It was Zevlor's turn to look at Rolan as though he had grown another horn.

"Why are you apologizing?" Zevlor asked, but continued to talk before Rolan could reply.

"You pulled me out of a very unpleasant place. You shouldn't be apologizing, I should be thanking you." He said as he gently thumbed Rolan's bottom lip, stopping him from worrying it between his teeth.

"I..." Rolan started, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I used a spell to control you, to control your emotions, without your consent." He said.

"I was hardly in a place where I could consent Rolan." Zevlor dismissively replied, then, upon seeing guilt fill Rolan's eyes, quickly added "But I am glad that you did! Your spell helped me immensely!"

When Rolan responded it was with carefully chosen words, though whether they were purely for Zevlor's benefit, or if they were a byproduct of Rolan working though his own emotions, was hard to say.

"You've told me some of what happened in the Shadowlands. I was... concerned that my actions may have been similar to, or reminded you of... the time when you were nonconsensually controlled by the elder brain."

Zevlor blinked in surprise, and even as the familiar feelings of guilt and remorse bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, the warmth that filled him from the younger man's tender concern caused Zevlor to softly smile.

"I promise you, the circumstances here are very different from... that instance." Zevlor said, causing a small grimace to flash across both of their faces.

"I don't feel as though you violated my autonomy." Zevlor resolutely told Rolan, as he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss between his pinched brows.

Rolan sighed with palpable relief, his face smoothing.

"Do you want to talk about your night terrors?" Rolan asked.

Zevlor sighed as he responded, "Not particularly, but I probably should."

Rolan kissed the old Hellrider's forehead and then told him "Take all the time you need love." as he intertwined his and Zevlor's tails together.

After a few minutes of gathering his thoughts, and his courage, Zevlor began to tell Rolan about his nightmares. The younger man listened attentively, holding Zevlor's hand all the while.

"Before I continue relaying the contents of my nightmare, there is something you should know. Someone that I haven't told you about yet." Zevlor cautiously said.

After Rolan nodded in acknowledgment, Zevlor began to tell him of his and Kanon's not-quite-relationship.

"You remember Kanon, yes?" Zevlor asked, continuing after Rolan nodded, "Well he and I... We... We weren't together, but..."

Zevlor trailed off, his courage leaving him as his self doubt began to overwhelm him.

"Zevlor, are you trying to tell me about how you and Kanon danced around each other as you both obliviously, and obviously, pined for one another?" Rolan asked with a bit of amusement slipping into his voice despite his efforts to rein it in.

Zevlor's eyes were as wide saucers when he asked "You already knew!?"

Rolan let his smile slip as he answered "Zevlor, everyone knew. It was painfully obvious that you two had alchemy with each other. I'm fairly certain that Mol's gang were running a betting ring on when you two would finally start dating."

Embarrassed, Zevlor indignantly asked "And no one said anything!?"

"No." Rolan shrugged. "There wasn't much entertainment to be had on the road. Of course I didn't partake in such jejune activities. But I knew of your feelings for him, and his for you. I think everyone except you two knew."

Zevlor stared at Rolan as though he had just told him that the sky was lime green.

"You knew that I had romantic feelings for Kanon?" He asked, needing to clarify what he had just heard.

Rolan looked at Zevlor with a mixture of sympathy and tenderness. "Yes Zevlor, I knew."

"It... it doesn't bother you?" Zevlor hesitantly asked.

"No, Zevlor. It doesn't bother me." Rolan reassured him.

The floodgates opened once more as Zevlor began sobbing.

He told Rolan of what had happened that day. How he blamed himself for Kanon's death. How he was worried that he was using Rolan as a replacement. How he sometimes saw Kanon when he looked at Rolan.

Zevlor came clean about everything. His fears, his doubts, his regrets. How he didn't think he deserved to be happy when he was the reason so many had died.

And Rolan listened without judgement. At times he looked shocked, or angry at the circumstances life had put Zevlor in, or sadness for what he had lost— but he was never resentful.

Eventually Zevlor had confessed everything he'd been hiding from Rolan to him. Despite feeling exhausted Zevlor felt lighter than he had in a very long time.

But of course the reprieve from his self-flagellation only lasted for a few moments.

As Zevlor's senses returned to him so too did his shame. He was a commander of the Hellriders, damnit. How could he be so weak?

HIs self-loathing was unceremoniously interrupted when Rolan none-too-gently flicked his forehead.

"Stop that." Rolan firmly told him.

Zevlor did not pout as he snuggled closer, embarrassed at having been called out for his self-denigration— causing the mage to quietly chuckle and kiss Zevlor's forehead in apology.

"I've covered you with my snot and tears." Zevlor pointed out.

Rolan's voice betrayed his disgust, "I am aware."

Zevlor snickered at Rolan's disgruntled tone.

And by the next morning all traces of Zevlor's bodily secretions had been magicked away.

Zevlor woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

"About time you've woken up, you slugabed." Rolan lovingly teased.

Zevlor hid his smile underneath the blanket as he replied "You young people these days, so disrespectful to your elders."

Rolan made a noncommittal noise as he drank his coffee.

"Mmm, I am very disrespectful— so disrespectful that I graciously brought you a fresh cup of coffee to lazily enjoy in bed." he said good naturedly.

The promise of caffeine inspired Zevlor to fully wake up.

Rolan tittered as he handed the now awake Hellrider his coffee.

Their eyes locked as Zevlor accepted the warm cup from him. The adoring look Rolan gave him soothed his soul in a way that words could not.

He knew that they were okay. They'd probably discuss what he'd revealed the night before, but they would be okay.

They were more than okay. They were good.

Life was good, and it was going to get even better.

[crappymixtape]

have yourself a merry little christmas

christmas is hard for steve, he hates it, any memories he has are of his parents out of town and spending it with his grandma or alone after she passed when he was 16, but with you it’s different | (  1.2k, sad, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

H A V E Y O U R S E L F A M E R R Y L I T T L E C H R I S T M A S

🎶 christmas makes me cry, kacey musgraves

“Whoever invented Christmas trees should have their ass kicked,” Steve grumbled from on the other side of the large, bristly pine he was begrudgingly helping you string lights around.

“Tell me how you really feel,” you quip back with a grin, peeking at him through the branches. His brows were knitted together in frustration, fingers fumbling with the tangled string of lights in his hands. You knew how much he hated Christmas and so you knew how much he must love you to be doing this on a Friday night instead of literally anything else.

Steve’s eyes flicked up from the mess he was holding and he set you with a look. He wanted to be mad, wanted to hate this, but when his eyes met yours he felt the heat in chest shrink. How could he hate anything that meant spending time with you?

Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year, right? Well. Not for everyone.

Almost every single Christmas at the Harrington household was far from wonderful. Steve’s dad always had some excuse: an extravagant party in New York for a client, a last minute meeting on Christmas Eve he couldn’t miss, or – the worst one of all – extending a business trip to spend time with the wife away.

At first, when he was just a kid, Christmas morning would roll around and Steve would clamber out of bed, hoping and praying he’d find his mom and dad waiting for him on the couch.

Surprise, Stevie! We’re home early!

But it was the same every single year. Grandma, smiling up at him with a fresh cinnamon roll and glass of milk. A small pile of presents would be waiting on the hearth of the fireplace next to the tiny table-top tree she’d bring over, tiny ornaments and lights trying to make it special for him.

Merry Christmas, sweetheart, and she’d snuggle him in close and they’d make the best of their little Christmases together.

He still holds these memories close to his heart, knows how hard she tried, how much she loved him, but when she passed just after his sixteenth birthday those happy memories cracked and faded with each shitty Christmas that followed. No cinnamon rolls, no little tree by the fireplace, no warm hugs against the fluffy pink of her bathrobe. His parents reasoned he was old enough, he could spend it with friends if he wanted.

It’ll be fun, son!

It wasn’t.

So he erased the holiday from his calendar. It was like any other day, just with snow on the ground outside, and he’d crawl through it suspended between anger, grief, frustration, and disappointment.

Until now.

“Listen, this is impossible,” Steve grumbled, shaking the ball of lights, not at all an effective way to untangle them, but you caught the wobble in his voice.

Moving around to his side of the tree, you took the ball of lights from him and placed them on the floor. “Hey, I can do this later,” your voice was gentle, and when you looked up into his eyes you could see tears welling along his long, pretty brown lashes.

Biting the inside of his cheek he tried to feel anything other than the sadness that was suddenly swallowing him whole and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears slowly streaming down his freckled cheeks. He was holding his breath, a tactic used only in the most desperate of times, hoping and praying that he could suffocate it.

“Steve…” taking his face in your hands you pulled his forehead down to meet yours and without hesitation he enveloped you in his arms tightly as if you were the only thing holding him together.

His shoulders shook as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and you felt your throat tighten with a sadness of your own, wanting more than anything to take away the hurt, the pain that gripped him, made him feel so small.

You didn’t say anything at all, allowed him to be in the moment. When he finally pulled away to look at you, his eyes, despite being bleary, were still so damn pretty. Long lashes holding onto the last little tears that hadn’t made their way down his freckled cheeks.

Lifting a hand up to hold the line of his jaw you brushed your thumb over his cheek to wipe away the tears as he tried to give you a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Clearing his throat he shook his head and pulled away a bit to run his hands over his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, I know how much you love Christmas and all the lights and ornaments and–”

Cutting him off you grabbed his face again and pressed a kiss to his lips, swallowing the rest of his sentence. It was soft, languid and sweet, as you caught his bottom lip between yours, and his arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you in tight. The scent of the pine tree mingled with Steve’s cologne, the feeling of his arms around you taking your breath away. You wished you could stay like that forever, but reluctantly you pulled away.

Opening your eyes to look into Steve’s, you were surprised to find a small, boyish smile tugging up at the corners of his lips. “Okay?” you ask softly, your noses brushing together lightly.

“M’yeah,” he replies, voice sounding sturdier, more confident, more Steve, and it encourages a smile of your own.

“I was saving these for later, but now is good,” you said softly, untangling yourself from his arms and hurrying to the kitchen for a minute.

Steve watched you scuffle away, a confused look on his face as he combed his hands through his hair, trying to gather himself back together. Vulnerability wasn’t his strong suit, he was always the rock, the steady hand, the lighthouse in the storm, but with you it was different. It felt safe. You didn’t need the reassurance, didn’t need him to be the knight in shining armor coming to save the day. Instead it felt like holding hands, pulling each other up when the other fell, shouldering the weight together, and when you came back out from the kitchen he felt the corners of his eyes sting with tears again.

Your nose scrunched up as you held the plate of cinnamon rolls, the frosting on the top messy and untidy looking. “Sorry, Robin helped me, and well–” you half sighed, half laughed, shaking your head, “–I think they’ll taste good!”

Biting in his lower lip Steve looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks again, and when he brought his gaze back down to you he chuckled. “They look delicious,” he said, voice crackly for just a minute, but he recovered as he took the plate from you to put it on the coffee table.

Reaching a hand out to take hold of your waist he pulled you in close again, his other hand lifting to rest gently on your cheek. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas,” again, a kiss to your cheek. “Merry Christmas,” a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Merry Christmas,” a whisper, and then his soft, warm lips pressed against yours as he wrapped both arms around your waist, the ball of tangled lights shining happily from the floor.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[eneiryu]

I just read something deep has wound up in your soul (I loved everybody's dynamic with Theo) and it got me thinking how, even though he was bred to be massive and deadly and fearsome, he is still a black wolf that was designed for stealth, so I can imagine so many scenarios of the pack just not knowing Theo was there and sitting on him/tripping over him/etc? Argent and Melissa folding laundry and placing them on Theo's back as he's sleeping in the darkened room and they don't notice until he huffs and shifts and the whole pile of clothes goes tumbling all over him. The pack is in the preserve and Theo is lying on the ground with Malia and Derek as they wait for permission to go hunting, and its nighttime and Stiles is human and he backs up right into him and goes falling ass-over-teakettle and Theo doesn't even move to try and avoid him. They're all relaxing and chilling out and out of the darkness Theo opens his eyes and Alec, Nolan and Mason all jump out of their skins as he scares them. Parrish goes to sit down and leaps to his feet when his butt hits bristly fur and tense muscle and he glances down to see Theo watching him with an unimpressed look. The only people who really ever know where is it at all times are Scott and Liam and they use that skill to their advantage and for comedic reasons.

Also, I was wondering why exactly Theo wanted to be a wolf the whole fic? Did something happen during his 'mission' with Argent that made him want to stop being human for a little?

Yes to all of that, absolutely—those are exactly the kinds of dynamics I love to write/see. I like the trust and comfort it implies, and just the…familiarity? Of people who know each other so well that they can have those kinds of experiences without awkwardness or fear or whatever.

As for why Theo wanted to be a wolf, it was partially that he got hurt—I tried to imply that with Melissa’s comment about Argent saying it’d been a rough mission, but sometimes I’m too subtle at the risk of it being completely unrecognizable to anyone who isn’t me 😆—but more that, in my head, Theo just…doesn’t always know how to be a person? Because, really, for so long he wasn’t one, not in any recognizable way: he learned to fake being one, but it was always an act. And so now that he’s with the McCall pack, he’s not faking it anymore, or at least not trying to, but I think the problem is, he doesn’t always know how to just be around people without a purpose, or without being used by them or fulfilling some kind of need of theirs. He doesn’t know how to just do small talk or exist in silence with people, even people he loves and who love him, and so it’s just easier to…be a wolf. To be an animal, who can’t talk, who can’t do a lot of human things, except be present and someone(/thing) that others can interact with in this very easy, primitive way, allowing him to be part of things without having to do so in a way that he doesn’t feel like he understands, or comes with any expectations. If that makes any sense?

[hotluncheddie]

TO THE OTHER ANON WITH THE ICE CREAM THING, DO NOT IGNITE MY BRAIN WORMS LIKE THAT OMFG

anyways.

i just KNOW that once steve and eddie reunite at scoops, they have to have a serious conversation about what to do…inside the walk in freezer as not to be seen. it quickly went from a frantic call to wayne about their nondisclosure agreements to eddie being pressed against a shelving unit while steve kissed him so hard they were light headed. after checking in with his handler, eddie is approved WITH DISCRETION to be in touch with robin and steve. he is permitted to write the kids letters, but they can’t be mailed and have to be delivered by fbi. he can see steve and robin, but nobody is permitted to know of his true identity and if they want to go out, they have to have written approval and can only go to pre approved locations. that’s still good enough for them. steve and eddie move pretty fast once they have their approval, and are seeing each almost every night.

there’s just one problem though. eddie had gotten used to his new body, the last time he and steve had been intimate (the day before eddie had to leave, they made out shirtless and eddie may or maybe not have ruined his favorite pair of boxers) he was 40 pounds lighter. every time steve tried to take off his shirt and he pushed his hands away or he jerked his face when steve touch his soft jawline for a kiss, eddie would stress eat. eddie had gained an additional 10 pounds in the first few months of dating.

it really came to a head one night when eddie was over at steve’s helping him clean his closet and they found a box with eddie’s battle vest. steve chuckled and said that he had saved it for all of the long nights alone (a mental image eddie catalogued away for later use), and encouraged eddie to try it on. without thinking, eddie laughed and tried to put it on over his flannel. it was tighter than he remembered and definitely wouldn’t close over his belly, and when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he practically tried to rip it off because he felt so ridiculous. instead of playing into his insecurities though, steve told him to keep it on and gently kissed him.

as the kiss deepened and the two wound up on the ground with steve straddling eddie, steve snaked a hand under the vest and onto one of eddie’s supple tits. gasping, eddie tried to move steve’s hand away, but instead of moving his hand, steve squeezed. really fucking hard. the protests on eddie’s lips turned into moans, and steve whispered into his ear about how fucking scandalous it was that he looked so good but wouldn’t even let steve see him, nipping at his earlobe and pulling him out of his flannel and vest. eddie tried to cover himself, blushing as steve looked at him with an almost predatory hunger in his eyes, but it all changed when steve pushed his clothed bulge into the squish of eddie’s belly and fucking whined.

it was a flurry of clothes and knocked tooth kisses as the two finally gave into the years of sexual tension, steve rutting his dick against eddie’s belly as he prepped him. steve kissed the stretch marks on his thighs and ass before he covered his dick with lube and sunk into eddie. both were whimpering so loudly that they knew they would probably get noise complaints, but they couldn’t even bring themselves to care. it just felt so good be kissing, to have eddie’s calloused hands pinned down by steve’s soft ones, to feel the friction of eddie’s squishy and hairy belly against the soft muscles and bristly hair of steve’s. when the two finally came, with steve’s cock buried right against eddie’s prostate and eddie’s cock fully unsheathed from its foreskin, they were both weeping.

even though eddie still loved to eat and had his moments of stress eating after that, it was never caused by steve anymore. quite the opposite actually. when things got tricky, steve would be the first to bust out a carton of ice cream from the freezer and two spoons.

I HAVE SO MUCH MORE BECAUSE YOU’VE RUINED ME BUT THATS WHAT YOU GET FOR NOW SO EAT UP -🦂

🦂 AAAAAAAAA wasn’t it such a juicy amazing prompt?? but omggggg u SPOIL MEEEEEEE!!!!!

obsessed obsessed with them getting back together and steve just instantly wanting to make up for lost time. and like, they can’t make steve and robin move, may as well just work something out, they can and this isn’t a usual situation. normally witness protection is crime related, not multi dimensional monster related.

but ughhhhhhhh eddie being so desperate to be back in steve and robins orbits, to have his friends back. people who he can joke with, laugh with, call in the middle of the night, who really fucking get it.

and eddie desperately wants steve, in every way imaginable. but, he’s scared. steve didn’t get with him when he looked like this. steve got with him when he was skinny and toned and not he’s definitely not. so eddie goes as far as he can, fear holding him back the rest of the way and it’s ages before they progress. untill that night with his vest.

and uhhhh!!!! eddie stress eating over this new thing with steve! how will he react! maybe the shirt he’s wearing under the flannel is one he got 15lbs ago, before the extra 10 he gained this month. so the flannel was more of a safety measure to ensure the chucky swell of his hip and lower pudge of his belly would be better concealed under the too tight shirt. so when steve gets to straddling him, hammering home how still fully, completely, absolutely into eddie he still is, pulling away the shirt and flannel. rutting his clothed cock into eddie’s pudge has the added benefit of it being his first real peak of belly, finally exposed after all this time. fucking whine steve does.

and after that night it helps eddie see, steve’s always been obsessed. looks at him the same as he used too, just maybe a little hungrier now. his eyes lingering more, darkening quicker. and that hand that squeezes his peck, that’s a more than regular occurrence, casual even, and god does it make eddie hot.

maybe that shirt and his vest become little markers, if eddie want to tease steve, get him going, he’ll wear his vest out. too tight but reminding them of that night, their past together, the fact that they’re together again. makes steve’s belly light up with possessiveness. always eventually dragging eddie to bed, nipping at his jaw and whispering filth in his ear. fucking eddie with nothing but that on, burying himself deep.

maybe that t-shirt becomes eddie’s comfort shirt, his go-to, to lounge in, especially after a bad day. when steve’s there with two spoons and a tub of icecream.. and take out. to hold eddie close and feed him bites of frozen sweetness on the couch.

it stays eddie’s comfort shirt even when it’s a good day. even when the shirt sits up at his belly button with no hope of pulling lower. stays his favourite because it never fails to make steve kiss him silly and fist their cocks together in one slick, smooth motion until their both panting and finishing all over eddie’s exposed pudge.

[alexanderflowerbird]

Getting some writing done today :3 Here's a little snippet. I'm working on New Faith and then later tonight I'm gonna work on Blood Sun Territory CW: gore, demonic possession, swearing, nipple twisting, pregnancy violence [I try to make these warnings as specific as possible so don't laugh if you feel like they're silly, better safe than sorry]

“I think it’s the thrall,” Mercutio says, even though he feels like he’s talking out of his ass. “Vanessa is the focal point… it’s like Jennifer… something happens, I guess, that makes everyone come around, it gets weird like this, and then they’re possessed enmasse.” Vincente glares ahead, watching as a group of teenagers come around the corner on skateboards and bikes, dead eyed with wide smiles, abandoning their childhood vehicles near the Dowarger’s fence to enter the quickly overrun yard. 

“And when… the thing, whatever it is happens… They’re going to eat her?” Vincente asks, and Mercutio almost wants to shrink away from the responsibility of confirming or denying such an outcome. 

“Maybe.” He decides to say, because he isn’t entirely sure, but it feels too likely to deny, especially when a denial might give Vincente hope he definitely shouldn’t have. He hasn’t seen her yet. He doesn’t know how bad Vanessa’s body has been damaged by the demon’s presence and aspirations for pregnancy. How it’s depraved misunderstanding about how babies are made, how they are born, has dealt Vanessa an injury that she should already be dead from. It will be devastating enough for Vincente to see her, to see her insides on the outside, to look at her and know that the woman he loved like a sister is gone… hope dashed on top of that is too much. 

“We’re going in there.” Vincente says and Mercutio sighs, resigned. “Sure. They’re not hostile, not right now anyway. Vanessa… whatever’s inside of Vanessa now isn’t going to turn all of these people on us when we could be more vessels for the demons coming up through whatever this dark-sided shit is. She said as much to me and Derek, that we’d be back.” 

“Why dancing? Why a house party?” Vincente asks aloud. 

“Shit man, I don’t fucking know. These demons, they’re different I guess. Maybe they’re from some special secret circle of hell we’ve never had the displeasure of meeting demons from where all they wanna do is party like it’s 1999. When Dorrance attacked me, he wanted to know what kissing was like, how to do it. Ms.Dorothy’s demon wanted to be her. None of it makes sense. Demons don’t want to be us, they think we’re trash, God’s worst idea, should’ve been left on the cutting room floor.” 

“Perhaps their opinions have changed.” Vincente guesses. 

“Yeah, maybe, but that’s a pretty big fucking paradigm shift after fucking eons of trying to fuck us up and get us to fuck each other up.” Mercutio does sink into the chair when Vincente urges the car to move closer to the house, his instinctual desire to hide himself from the radiating pulses of pain in his tattoos ruling him as they parallel park just beyond the house’s yard. He flinches and gasps when a hand smacks against the window and the face of Mitchell Coreworth appears through the glass, eyes dark and teeth chattering. His salt and pepper mustache has blood mixed in its bristly edges and his skin is jaundiced, made worse by the street lamp above them. Mercutio leans towards Vincente’s side of the car as Mitchell looks in on them and then around the car’s interior, blood and drool spooling down his chin. Mercutio suspects he’s bitten his tongue or broken some of his teeth somehow… his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth gleam a little in the light when he decides to speak. 

“Nice…Car…Fellas…” He says, words muted by the windowpane. It’s another mimicry; Coreworth is a car enthusiast and has always been jealous of Vincente’s thunderbird. Mercutio recalls when they’d first moved into this neighborhood and Mitchell had noticed them, been neighborly and stuck around just so he could worm his way into asking Vincente if he could buy the car off of him. When the answer was a resounding no, he’d still come around to ask about parts, upkeep, upholstery. He had a friendship with Vincente that was purely car focused, and Vincente, gracious as Jesus calls him to be, was tolerant of the visits and questions and endless elderly, over-wrought suggestions. Coreworth bangs his hand on the hood twice, an imitation of a fond gesture for a beautiful animal if not for the way it sounds like he’s trying to dent the roof with his fist. He leans up again and wanders towards the Dowagers and Mercutio shudders out a breath. “There’s a huge area of effect. There’s no way all of these people have interacted personally with Vanessa, especially when she and Marcus had been staying home to take care of Kelly.” Mercutio says when he can manage to find his voice. “With Jennifer people had come by to see how she was, they were tight knit, and the priests were there to help her when they realized what she was experiencing was a possession. This is something else, more effective than the first couple runs I’m guessing. Vanessa’s some sort of beacon, opening people up to possession and once the hook’s in, she’s reeling them all here.” 

“Why aren’t we being reeled in?” Vincente asks after a moment. 

“Who says we aren’t? Just because we’re following our usual motivations to show up doesn’t mean we’re not being affected and drawn in. What I’m confused about is how are we not being puppeted by fucking demons ourselves at this point.” 

“Would we know? The priest from Jennifer’s case didn’t realize.” 

“I mean he was hearing voices, he should’ve clocked it. Have you been hearing voices?” “No. Have you?” 

“Not any unusual ones.” Mercutio tries to joke. Vincente glares at him, and he holds his hands up. “No, I haven’t been hearing voices, alright?” Vincente frowns even more at him, but carries on.

“Perhaps certain people are immune.” Mercutio shrugs, returning his attention to the house, the people in the yard and on the sidewalk just outside. Some of them have started stripping off their clothes. Mrs.Lennox, a retired teacher from two blocks down with a notorious habit of considering herself the neighborhood watch expert, is shrieking with laughter while pulling and twisting the nipples of Jacob Mottimor, a round, bulky man who always has a story about the good old days when he was almost a football star. He is laughing too, even though the way she’s yanking on him makes Mercutio wince with the desire to protect his own chest. “If that’s the case, it’s rare… I haven’t read anything about people making it out of the towns that have been affected to tell what happened, how they survived it. We should look anyway, dig deep for people who were front and center to this shit, but as far as I can tell? Something happens and everyone’s done for. Which is why we shouldn’t be here.” He points out, even though it’s not going to change Vincente’s mind about this ridiculous, suicidal plan. He looks over at Vincente, and sees he is thumbing the cross around his throat. Mercutio resists the urge to roll his eyes– Vincente must be thinking that maybe it’s God that is protecting them, which is stupid even if the fact that they’re alive after all they’ve been through would suggest that someone somewhere is looking out for them and keeping them from whatever comes after death.

[cyberrat]

72nd Batch Of Fics: 9th Fill

Hanzo/Cassidy – Rough and Tumble AU – Part 12 – lazy morning sex; catching feels – Hanzo hates getting attached to his boy toys.

---

Hanzo has never fucked a sleeping man before. Mostly because he very rarely has partners over for long enough that they could even fall asleep in the first place. He’s more the kind of guy that kicks them out after they served their purpose.

He certainly has never felt the need for a repeat performance in the morning… but this feels nice. Very calm and peaceful in a way. All the sounds he can hear are Cole’s soft snoring and his own labored breathing as he tries – and fails – to get used to the fat cock spreading him open.

His muscles keep clenching down. He wonders whether he should try and rock himself on Cole’s dick but it seems like too much effort really when only being filled feels so good already.

Cole’s limbs are wrapped around Hanzo, holding him down additionally. He closes his eyes and just focuses on the feelings in his body. The way the intrusion speared into his guts feels even bigger when he clenches down on it. Or how Cole’s breath hitches whenever he does it.

“Cole?” he whispers at one point, unsure whether the big oaf is even still asleep – but no answer comes and yeah… he’s pretty sure he’d be babbling his head off if he were awake to feel Hanzo’s pussy wrapped around him, clinging to his dick nice and wet and eager.

Yeah… Cole’d be talking the whole time through with that deep, syrupy voice that sounds so perfect, even when talking about the most depraved things.

Hanzo curls his arm over Cole’s again, weaving their fingers together, eyes closed tightly. He’s sure they look just like a couple having a nice cuddle in bed in the morning but really all he is focused on is the stretch of his rim around the base of Cole’s dick and how the thing flexes inside him slowly like it has a mind of its own.

It probably does. Knowing Cole, his dick is more intelligent than he.

It’s at that moment that Cole shifts a little and then starts to press bristly kisses against the back of Hanzo’s shoulder. It’s so slow and self-indulgent that it feels like he’s still more asleep than awake. Hanzo isn’t surprised that Cole would be such an effortlessly charming man, but it still hits him unexpectedly just how deep it affects him to feel him kissing up and loving on him even when his brain isn’t really online yet.

Hanzo feels… humbled, in a way. He would not have thought of any of it. He had only been wondering about his own comfort and what he can get out of Cole while he is still out of it.

He chews on his bottom lip, able to pinpoint the exact moment that the young man’s brain properly comes online because he stiffens and doesn’t even seem to breathe as he has to compute the feeling of his dick inside Hanzo’s clenching, clutching body.

“Uh… huh?” It’s more a grunt than anything, but it sounds so confused that Hanzo can’t help but smile. Maybe he is wondering whether he managed to do that all on his own and whether Hanzo is going to kill him as soon as he wakes up and notices.

He lifts their hands up and presses his lips against one of Cole’s thick knuckles.

“Took you long enough to wake up,” he murmurs. He feels strangely tame; letting Cole so easily off the hook. It does not feel right to let him have a heart attack right now. Not when he’s been such a sweet boy just now.

Cole doesn’t respond. He seems to need an eternity to even compute what is happening; so Hanzo decides to help him along by squeezing down on his dick and pressing his ass back against the boy’s hips just a little bit harder.

“You feel good early in the morning,” he tells him in a crooning voice over the sounds of Cole choking on his own tongue. “I think… I might want to have it more often.”

“O-Okay?” Cole whispers. His voice is so deep and gravelly from sleep that Hanzo can feel it vibrating in his stomach. The tickling sensation is out of this world. It’s almost better than the massive cock lodged in his guts.

Hanzo falls quiet, his cheeks inexplicably flushing. He curls his arm tighter around Cole’s, moving his hand so it is against Hanzo’s chest. After a heartbeat, the arm tightens and it feels so much like a hug that Hanzo doesn’t know what to say.

Cole is uncharacteristically quiet as well. He is breathing slow and deep right against the back of Hanzo’s neck. After a few moments of simply gathering himself, he starts to move; tiny back-and-forth motions of his hips that inch his dick along Hanzo’s inner walls in such small movements that they are barely even noticeable.

Can he come from it? He doesn’t know but… it doesn’t feel so important anymore. He is wrapped in Cassidy’s embrace, completely enveloped by his everything, and it feels… good. Secure.

The air is warm and thick around them, as is the body behind. Hanzo is being smothered but he can’t find it in him to be annoyed by it.

Cole is surprisingly sweet, slowly, barely fucking Hanzo, wet little pants puffing against the back of his shoulder.

All Hanzo can do is take it which… is what he’s wanted all along, isn’t it? He had wanted Cole to bury him underneath his weight and just grunt fuck him into oblivion. This is so different to that desperate little fantasy but all the more welcome, he finds.

He can barely move any of his limbs what with Cole’s arm and leg wrapped around him. Yes, all he can do is lie there and sweat, his ass stretched around the young stud’s breeding cock, his insides slowly turning hotter and hotter by those tiny back-and-forth movements.

It’s so… unhurried. Sleepy, even. It makes him wonder halfway through, whether Cole hasn’t fallen back asleep because his movements become so slow that it is downright excruciating.

But he does still move. Grinding in and in and in like he wants to crawl into Hanzo dick first.

His orgasm is just as slow and creeping. Hanzo doesn’t even notice it happening at first; only the prickling heat spreading down his thighs and up into his stomach, making him short of breath.

It’s so slow and gentle that it’s borderline ruined but God, it feels so good to be right there in bed with Cole in that moment that he honestly doesn’t care.

He hates getting attached to his boy toys… but here he is, filled up to the brim and wondering how long it might take to talk Cole into canceling his lease and moving in with Hanzo so he can wake up like this more often.

[fluffytoughie]

🐷✨

"Ugh, fuckin' hell, I'm gonna go gray if I gotta put up wit dis yammerin' a single second longah!"

The raucous yelling was only a prelude to the crescendo of a chair being thrown. The resounding THUD against the wall was satisfying, but did little to ebb Angel's upset.

He ran gloved claws through a tuft of his hair. It was already mussed from his clenching and clawing at it earlier, when Charlie had coerced all the residents into a "sharing circle". Throwing back his head, Angel belted out a scream that Valentino would have likely loved to catch on camera. Fat fuckin' chance. That was the single benefit to the studio, there was no "feelings" shit.

A loud oink pulled Angel's attention toward the floor, where his sweet little hellpig was rolling out from under the bed, disturbed by the tantrum.

"I'm serious, Nuggs, ya Daddy's gonna go bananas up in here!"

The piglet didn't seem to care for Angel's plight, oinking his groggy disapproval. A tiny hoof stomped the carpet.

Angel laughed at his precious little man. The bad mood fizzled out in the face of such adorable adamance. He leant down to pick Fat Nuggets up, scratching a floppy ear.

"Right, right, my li'l man needs his beauty sleep, just like his Daddy. Sorry, Nuggs." Angel fell backwards onto his bed, accommodating Fat Nuggets in his fluffy chest. The hellpig nuzzled his Daddy, appeased with the offer of a suitable pillow to resume his nap on.

Staring up at the fairy lights strung across his ceiling, Angel let out a long breath. The ambience of soft shadows and sweet, soothing oinking kept him calm.

"Three weeks dry, an' that ain't near enough for these bitches. Tch. Why even botha?"

Eyes closed, Angel fought not to dredge the recent embarrassing moments up. Instead, he mentally ran through the new choreography Valentino was riding his ass about.

Wasn't good enough for Chacha, wasn't good enough for Val…

Fuck 'em. Because at least he was enough for someone in his life.

Angel blinked and looked down, rubbing two hands down Fat Nuggets' bristly back.

"Long as I feed ya, anyways."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Safe House: Night 4

A night out doesn't end how you expect.

Warnings: these drabbles will containt dark content, including blood, violence, possible rape/noncon, and my usual fare. Your content consumption is your responsibility. If you proceed past this warning, you are consenting to reading sensitive content.

As per usual, I would love feedback. I didn’t expect to write this character so for this, I’d love to know if anyone wants to see more.

Lights flash, bleary in your eyes with the glaze of vodka bitter on your tongue. The music pumps into you from big bassy speakers, coursing through your veins with the sweetened alcohol.

You and Mona were supposed to do dinner but she insisted that dress can't be wasted on just a restaurant. The club thumps and thrums in your temples, adding to the dizziness of your inebriation.

You raise your arms, swaying, slinking to the beat. Back to your days of undergrad indifference. Live for the moment, let the drunkenness swallow all your cares.

"Bathroom!" Mona leans into yell above the music.

"I'll be here," you wave her away, "I like this song."

She smiles, eyes fluttering dozily before she staggers off. You may have had too much but that worry doesn't stick. You focus on the melody, eluding the cares that nip at your mind.

The lights tint from shade to shade, red, purple, blue, green, as you dance. You don't notice the shadow behind you, only feel the body there as the arm slings around you, urging you back against his warmth. Your heart leaps as you put your hand on the stranger's.

"Hey, baby, you got a hot ass," he purrs in your ears, a tickle along the shell.

You giggle, "thanks," you subtly try to pull away, "sorry, but I'm not looking."

"Just a dance, baby," he coaxes, holding you against him, his bulge rubbing firmly against your skirt as it rides up between you.

"Really, my friend is on her way back," you shout over the volume.

"Think I can handle two," he grinds against your ass, "fuck, you're sexy."

You crane to see him, catching only a hint of his jaw and the bristly mustache. You hold in your uneasiness as Mona pops up before you, eyes rounding in surprise. She leans in, "who's this?"

Before you can answer, he grabs her wrist, twirling her to stand beside you. You chuckle nervously as he stumbles against you drunkenly. He sways you both in time, a hand on each of your hips as he bows his head down between you, "you ladies wanna have some fun?"

"Uh," you share a cautious look with Mona.

"Thanks," she turns and pats his chest, "but we gotta go."

"Come on, we're just getting started," he squeezes your hip as his hand crawls up her side, "you think I can't manage both of you? I'll have you screaming my name–"

"Look, dude," Mona latches onto your arm as she steps back, dragging you with her, "we're not interested."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, deep, blue, and sinister. His mustache is hardly complemented by the Gucci polo, he reeks of an overgrown frat boy.

"You're missing out," he snarls, "I coulda fucked your brains out."

"Ew," she puffs as you grimace.

You let her guide you away, the glow of vodka fading to tipsy fatigue.

"Can we go?" You ask.

"Yeah, I think we should," she hollers over her shoulder, "let's get our coats."

🚪

You lean heavy on your apartment door, hiccuping as you struggle to aim your key into the slot. Suddenly, the door shifts and you're falling forward. You cry out at the unexpected give, catching yourself against the firm body.

That man, the intruder, is back. His timing as ever is impeccable. He steadies you as you set your feet steady. He swings the door shut with one arm as his other hugs you against him.

You brush him off and step around him, "oh, it's you."

He hums, "it's me."

He wears only a pair of black briefs, his muscle taut beneath his scarred flesh, hair loose and slightly damp around his face.

"You're back," you glower.

"And you're drunk," the latch turns loudly.

"None of your business," you peel off your coat and hang it.

You lift one foot, wobbling as you pull your heel off, stumbling as you switch and tear away the other. You drop them heavily on the mat, your vision swimming as the man appears double in front of you.

"You need some water?" He offers.

"Why are you here?" You ignore his offer.

He sighs and you shake your head at him, elbowing by. He follows you further into the apartment.

"Fine, don't tell me nothing," you pout as you enter the kitchen, "all you do is what you want."

You go to the fridge and pull open the door. It sticks and you waver slightly at the resistance. You grab the pitcher of water and turn to the counter as he takes a glass from the cupboard and sets it before you.

You don't understand him. Why does he cone back? You shiver as you remember the last night he was there. You didn't see him again after his shadow loomed outside your door. He was gone before you found the courage to say anything about it.

"You're wearing the dress," he says as you focus on pouring the water.

"Hm?" You curl your lip.

"It looks good. So you had a wild night out, huh?" He gets closer, turning to face you as he leans a hand on the counter, "dancing up on strange men."

"Like you," you snap and put the pitcher down. You take a deep gulp of water and clink the glass down harshly too.

"Like me, I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer, though," he intones with a snicker, a tickle along the satin. You stop his hand as it stretches over your ass.

"What are you doing?" You hiss.

"So you were dancing with strange men?"

"What do you care?"

"Tell me."

"Stop," you turn and shove on his chest, his hand grazing your thigh as it slips away.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because I don't have to. I don't know you."

"You should tell me if you want me to keep you safe," he growls.

"Safe from what?" You huff.

He glares at you. His jaw clenches and suddenly he's marching towards you. You back up against your door as he plants his hands on either side of your head, "from yourself. From the man with the mustache."

"The man… how do you know that?" You wisp.

His eyes spark and he closes them as he snarls, "I didn't. But I thought I saw him following me… shit."

"Shit?" You repeat, a hiccup bubbling up, "what's wrong?"

"This place isn't safe. Not anymore."

[bokettochild]

The Worries and Woes of Heroic Hair

Y'all were busting out hair headcannons before I left, so I saved a few and wrote a fic for them.

Featuring:

Pre-maturely grey Twilight

Curly haired Legend

Long haired Four

(As well as a reference to long hair Sky)

Warriors had gained the unfortunate title of ‘pretty boy’.

In a group of beautiful men and boys that literally sent women swooning, no matter what world they were in, he’d somehow been labeled the “pretty” one. Never mind he was more mature looking than half of their number. Never mind that Legend and Hyrule looked like a pair of porcelain dolls hand painted by a master artist. Never mind that Wild literally had half of his world falling heels over head for him. No matter how many women in the War of Ages had gushed about the adult Hero of Time (much to Mask’s annoyance). And sure, let’s just forget that Wars had heard not one, but two princess’s complimenting Twilight’s ass.

Yeah, okay, he was the pretty boy, sure.

Maybe that was because he was the only one in the group that actually had any understanding of a little thing called personal hygiene! Honestly! Had no one introduced the vet to a bathtub when he was younger? Or Wild to a hairbrush? And Hyrule... oh Hyrule...

Honestly, it was a pain, trying to not say something to his brothers that might be taken as rude or offensive. At least his own two boys were a bit better. During the war he’d pounded some sense into their heads after scrubbing their ears clean enough that they could actually hear him when he spoke, and Time and Wind both showed some (although not much more than the others) level of personal grooming, even if it was the basic wash and brush that Wars had required of all of his soldiers.

The others though? He had been beginning to think they might be hopeless, but then he’d had a chance to do something about it.

“Wars?”

“Hmm?” Bright blue darted up from the journal Warriors had been writing in, meeting Wind’s pout with a soft chuckle at his baby-faced brother. One day, Wind would be as grizzled and scruffy as his grandfather (would be his grandfather) but for now he would take him time teasing the kid for his baby-face. After all, it wasn’t like he’d be getting another chance to get revenge on the man who’d teased him up to his wedding day for his “lack of masculine charm”.

“My hair is knotted. In the back.” Wind didn’t even bother waiting for a signal, instead just plopping down in the captain's lap and dropping a brush by his knee. And really, with how the war had gone, Warriors should have expected that.

Any injury that impeded movement meant Wars was helping his two boys with whatever was needed during the war, and near the top of that list had been brushing hair. Broken arm or sprained wrist or whatever Hyrule had diagnosed it as (he’d been a bit too wrapped up in helping hold Wild still so he and Legend could treat the kid’s crushed hand to hear the healer’s final word), he was always happy to help the younger hero sort out his problems.

At least Wind let him help, instead of sending him scandalized looks and rude signs at the mere mention of a bath, like Legend did, or simply darting away like Hyrule.

“Wind,” Sky frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to disturb Wars, any of us would have been willing to help.”

The sailor cocked a brow, leaning back into his touch as he worked over the knot with nimble fingers well accustomed to working through tangled golden curls. “Says the Hero of Eternal Bedhead.”

Crystal blue eyes darted up to messy bangs. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” Sailor and captain deadpanned together, matching grins on their faces as they stared at the Skyloftian.

“Oh feathers.” Sky huffed, running his hands through his hair and looking at the two expectantly. “Is that better?”

Wind snorted. “Sky, you need a hairbrush for your bird’s nest.”

“But,” Sky cocked his head like a confused puppy. “I don’t have a bird’s nest?”

“He means that your hair is a mess.” He chuckled, pausing in his work to pat the ground at his side. “Here, I’ll do you next, ‘kay?” And bless Sky for being a patient and reasonable person, because at the very least the Skyloftian just sauntered over easily and sat hot-cross-buns on the ground beside him, watching lazily as he worked at the sailor’s messy hair.

“It’s not that bad,” The Sailor huffed. “You can’t honestly be taking this long.” The kid wasn’t fooling him though, Wind was leaning into the touch, almost slumped against his chest in a boneless pile of teenager.

“You’re dry as a desert.” He scolded softly in response, rubbing some of the bristly hair between his fingers. “I’ve told you salt water dries your hair out, you need to take care of it or it’ll never grow out properly.”

Wind shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t have time. I did try, I mean it! It just... We’re always so busy and...”

His hands were already reaching for his pack. “You’re lucky mine dries out too. I’ll need to get more in the next town, but I think this oil can last us both long enough to get you some again.”

“Oil?” Sky frowned thoughtfully. “What for?”

“Split ends and dry hair.” Came the practiced answer as he rubbed the substance in question over his hands and began to card it through the sailor’s parched curls. “I suppose you could say it’s like with birds. They have to oil their feathers to stay healthy, right?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” The Skyloftian mulled over the concept for a moment. “We need to do that to our hair?”

Long fingers stopped mid stroke, royal blue blinking slowly in the clueless sky child’s direction. “Oh, you poor, clueless bird-boy you, your hair must be parched!”

Wind’s giggles shook them both, but Sky simply looked hurt. “I try. How was I supposed to know?”

Fingers slick with hair oil curled to point at the other hero. “I am massaging this stuff into your thirsty scalp right now. Wind, move.”

The sailor tumbled, giggling from Wars’ lap, leaving Sky to stare down at the captain’s crossed legs. “I’m- Warriors I am not sitting in your lap.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Brush in one hand and bottle of hair oil in the other, Warriors moved to stand behind the Skyloftain. “Just stay right there and let me work, and I swear if someone else tells me to my face that they’re not taking care of themselves- Sky! Look at this!”

The Skyloftian shifted, trying to look for only a moment before huffing. “Warriors, I can’t see the top of my own-”

“When’s the last time you trimmed this?” Brittle tips crinkled under his fingers as he stared at the mess that was Sky’s hair. “Your split ends are horrible!”

“Crimson usually trims it for me.” Came the softly mumbled response, and Wars had to hold back an affronted squawk at the words.

“You’re entrusting the care of your hair to a bird? Sky, my lovely, my dear friend, my brother, what the actual Ladies?”

“He does a good job!”

“If you call this rat’s nest a good job! Honestly, it’s no wonder Legend finally agreed to let you cuddle him, he must feel right at home with this mess!”

“Ouch.” Sky huffed, crossing his arms loosely and pouting.

“That aside,” He began working the first knot out, fluffing Sky’s hair lightly in his fingers. “It’s a good color, nice volume too. Have you ever considered growing it out? Without the split ends?”

“Huh?”

Caramel hair parted easily in his hands, springy and soft despite the brittle ends. “You’d look fetching with long hair, Chosen One. My, imagine what Sun would say if she saw you!” Sky stiffened as the soldier ducked down, voice lowering and eyes glinting with mischief as he whispered in his friend’s ear. “If she wasn’t already swooning at seeing you again, she’d be dizzy at the sheer beauty.”

“Wars!” Long ears twitched, tellingly red as the Skyloftian battled a fierce blush.

But the captain was already lost in his rant, taking pleasure in making Wind continue to giggle as Sky whined softly in protest at his teasing. “I can see it now! You arrive fresh out of battle, sword in hand and hair whipping in the wind, cape swirling like the wings of the goddess herself! She sees you. Your eyes meet. You shoot her one of your dashing smiles and she stumbles back, breathless, and you have to dart forwards to catch her before she swoons away altogether, so bedazzled she is by your handsome visage!” He flourished with a smile, letting oiled locks fall over Sky’s eyes with a laugh as the Skyloftian blushed brighter, not bothering to shift his bangs and instead hiding behind them, trying and failing to hide a pleased smile.

Wind didn’t stop giggling until Sky had had to punch the captain in the leg to make him finally cease the teasing.

“Smithy,” Twilight’s laughter rung through camp as he brushed long bangs out of the smithy’s eyes, the younger hero still smushed against the rancher's side sleepily, headband askew and half hanging in his eyes. The boy’s hair curtained his face, falling back into place the moment Twilight lifted his hand again, producing rumbling laughter form the farm-hand. “Four, you- when in Ordonia’s name did you last trim your hair?”

“’s not that long.” Came the murmured reply as Four pressed his face further into Twilight’s side, nestling closer with an irritable huff. “Leave ‘lone, Twi.”

The smithy might have denied it but... his hair really had grown out.

It wasn’t really that apparent with the headband keeping it back, and Four was decent enough at keeping his hair out of his face. But headbands, no matter how trusty, didn’t stay up forever, and when one was as active as a Hero of Courage, it wasn’t uncommon to find one’s self with their hair swinging loose in battle. Not that most of them minded, Wild kept his hair tied carefully and Legend tucked all of his under a hat, meanwhile the others all had shorter locks that, other than the swishing of their bangs, mostly stayed out of their faces.

Four on the other hand...

Four’s headband had fallen loose into a mud puddle, and until he was able to clean it the smithy had been walking around like a sheepdog, bangs fluffing into his eyes and making the shortest hero huff in an annoyed manner as he kept swiping his bangs aside. Unfortunately, they weren’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, only to hang in his face and send him stumbling over and into all sorts of things with sharp yelps and soft swears as the hero closest to him would have to offer a hand or scoop up the small smithy again.

Wars didn’t say anything, but when Four finally approached him one evening, eyes flickering icy blue as he dashed his bangs out of the way and tugged at the scarf draped around the captain’s neck (the others’ favorite way of getting his attention he had found).

“Hey there, smithy, what’s up?”

“Cut them.” Four huffed, pushing the loose hair back again only to have them drift back over his glinting eyes, and then, as if an afterthought, he tacked on ‘Please?’.

Royal blue darted up to Sky, who smiled on the edge of the campfire, a knowing look in his eyes. “Did Sky tell you I could help?”

“No. I figured that out myself. He just... pushed me.”

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ah.”

“So, can you help? Or do I need to wander around looking like a Mogma?” Sky could be heard muttering across the camp at that, and Four’s ears twitched as he huffed, clearly having taken offense at whatever had been said.

He nodded, a bit unsure why Four glared across the fire at Sky, but willing to help. Oh goddesses, was he willing to help; Four’s hair bugged him nearly as much as Wild’s did, and he had been dying to fix it for the smithy. He wasn’t sure what Sky had said, but he was thankful for the other knight’s willingness to aid him in his battle against poor hygiene, and if he could turn another hero with the power of a good haircut, well! “Anything you have in mind? Just what you had before, or...?”

“Bangs.” Four dropped down hot-cross-buns, just like Sky had the other day, in front of him, arms crossed and expectant as he huffed at his long bangs.

“Right.” His brush and scissors were already sitting at the ready as he reached out to gently push the hair out of his friend’s eyes. “You good?”

“Annoyed.” Four sulked. “I can’t see anything and Twilight has been called me a sheep-dog.” Accurate. “I just want my hair short again, but the last time I cut it, it looked like I was attacked by a cat.” The smithy shivered, clutching at his sleeves as he shook his head, hair falling back into his eyes as he did so. “I just let it grow after that, but the bangs bother me if I can’t push them back.”

“Noted.”

Four’s hair was a bit silkier than the others’, but similarly brittle, although that was likely due to the heat of the forge rather than sea salt and extended time in the sky. He didn’t even bother asking about oiling the locks as he worked, brushing out all of Four’s hair with care and sectioning out the bangs with the same amount of agonizing detail Legend put into his paintings or Wild put into his cooking.

“Hair cut?” Twilight called from across camp.

“You could use one too,” Four huffed, unmoving save for his eyes darted to glance over his shoulder. “Your hair is beginning to look like wolf ears, rancher. Wolfie might take offense that you’re stealing his look and come maul you.”

Chuckles sounded around the camp, Legend wheezing lightly while Time and Wild shared a look. Wars didn’t know what that was about, but he smiled as he worked, humming lightly under his breath as he clipped a bit here and a touch there, releasing the hair to stare at it, adjusting it a bit, taking another section in hand and snipping it, and repeating the whole process.

Four was still as a statue the whole time, occasionally humming along to whatever tune happened to be on Warriors’ mind at the moment, but otherwise as poised and picturesque as a statue as the captain worked over the smithy’s blond locks.

This close up, Warriors was beginning to wonder why they never met any lovely admirers of the smithy, Four was certainly not lacking in the looks department, and had the kid lived in his time he’d find himself having to beat off girls with a stick. Honestly, how was he the pretty boy here?

“Nearly done?” Came the patient hum, and he snapped himself back to reality as he brushed Four’s bangs back into place, trimmed and tidy, along with the rest of his short hair.

“Yep.” The scissors finally came to rest in his lap as he whisked away the cloak that he’d used to catch the trimmed hairs. “My, my, smithy, you almost look as if you were going courting! Legend, lend a man your shield for a tick, would you? Four needs to see his new cut.”

The veteran rolled his eyes, but the shield was offered readily enough when Four trotted his way over, and while the smithy looked a bit surprised that Wars had bothered to braid most of his hair out of the way during the cut, he didn’t look at all displeased.

Wars counted that as a win.

He’d run out of oil a few days ago, and already his hair was beginning to frizz in this thrice-forsaken heat.

Being born with curly hair was nothing of the blessing his mother had made it out to be, no matter how she liked playing with her ‘baby boy’s’ hair. Of course, his beloved liked it too, but he was going to chalk that up to being a woman thing, curls were a pain if they weren’t on kids, especially if they were eon him.

Thank Hylia that Lilith had taught him to straighten it all out, he would have been driven half out of his mind if he hadn’t been able to control it on his way through basic, and the teasing would have been so much worse than it actually had been.

As was, the captain was only too happy when they next came to his Castletown, and after he’d made sure the others were settled in the castle with his cousin, he’d gracefully made his exit and headed out to the town. Getting through the streets was a pain, his armor and scarf giving him away as the hero and practically inviting the whole market to start competing for his attention, along with the hundreds of shoppers who surged close with questions and thanks and admiration. Not for the first time, Warriors found himself thankful that he handled crowds better than many of his fellow soldiers, and even if all the attention was a bit much, he wasn’t overwhelmed like poor Wild would have been.

Oh heavens, the day they finally figured out how to explain the portals and heroes nonsense to the public to excuse the sudden aging of the Hyrulian Hero’s child, Wild was likely going to have to start wearing a hood or something when they went into town.

The dye shop was a way into the market, and it had taken quite the bit of fancy footwork to avoid stepping on anyone as he’d answered questions and received thanks from the enthusiastic, if not slightly push, people of Hyrule. If he closed the door of the shop after him with a sigh of relief though, that was between him and Gyssel, the shopkeeper.

“Back again, Link? Same materials as the last time?”

“If you please.” He nodded with a smile. “Though I might have a bit of a glance around, I’ve a friend in need of a few things.”

The old woman nodded with a chuckle. “Right then. Oh, and if you see those two lovely gents who popped in here earlier, would you be willing to lend ‘em a hand? Poor dears looked lost as two minish in a fairy pond when they stumbled in here, but I’ve been batting a thousand with the customers all day and haven’t had a chance to pop over and offer help. You know the shop same as I do, so, if you have a moment, could you check in on them while I wrap your things?”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling his best as he moved towards the back wall.

The other voices in the shop were mostly those of tittering ladies and mischief making pranksters, all too young and too high to belong to the ‘lovely gents’ that Gyssel had been speaking of, and it wasn’t hard to trail the rumble of a man’s voice to the back of the store where the hair dyes were. He grinned as he rounded the corner, but froze when he found himself face to face with a startled, and maybe somewhat abashed rancher.

“Twilight?”

“Warriors?”

“Shit, Wars is here?”

Royal blue darted down to meet the snapping violet of the veteran. “Legend? What are the two of you doing in here of all places? Are you lost?”

“No.” Legend huffed, foot tapping agitatedly at the floor as he gnawed his bottom lip, a sure sign of awkwardness if one knew the vet.

“What are you doing- oh.” Twilight’s face faded from confusion to understanding. “You’re the city boy, of course you shop in joints like this.”

He cocked a brow, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared down the two other heroes. “Says the guy who’s been wandering around looking for something long enough the owners worried. Honestly, what could the two of you even need?”

Midnight and violet glanced warily at each other, and to his surprise, twin flushed lighted his friend’s faces as Legend had crossed his arms and Twi had rubbed at his neck.

“Hair dye.” The rancher admitted softly.

“And shampoo.” Legend had tacked on.

Warriors let his eyes blow wide an overdramatic gasp sounding in the small corner of the shop as he rested a hand on his collar. “Why, vet, you don’t mean to tell me you’re planning on actually taking a bath, are you! My heavens, what next? Will Hyrule somehow produce a wedding cake in time for Time and Malon to announce they’re having a baby?”

“They’re what!?!” Twilight yelped, sounding, ridiculously, like a dog that has just been kicked.

“I’m teasing, rancher.” He chortled. “Trust me, if Time knew of such a thing, he wouldn’t have shut up about it. Miss Malon’s still trim and terrifying as last we saw her; I have little doubt.” At the rancher’s breath of relief, he shook his head. “Honestly though, soap? Vet, last I checked-”

“It’s hot.” Legend interrupted, avoiding meeting his gaze by rolling his eyes.

“And?”

“And in case you didn’t know, our resident vet is a-”

“Don’t say it!” Legend huffed, glaring at Twilight and tugging his blue cap tighter over his head.

Come to think of it, Legend hadn’t taken the baby-blue cap off in ages...

“Is a what?”

Twilight looked down warily at the seething veteran, face twisted up between a playful grin and a wary frown, as if he didn’t yet know whether he wanted to tease and face the vet’s wrath or hold his tongue and avoid making a scene.

“Look,” Warriors sighed, glancing between the two country boys with a sigh. “I won’t tease at all, alright? But the sooner you own up to whatever nonsense you did to yourself, the sooner we can find you what you need and get ourselves out of here.”

The flush on Legend’s face darkened, eyes darting down as the vet shuffled his feet, and Wars found himself being reminded that for all the vet’s snark and sass, he really was as much of a kid as Wild and Wind were, just more accustomed at having to act otherwise.

Thin fingers rubbed at the rings on the vet’s pale hands. “Well, you see- that is- augh!”

Something inside him blossomed with warmth, a smile stretching across his face. Golden Three, Legend really was just an awkward teenager, wasn’t he? He even stumbled over his words when he was embarrassed, just like Time used to. Of course, Time had been twelve and Legend was nineteen, but that was beside the point.

“So-” The vet was nearly pouting as he struggled with his words, fingers rubbing steadily at his rings as he avoided Wars’ gaze. “You know how Ravio has curly hair?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how Ravio and I are- uh, each other's- reflect-”

A laugh bubbled out of his throat unexpectedly as he reached out to ruffle what could be seen of the vet’s frizzy bangs. “You’re a curly top! Why didn’t you say sooner?” Legend glared at him with a huff, but violet didn’t shift to indigo, so he knew it was all just an act. “Wind and I are too, I was actually in here to get some things for the two of us, and Sky too. I can help you as well if you don’t mind, just let me-” He motioned to the blue cap that was pulled snig down to Legend’s ears.

The vet huffed, but reached up to finger the blue fabric. “You won’t laugh, right?” Stern eyes met his own.

“Of course.” He smiled reassuringly.

Legend’s gaze searched his face for a moment, wary, but open, and even if it made him uncomfortable (the odd glint of gold at the edges of the vet’s eyes was a bit unsettling) he withstood it until Legend nodded, seemingly to himself, and pulled off his cap.

Pink curls spilled down to the vet’s shoulders as a bright blush colored pale cheeks. Twilight didn’t make it any better by reaching over to ruffle the vet’s head, chuckling soft and warm and surprisingly fond as Legend hissed back at him.

“Can I- that is- do you mind if I touch? I can help you find what you want better if I know what you need.”

A stiff nod.

The pink hair was just like fairy-floss, but less sticky (still dirty though) and he had to remind himself what he was doing once he got his fingers in it. A quick check at the texture and ends of Legend’s hair, as long as a quick check of the scalp and roots told him all he needed.

“Whatever dye you used to do this messed you up, vet. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you’re dry as a mulduga’s arse. Did you bleach your hair before dying it or something?” There was a murmur in reply, but not anything he could really make out. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said that’s me natural color.” Legend huffed, tensing under his hands. “I bleached it blonde a few months back, but no, I didn’t dye this shit, it just happened.”

Twilight, very unhelpfully, giggled.

Warriors blinked. “You have pink hair?”

“Yes.”

He fought the chuckle that built up in his chest, but it did little good as he ruffles the frizzy curls and let Legend replace his hat. “Alright then! Well, I’d avoid bleaching again if I was you. The pinks out and it’s healthier if you give it a rest between dyes. I have to admit though,” He settled his hands on his hips and looked between the two other heroes with a smirk. “I never took either of you two as the sort to dye your hair.”

“Throws off the guards.” Legend huffed, tugging his cap back over his hair and making Warriors wince. Ah yes, Legend’s Hyrule’s guards.

“Fair enough. I can find you something to help with the drying out and dye damage. Twi though...” He frowned, stroking his chin in thought. “Why do you even need hair dye? Trying something new?”

Now it was the rancher’s turn to look embarrassed, rubbing at his neck and ruffling his hair. “No, actually. I jist need- rather- want? I guess? I-”

Legend huffed, patting the rancher’s arm in a rare show of compassion. “He’s been greying early and it’s making him self-conscious. I told him we could look for a dye to hide it, since he didn’t want to go about stealing Time’s position as the resident Old Man.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Right! Fair enough. So, you want your natural shade, yes?” At the rancher's nod he pressed on, clapping his hands as he listed what they needed. “So, hair oil, some dye, and shampoo for Legend, preferably meant for damaged and curly hair. Anything else?”

Even though the two shook their heads, they all walked out with a bit more than what Warriors had listed, but despite the fact that Legend complained about it all, no one seemed to mind too much when he pulled the three of them together after the others had gone to bed and helped show them had to use the various toiletries without making too very much of a mess. It cost a pretty penny to get them all sorted, but Legend was clean, Twilight was a brunette again (the silver streaks were rather fetching though, and he’d made sure to make sure Twilight knew that before they dyed it all away) and Wind and Sky had what they needed to prevent their hair drying out again.

And even if it made a sizable dent in his wallet, he’d refused to be paid back. It was worth it anyway, since now he and Legend both had straight hair again (and the vet had actually washed!).

He could see now why Wild and Hyrule liked playing with their respective mentors’ hair though, it was almost addictive.

Time took one look at the three youngest and groaned, and Warriors almost echoed the action.

“What were you three even doing?” His now-eldest huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh as he tried not to look at the three teens, all of which were covered in mud and grass stains, and only looking slightly remorseful, despite their horrid clothing and scraped faces.

Had it been anyone but Wild and Wind, Wars would have sat back and watched as karma paid her long overdue visit to the mischievous mask-loving hero, but since it was his kids that caught up in paying back the silver in his own hair, Wars had to stand with Time and try his very hardest not to chuckle at the sight before him.

It took no trouble at all to picture Mask sitting, unrepentant, amid the other youngsters, a challenging look on his face as he dared the captain to even try and ground him for running off again.

“We were exploring.” Hyrule grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the mud that had dried on the side of his neck. “We um-”

“We fell in a swamp.” Wild snorted, wrinkling his nose and shaking some gunk from his hands with a pout. “Even I think we stink.”

Time’s lips twitched, brows struggling to remain in a scowl as he answered, voice wavering with a hint of laughter that made Wars smile to himself. “Is that so, Cub?”

“We smell like boko guts.”

“Or boko crap!” Wind cackled, the only one not soaked in swamp goo but instead spattered with ordinary mud that came from likely tripping and falling in the dirt from laughing too hard.

“Bathe.” Time chuffed, shaking his head fondly. “All three of you. Rivers there and I’m sure Wars has soap aplenty to help.” Hang on, what? Time’s eye met his own, blinking- winking? with a bright and shit eating grin. “Have fun with you sons, dad.”

Oh Ladies, Karma messed up again, didn’t she?

“Mask, I swear-” He growled, glaring at his- was Time his eldest now? His middle child still? The youngest since he’d been the last to join the family?

“Don’t, you’ll set a bad example.” The overgrown forest gremlin chuckled, walking away with a condescending pat of the shoulder.

Some things really never changed, huh?

“Right then.” the captain turned to glare stillness back into the three youngsters, two of which were already trying to sneak away, and the third- of thank Hylia for Wind, the kid was standing at perfect attention with a smirk on his face that screamed ‘I’m the eldest and I’m about to watch my little brothers get scolded and I’m going to enjoy every second of it’, snotty little salt-bathed brat. “Jump in or I punt you.”

Hyrule and Wild exchanged a look, a sure sign of danger, and both sprinted in opposite directions.

He huffed a laugh. Amateurs. Mask and Wind had run him ragged during the war, but once you’ve fought to pre-teens on the daily, there's nothing a pair of teenagers can pull on you that will truly surprise you or throw you off. It was the work of moments to have Wild slung under one arm (wolf pups, honestly, Mask was the same way) and Hyrule by the back of his collar (Wind’s customary position).

“H-how?” Both boys stammered.

“Experience, mud moblins.”

“Do I weight anything to you?” Wild stammered, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

The grin on his face was easier than usual in situations like these, but then again both teens had given up fighting against him sooner than the last two had ever done. “Hardly. You’ve always been a lightweight.” And with those words he promptly administered a light kick to Hyrule’s lower back, knocking the kid floundering into the stream, and following up with a well-practiced toss that send Wild rocketing in after.

Wind, already stripped down to his shorts and standing waist deep in the water, raised his hands with a shit eating grin. “Six out of Ten, Wild.” The little sea monster called to a spluttering Wild as the kid surfaced, only his face peeking above the surface as he treaded water with a pout. “You need to work on your form, but otherwise- ack!”

A wave splashed up from Hyrule’s direction and Wild sent an appreciative grin the other boy’s way while Wind’s grin melted into a playful one, eyes glinting dangerously.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re just asking for trouble now! Never start a water battle with a pirate, you two, you won’t like how it ends!”

Another, mischief filled, glance was exchanged and both feral heroes descended on the young sailor. It was like watching cucco’s descend on a bokoblin, and Warriors watched with laughter bubbling in his chest as he stripped off his gunk-stained tunic, courtesy of the mud-covered boys he’d wisely decided to pick up, and moved on to his chainmail. The sound of the three youngest heroes' shrieking and shouting sweet music to his ears as Time and the other older heroes made camp just off of the riverbank, teasing each other and generally messing around.

“Wars, why are you- are you joining us?” Wild cocked his dripping head with a curious look as he watched him.

The undershirt slipped off easily as he waded into the stream’s center. “Of course, you two got me muddy too after all, and it’s not like I trust y’all to actually clean up by-” At the slowly spreading grins on the faces of the three, the captain realizes his mistake. “I don’t trust you all to clean up properly, so I’m-”

“Warriors said ‘y’all’!” Wind chortled, eyes glinting madly as a grin stretched over his face. “Oh boy! Just wait ‘till I-”

“Slip of the tongue.” He clipped back, hands settling on his hips as he stared down the three teens. “You tell Twilight about this and I will personally wash your mouth out with soap.”

“You’re the one who said it!” Hyrule pointed out.

“And whoever tells the rancher is committing a verbal atrocity that will only lead to far more in the future.” He huffed. “No one tells, you hear me?”

Wild looked between the others, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he took in Wind’s triumphant grin and Warriors’ scowl. “What’s wrong with saying ‘y’all’?”

The captain staggered back dramatically, hand on his chest and a horrified expression on his face as he stared at his son. “No! Never say that word! That word is an abomination!”

“What word?” Hyrule cocked his head, eyes glinting knowingly, but the captain failed to recognize it in time.

“’Y’all’!” He spat with contempt. “We do not say ‘y’all’ in this house! ‘Y’all’ is a cursed word and the next person who says it is-” - ‘Is on Mask watching duty’ was his go to consequence, but that wouldn’t exactly work right now; Time was a bit old to actually need a supervisor- “is on clothes washing duty with Legend.” He settled on at last, choosing the chore that everyone except, surprisingly, the veteran minded.

“Say the man who just said it four times in a row.” Wind teased, darting out of his grasp with a wide grin.

“Wind! I was trying to see how many times I could make him say it!” Hyrule huffed, pouting at his brother adorably.

“I still don’t get it.” Wild grumbled. “It’s a word? There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I know, ‘y’a-” The captain’s hand was clamped around the kid’s mouth before he could finish his sentence.

“Let's just not.” Warriors huffed; he was beginning to mourn Twilight’s mentor position at the moment. Fortunately, Wild was willing enough to still in is hands and not push the topic, unlike the other two who just egged each other on with ever widening grins. “Right.” He rolled his eyes. “First one with a clean face gets the strawberry scented soap; go.”

Silence fell as nothing save splashing rang over the stream as faces ducked beneath the water, all three boys falling for his favorite trick of all time. Heck, even the old man would probably still cave to the offer of strawberry soap, even now that he was an adult, and Wars couldn’t blame him at all; strawberry scented bubbles were the best bubbles and Twilight and his goat-milk soap could go sniff a skunk if they wanted to contest that.

It took hardly any time at all for all three to emerge, fresh faces and glowing, three sets of eyes al sparkling up at him as a warm chuckle blossomed in his throat. Naturally, he gave the promised soap to all three, citing the ‘I can’t tell who finished first so you all win’ excuse that Grandfather had taught him ages ago.

Wind dutifully set about scrubbing himself clean, and in the meantime, he guided the less experienced duo. “Take so much,” He dolloped a generous potion into Hyrule’s cupped hands. “And rub your hands together, yes, just like that, work it up to a nice lather and just scrub it all over. Take care you get the smelliest bits first so you don’t run out of soap before you get there, yeah?” Both forest children nodded, dutifully following his instructions as he moved to help scrub the traveler’s sopping curls.

It was an easy pattern to fall into, scrubbing the two heads with especial care to remove any sticks and twigs he found along the way. Hyrule was the easier of the two, but Wild held still better while he worked, almost melting under his fingers as he messaged suds into his son’s long locks, a light smile playing over both their faces as he worked, content to sit in the cooling water of the stream as the sun began to set, hands buried in his kid’s long hair as he worked out mud and filth and who knows what else.

Rinsing the sweet-scented bubbles started out innocently enough, but Wars was given a front row seat to watching an accidental splash descend into a full-on war on the water as he scrubbed his own hair clean, and well, if he joined in once he was finished, well, someone had to show Wind that he wasn’t the only hero with some experience on the water.

Wars sighed as he watched Time stirring quietly on his bedroll.

Honestly, his middle kid (he’d finally settled on letting Wind retain his position on oldest, since there was no way Time could be the eldest brother with his gremlin behavior) was something of an idiot. Oh, he loved all three of his boys dearly, but Time was an ass and everyone who knew him well knew it (except maybe Twilight, but that guy was an ass too).

Time hadn’t been sleeping recently, and it was easy to see in the dark bags around his eyes and the almost drifting expression on his face at nights. It was for lack of trying either, the kid- man? - the hero would settle down on his bedroll every night same as the others, but even with sharp eyes shut tight and blanket pulled to his ears, the ‘Old Man’ couldn’t lie still for more than thirty minutes, constantly shifting and fidgeting on his bedroll even as the other heroes steadily dropped off to sleep.

It was just the two of them now, the captain on watch and their leader trying to pretend he was asleep with a scowl on his face.

He was scratching again.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” war clapped his hands against his knees and pushed himself p, staling over to stand over the largest of the bedrolls and staring down at the lump within. “What’s up, Sprout? You normally snore like a hinox all night long, what’s eating you?”

A single blue eye stared up at him wearily. “If I knew, I would have killed it by now.”

Oof, bad night then. “Do you have any idea what it could be?” He was already settling down next to the group leader’s head, hands reaching to grasp Time’s own and bring them down from where he was, likely unconsciously, clawing at the sides of his face.

“No.” Came the frustrated huff.

“Missing Miss Malon?” He suggested, running his fingers through short blonde hair thoughtfully, mind miles away in a two-story house at castle town as he fell into the all too familiar trap of playing with one of his boys’ hair.

“I thought so at first, and while I do, it doesn’t usually stop me from sleeping.” Time grumbled, staring up at the night sky with pursed lips. “It’s not nightmares or visions either, if anything my dreams have been normal for once.”

“Anxiety perhaps? Are you worrying about the others? Twilight, maybe? Wild?” At the questioning glance he received he shrugged. “Kept me up enough nights, even if you two were there. A bad thing happens once and you're not likely to forget it.”

“Hmm.” Time hummed, leaning unconsciously into his hands and settling on his bed-roll, shoulders falling lax as his single good eyes fluttered softly. “Maybe.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough that War’s fingers didn’t put it to rest, and time was asleep in mere minutes, soft snores rumbling over the camp as the captain continued his ministrations, eyes and ears sharp and alert for any disturbance near in within the camp, but body relaxed as he kept the steady rhythm of his fingers through short and silky hair.

When his watch was over though, and it was time to wake the veteran to take his, Wars found himself stuck. Time's fingers were curled tightly in his blue scarf, the man’s head resting easy against his thigh, and any motion small of subtle, would likely send majestic blue fluttering open again with an exhausted air.

Ah well, time to be creative.

Legend grumbled, as usual, at being woken by having his feet touched, and the captain echoed his discomfort as he wrings is sore and likely sprained hand. Time was still asleep though, so there was that at least. Now just to figure out how best to position himself so he could sleep.

Soldier’s experience won over logic, and Wars was asleep in seconds, leaving the camp under Legend’s watch and Time snoozing blissfully at his side.

[stardustedknuckles]

I would love to see hug #10 for the empire siblings!

I also had an anon ask for cold hands in warm hands so I combined them, sorry in advance... :D

900 words bc I don't know what's good for me, just empire kids straight down the line. Set right after they res Lucimauk Nonaleaf, allowing a little time before the city begins to unravel around them all. Caleb fucking died, man, and that had to fuck with beau at least a little.

Though he's the one to raise Molly - the ritual itself at least - Caleb himself is something of a statue among the joyful chaos that follows. He stays where he kneels, watching everyone with a look on his face that Beau knows him too well to ignore. The specifics elude her, but she's seen doubt and heartbreak and softness on him enough to intuit that this, the cousin of those and more, warrants a check-in.

She sits next to him on the weird floor and takes his hand without preamble or explanation. It's freezing, but the way Beau shivers has more to do with the memory of seeing his body like five minutes ago, sightless and empty and gone. Doesn't matter that the friends they've made have some pull over such huge forces like death and politics or whatever. Some things you can't unsee.

His eyes flick between Jester and Molly, and that's how Beau knows he's thinking similarly. Her mind isn't far from Jester either, but it's easier to shunt the sight of her motionless body to the side when she's up and trying to see if their other recently not-dead friend can be cajoled to dance with her. Beau grabs for Caleb's other hand too, holds them between hers and nudges him none too gently with her elbow. "Light a fire in these things or something. They're cold and it's weird."

He looks slowly down at their hands, then back to her. "You're holding them."

"Did I fucking stutter."

She glares at him until the corner of his mouth sort of un-frowns itself and his faraway stare reels in a little closer. The hands in hers warm, but not from any magic.

"Ass," she mumbles, and nobody's more surprised than her at the break in her voice.

Caleb peers at her, suddenly laser focused. "Did something happen while I was...?"

Beau punches him in the shoulder. "No, you dick. You were dead, that's what happened." She hits him again. He doesn't wince. They weren't meant to hurt, and the perfunctory struggle she puts up when he wraps his arms around her back isn't meant to break his hold. Beau fists the back of his stupid coat and buries her face in his stupid neck and feels her breath against her own stupid face in hot bursts as she forces herself to breathe more slowly. His grip on the back of her neck is desperate, his chin braced in the crook of her shoudler and scratching her up with his dumb bristly beard and fuck. Just. Fuck.

"All the hiding," he murmurs into her skin. "All of the using you and the others as a shield, all of the effort to stay alive in spite of myself."

Beau sniffs. "Fucking figures you'd beef it right on the upswing. Right before all the good stuff. You stubborn asshole."

He hums a little in response, shifts his view. "I think that weasel is laughing at me. I can't tell anymore."

"Probably. Sprinkle too."

He laughs like he's been punched in the ribs, a single sort of impact that seems to push him against Beau's hold from the inside. Then he holds her closer and inhales deeply, which Beau would give him shit for except she's doing the same thing. He smells like fire and sweat and life, a hint of that cotton candy essence that lingers from Jester's magic. He smells like he's here and didn't fucking leave, most importantly, and Beau hugs him til she hears something pop before letting him go.

"I want at least fifty years between that and the next time you pull that shit." She swipes at her eyes and looks out towards the others. The fresh soul in Molly's body has his legs wrapped around Yasha's waist, arms locked around her shoulders as he looks on at Jester's approaches with curiosity and dread by turns. His arms are in the sleeves of his coat, but it doesn't look like his. Maybe it'll take a while. Maybe it never will.

"I will have you for the next several, I am certain, so that does allow me a head start." He's watching Molly too, or maybe Yasha. It's hard to tell, hard to know which of them draw him more in their own ways. "I'm glad it was me," Caleb says finally. "And I am glad it did not have to be, in the end. There was a time not so long ago when I could not have said that."

She snorts. "You've been alive again for like ten minutes, calm down Mister Introspective."

He does smile then, nudges her shoulder with his and gets to his feet. "We should probably leave," he notes. "Going by our overall luck, we have about thirty seconds before it all goes to shit again."

"Uh, guys?" They all look to Caduceus, who's staring at a concerning patch of skin wall with a frown. "I think it's past time for us to go." The ground rumbles under them as though to underline that thought, causing Yasha to reflexively hold tighter to Molly as Veth wobbles momentarily from her position on Fjord's shoulders, where she's been re-decorating Molly's horns with Jester.

Beau exchanges a glance with Caleb. "Get us out of here, magic man."

He pulls something from his bag of caterpillars and molasses and other mystical bullshit and holds it up. "It would be my pleasure."

[mingoyeob-archive]

Can you please do:

53: "We're stuck in the middle of a storm and all you want to do is play in the rain,"

41: "Dance with me,"

61: "If you keep looking at me like that I won't be able to handle myself,"

45: "Take.It.Off"

With Jungkook and reader.💜

Loads of love✨

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game! send me a number + any of the characters from under the oak tree and i’ll write you a drabble :)

thank you so much for sending in a request 💜 💜 I love that you sent in multiple prompts cause it allowed me to really develop the story! I kinda went crazy with it tho, can you call 2.5k a drabble? idk but I hope you enjoy!

53: "We're stuck in the middle of a storm and all you want to do is play in the rain," + 41: "Dance with me," + 61: "If you keep looking at me like that I won't be able to handle myself," + 45: "Take.It.Off" - jjk x reader - word count: 2.5k

Your body swayed back and forth in your seat as the carriage wheeled over bumpy roads and rocky dirt paths. It had you gripping tightly to the underside of the leather seat to prevent yourself from falling to the hard cabin floor. Your gaze stayed trained out the window, watching the trees go by and the rain pouring down creating puddles along the roads. The small drops on the glass had your eyes zeroing on them, watching as they raced back and forth towards the edge of the carriage door. Oh how I tire of this dreadful weather you mused, a frown settling on your face at the thought.  Jungkook grunting as if to catch your attention was the only thing that had your head turning away, meeting dark brown pools that filled steely eyes.

“Are you upset with me?”

Any other day his question would have had you scrambling to pacify his concern, but today, your foul mood had you holding your tongue. Of course you were upset, he was taking you to the one place you hated the most - home. Well, what used to be your home, Uwhen felt more like your home now than that place ever did.

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Yes.” you say, voice monotonous and lacking any obvious emotion.

Your blunt response had Jungkook's eyes slowly widening as he registered just how bad he had fucked up. He never would’ve guessed you’d be this upset, he was doing this for you after all. When Jungkook first got the invitation to attend one of your fathers council meetings to oversee the trades occurring with other kingdoms he was completely set on denying the request; he was never one to meddle into things that didn’t directly affect his people. But one of his own advisors, Seokjin, had reminded him that as the new Duke it technically was one of his responsibilities to be there. Plus, according to him, a good opportunity to get you out of the castle.

“If I was her, I’d want to get out of here as soon as possible!” He had said comically, laughing at his own terrible joke loud and squeaky like. Jungkook frowned at the memory.

Had you said something to him about wanting to leave? he had wondered. Even though you hadn’t (you barely even knew the man), Jungkook’s worries continued to spiral out of control and he hastily had sent your father confirmation that he would be there and that he was taking you with him. He hesitated with his response trying to find the right words to make sure he didn’t make the situation worse. “I’m sorry I assumed you would be ha-”

Bang!

Jungkook's apology was interrupted by the loud sound of something cracking, the two of you launching off your seats as the carriage immediately leaned over on its side. The crash had you two falling out of your seats onto creaking wood, bodies crumpling onto one another and limbs draped everywhere. You had let out an oof at the fall, but Jungkook had seemed unfazed and if anything more pissed off than dazed. It took you a minute to gather your bearings, trying to determine which way was up and which way was down, but as soon as you did you realized you were staring directly into Jungkook's eyes, body sprawled across his chest.

It seemed like he had made an effort to try and catch you during the fall and somehow his arm had found its way around your waist, huge hand unintentionally landing directly on your ass. Your face heated up immediately. “Jungkook, your hand.” he just quirked an eyebrow, oblivious to what you were referring to which only served to make you more annoyed. "Take.It.Off"

He looked confused for a second before finally registering where his mischievous hand had strayed. Despite how he was internally freaking out, his hands had calmly retracted and instead moved to your shoulders to lift you back into your seat as if you were as light as a feather, catching you off guard. You could only sit there surprised at the action, watching as Jungkook’s giant figure struggled to stand up in the cabin, neck bending to duck out of the cabin when he opened the door.

“What the hell happened out here?!”

“I’m sorry my Lord, but it seems one of our wheels got stuck in a hole and broke its bearing.” The coachmen muttered embarrassed, cringing at the obvious anger that showed across Jungkook’s face. The driver's words had you sticking your own head out of the door, flinching as the ice cold rain immediately started drenching you.

“Well how long will it take you to fix it?!” Jungkook questioned irate.

The man avoided Jungkook's fiery gaze, rubbing at his neck, “Considering the craftsman isn’t until the next town, I’m not quite sure. We’d have to walk the rest of the way unfortunately and that could take the rest of the day and probably into the night, sir.”

Jungkook let out a groan, obviously upset with the coachmens words. He threw his hands up, turning in his spot to kick at the edge of the broken down carriage only to just notice that you had stepped out into the rain yourself. Immediately he walked over, boots stumping in the mud. “Get back in the carriage Y/N.”

You scoffed, “No way, you heard the man. We’ll have to walk and you’re not leaving me out here by myself to wait for you to return with a damn wheel.” You glared up at him, neck straining to look up and meet his gaze confidently. “Besides I think I can handle a little rain by now.”

“Rain has nothing to do with it. I didn’t plan on leaving you, I’m staying here. He can walk to the town by himself,” The driver let out a sound of alarm at his statement to which Jungkook paid no mind to. “He can send word to your father to get another carriage to escort us the rest of the way.”

“Jungkook, staying here would be the worst thing to do and getting my father involved would just be a nuisance and you don’t want to make him upset, do you? We can just stop at an inn and stay till the morning.” You were obviously trying to stop Jungkook from continuing the journey to your father. But he didn’t know that of course and he actually began to mull over the idea. The two of you stood in the rain for a moment glaring at each other, waiting for one of you to give up. When he realized that he wasn’t going to win, he let out a grunt, spinning on his heel to trudge down the path. The driver stared back and forth between the two of you, confused about what just happened. You just smiled at your plan actually working and followed behind him, satisfied with your accomplishment.

For a while the three of you walked, completely soaked from the relentless downpour with clothes clinging to your bodies. Thankfully it began calming down as you continued on the road, but the mood surrounding everyone was still tense. You could tell Jungkook was still upset as he had never stopped glowering at the forest ahead, eyebrows furrowed and jaw tense. His bristly mood had you sighing, perhaps it was time for you to try and break the ice.

“Jungkook.” you called from behind his towering figure, stopping in your tracks. He didn’t immediately respond, but after realizing you had halted he turned to look over his shoulder, offering you a grunt in question.

“Dance with me.” you say with a smile, beaming despite his obvious annoyance.

He merely arched a brow, finally facing you to stare at you blankly. Jungkook crossed his arms, “What?” he said.

You giggled, “I said dance with me!” you did a small spin in your spot, lips tilting up at the corners as you extended a hand in his direction. He just looked at it, face void of emotion.

“We're stuck in the middle of a storm and all you want to do is play in the rain.”

He sounded dreadfully confused, but that didn’t deter you from your mission. “Yes! In my opinion, mud makes for an excellent dance floor.” your voice dripped with excitement and when he didn’t show any sign of taking your hand you just took it upon yourself to take his hand from his folded arms and pulled him forward (it barely moved him but you get the jist).

Jungkook sighed and tried to stand his ground as you pulled relentlessly on his arms. The sound of your feet splashing in the mud made him cringe but regretfully he started moving to the beat you seemed to have made up in your head. You two spun in circles and moved back and forth down the path, making up your own dance as you went. The coachmen watched amused from the sidelines, clapping along to the two of you to mimic the sound of music. You knew Jungkook was trying to look like he was still upset, but you could tell it was an act and that he was starting to warm up to the idea as you went along. His arms started to loosen and his back started to untense, shoulders relaxing to make it easier for you to pull him along. He was even biting back a smile at the sound of your cute sounds and the hums you were letting out in tune to the drivers rhythm. At that moment Jungkook thought you looked absolutely enchanting.

Despite the hair stuck to your face, the bottom of your dress covered completely in mud and lingering scent of mildewy smelling soaked wet cotton, the drops of water stuck to your long lashes and the flush in your cheeks trumped all of those things. He had never seen you smile so hard or look so comfortable in his arms. Besides the accidental fall back at the carriage, this was the first time you had been this close to him since your wedding night and he could feel the heat radiating from your body, your hearts beating to the same rhythm. He truly felt like you were his.

So he watched as you continued to spin, laughs full of glee escaping past your lips. You even had the nerve to stick your tongue out in an effort to catch raindrops, showing off the long expanse of your throat and jutting collarbones. The sight had something stirring in him. And you must’ve noticed the change in his face because you stopped in your step, smile calming and eyes softening. You could tell he was deep in thought, so you didn’t feel the need to speak just yet. Instead, you just looked at him, eyes gazing up at him and swimming with admiration. Your shining irises peeking up below your lashes had your stare coming off as almost sultry and he felt his pulse quickening. When you picked up on the shift in his mood you decided to speak up. “Is something the matter, Jungkook?” you questioned, looking up with wide eyes. You looked so innocent. He knew it was wrong, but he wanted so bad to corrupt you.

Jungkook pulled you so close you had to strain your neck to stare up at him just before he dipped his head down, lips so close to touching. "If you keep looking at me like that I won't be able to handle myself."

Your breath caught in your throat and your face was full of surprise as you just stared at him speechless. It was almost as if you two were having some type of heated conversation with the way his dark eyes connected to yours. The tension was undeniable. But you two seemed to have forgotten that you guys weren’t the only ones out there on that dirt road, and the sound of the driver clearing his throat had you two stepping apart.

“Are you guys um...ready to keep heading towards the inn?” he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable. The two of you couldn’t answer fast enough.

“Yes!”

[yespolkadotkitty]

Take What You Need

A special treat for the lovely @keeper0fthestars - a flimsy excuse to get railed into next week by Francisco Morales.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with a flimsy nod to plot. Word count: 2300

Thanking @alwaysbethewest and @songsformonkeys​ for the beta!!

“All right! You heard the man, wheels up in thirty!” Redfly shouted across the small airfield. “Catch some sleep, eat, do whatever, but I want us all in that helo, in thirty.”

“Copy that,” Pope shouted back, heading off towards the thick bushes surrounding the hangar and aircraft. Ironhead followed, probably to try and talk some sense into him. Ironhead had always been the most sensible of you all.

In fact, it was William who had spoken up for you when Pope suggested you come along.

“She’s good with a rifle,” Ironhead said calmly. “And her Spanish is decent. Way better’n mine and Benny’s, anyways.”

Redfly - the infuriatingly traditional conservative middle-class American man - had ummed and aahed, and you knew it was because you had a vagina. 

But here you were, and you’d taken out two of Lorea’s guys from the roof with your rifle, so Redfly could suck your metaphorical dick.

The man in question loped back to the other side of the airfield, towards Pope’s informant, and started to talk to her about something.

“This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

You turned at that voice. A little raspy, a little husky-edged, it sent a shiver up your spine. Always had, and probably always would.

Francisco Morales shook his head when you turned to look at him. His ballcap - dirty, soft - was pulled down low over his head. Hair the colour of milk chocolate curled out from underneath it. He met your gaze, and his own hazelnut eyes were so, so tired.

“It could’ve gone better,” you agreed, letting your eyes trail down his long, lean frame - a little soft in the middle, but you’d always liked his tummy.

Francisco - Catfish to you all, because during special ops training, he’d caught one almost the size of himself - was an enigma of a man. Soft, sometimes. Hard, sometimes.

You’d known him five years now, and during that time you’d seen him pull the trigger a foot from a man’s head without wincing, and you’d seen him comfort a three year old girl left homeless in a war zone, his voice soft, his touch gentle. The yin and yang of him fit, somehow.

Catfish scoffed. “Not sure how it could’ve gone any fucking worse.” He ripped off his cap, and your eyes were drawn to a deep cut on his cheek.

“What’s this?” You automatically reached up to touch his face. His tanned skin was rough under your fingers as you traced the edges of the healing wound. “It might scar.”

Francisco grunted. “Like that’s a concern right now.”

You grinned, dropped your hand. “It’ll be sexy. The scar, I mean.”

“You think?” He laughed without humour, wrung his cap in his hand, and you saw how drawn his starkly handsome face was, the patchy scruff around his jawline grey in places. God, had you thought about kissing that almost-beard, stroking your fingers over his bristly chin. “I wish being sexy was what worried me most. I’m fuckin’ losing my shit here. The scales are off the charts, the helo will never make it to the ocean-” he swore a stream in Spanish, and stuffed his hat back on. The frustration steamed off him in waves.

“Fish.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, looked up into his face, twisted with anger and fear. “We’ll be okay. We’ve had worse than this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never had worse with you,” he bit off, shrugging off your touch and pacing away, shoving his cap back on, his hair curling at the edges. “Jesus fucking Christ, if anything happens to you, I’ll-”

“Fish!” You shout to be heard over the noise of the aircraft prep, the wind, the sound of Redfly and Pope’s informant arguing. “Nothing will happen to me. You saw me take out Lorea’s guys. And I saved your ass on that mission in Istanbul.”

Francisco shifted, adopting that hands-on-hips stance he always did when he was thinking. “I know.”

“Then what? I’m not a porcelain doll, Francisco.”

And you saw it. His eyes went hot when you used his full name. Hot and sort of.. Dark. Like he wanted to drag you into that hangar and bend you against the corrugated metal wall and rail you into next week.

And boy, you’d let him.

“What?” you challenged. He needed this release. Whether it was shouting at you or whether you wrestled until the fight had gone out of him, he could not fly that helo with your lives and that money at stake in such a state.

He muttered something in Spanish. Your command of the language was very good but his voice was pitched too low for you to make out the syllables.

“Oh, you wanna go?” You lifted your fists in a mock fighting stance. “You ever hit a girl, Morales?”

“There’s always a first time,” he gritted out humourlessly.

You danced around, goading him. “Maybe you’re afraid I’d kick your ass.”

Fish scoffed, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, in the line of his back. He was a loaded powder keg, seconds from a bloody explosion from the heat, the stress, the shooting. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

You saw the moment his eyes changed - went dark again, and you turned, running for the hangar.

You heard him bark out a laugh as he pursued you, his long legs eating up the terrain. You ran flat out, reaching the hangar in under a minute, Fish hot on your heels. The minute he barrelled through the door you slammed it behind him.

“What the fuck?” he asked, confusion parading over his face - somehow even more alluring when he was dirty, tired, stressed.

You yanked him close and kissed him. It was the first time, and all the times you’d thought about kissing him, an inaurgural kiss, it was never like this. It was in your shitty home town, under some trees, or under the bleachers of the old high school, or by moonlight at the drive-in.

It took a second, and then Francisco was kissing you back, his lips fierce, hard, the kiss almost painful in its intensity. He tasted of terrible coffee and the beef jerky you’d all forced down, and you licked into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his, and the flavour of his little groan was divine.

“We don’t have long,” he whispered harshly. “What - what do you want?”

Your breath was coming in pants. He smelled of clean sweat, the outdoors, and the spring rain, and you were wetter than you’d ever been. This close to Catfish, you couldn’t cope with the well of desire, too long ignored. “You can’t fly us like this, Fish. In this state.”

His hands clenched on your hips. “What?”

“Relieve the pressure.” You slid a hand down his body, cupped him, felt his erection like steel in velvet. Your blood fired. “For us both.”

“Shit.” Francisco leaned down, rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve fucking dreamed of this. But not… not like this, like you’re a cheap fuck. You’re not. You’re… everything.”

The words shook you, and you pressed your lips to his, drinking him in, loving him, like you’d loved him nearly five years, and always been afraid to rock the boat.

Well, now the boat had run aground and it was time.

“You can show me that when we’re safely back on American soil, soldier. For now…” you yanked him close again, pressed your palm to his cock. “Take what you need. Give me what I need.”

“Fuck,” he bit off, and then he was kissing you like a starving man falling upon a banquet, all tongues and teeth and Frankie, and you pressed as close to him as you could.

“How long do we have?” you panted out.

He shot his cuffs, checked his watch. “Quarter hour.”

“Then make every minute count, Morales.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. And he got on his knees in front of you, pulling at your jeans.

Your heart leapt into your chest at the first brush of his breath on your bare legs. Frankie rolled the denim down, ghosted a kiss over your underwear.

“You would not believe, baby, how often I’ve jacked off to the thought of having you,” he whispered.

“Fish, if you don’t do something, I swear to God…”

He took off his cap, passed it to you. “Wear this for me.” After you slapped it on your head, he pulled your hand back down, thrust it into his hair. You tugged him close as he yanked your underwear down and proceeded to fucking feast on you.

You’d never experienced Frankie like this. Near feral, his tongue licking at you like you were his last meal, his favourite food, a longed-for treat. He used his hands - hands you’ve wished were on you, inside you - to spread you so he could spear his tongue inside you, nip at your clit, write his name with his tongue, whatever the fuck he was doing, it felt like Heaven. 

“Stop. Stop,” you whined, pushing at his hair. “Want to come with you inside me.”

He looked up, those cocoa eyes dark and hot and irresistible, and then he was on his feet in a hot second, and he spun you around to face the wall.

“Hold on to something, baby,” he muttered against your neck before he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin at your pulse point, the tiny hurt only making you wetter.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone and the shove of the denim down his thighs was loud to your ears.

“Please,” you gritted out, arching your back.

Frankie slid a palm down your naked butt, and you heard the growl in his voice when he said, “Sweet girl. When we get back on US soil….” And then he positioned himself and slid home in one smooth, hard thrust, and you gripped the hangar wall hard and cried out at the pleasure and the stretch. He kept going until he bottomed out, curses in English and Spanish falling from his lips in that husky baritone made for pure sin, and then as you groaned in satisfaction, he curled a hand around to your front and rubbed you in maddening circles.

“We don’t have long,” you warned, muscles already fluttering.

“Fuck. Won’t take long. You feel too good. You’re so fucking tight. How - how do you-”

“Fast and hard,” you instructed, and you felt him twitch inside you at your words, heard his moan. “I wanna feel you tomorrow, Francisco.”

“Oh fuck,” he grated out, and then he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force was just what you needed, and you cried out at the wonderful pressure, the push of him inside you, the texture and shape of him. Better, harder, larger than you had imagined.

You spread your legs as much as you could given the  denim around your calves, and Frankie fucks you hard, keeping one hand on your hip and the other at the apex of your body, strumming you expertly.

“Wish we had more fucking time,” he rasped into your hair, pressing a frantic kiss there. “Sweet girl. You feel like heaven. Always.. Knew.. you would.”

“The things I’m gonna to do you when we get home,” you shot back, and pressed your hips into him. “Oh God, more, please.”

He upped the tempo, and the sound of your bodies slapping together was obscene. His fingers circled your clit once, twice more, and you flew off that sweet cliff edge, crying out his name and burying your face in your elbow to muffle the sound.

Frankie’s hips faltered as he gave you all he had, thrusting into you at a punishing pace before his hips stuttered.

“Two minute warning!” Ironhead yelled from outside.

“I want to feel you come inside me, Fish,” you whispered over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” And he tumbled over the precipice too, hips shaking. You felt him jerk inside you, felt the hot surge of his climax, and he pressed down hard on your clit, triggering another little orgasm for you, too.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Frankie leant his forehead on your back, panting. “Christ.”

“You gotta get some more swear words, Morales,” you said, but your breath hitched too, and you wiggled your hips, making him shiver.

He pulled out, zipped up, and then took care putting your clothes in order. When he tugged you close for a kiss, you tasted yourself.

“First fucking chance I get,” Frankie rasped, his lips in your hair, “I’m gonna take my sweet time doing everything I want to you. With you.”

“Then get us over those mountains, Francisco, and I’m yours.” You nip at his bottom lip, then sprang apart when Redfly yanked open the hangar door.

“Fuck’s sake, Fish, we thought you’d gone AWOL. It’s go time.”

“Copy that,” Frankie shot back. You let him leave first, glanced down to admire his ass in those jeans. 

And you thought, with single-minded determination: We just need to get over these mountains. Then Francisco Morales would be all yours.

Redfly looked at his departing back and then turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing Fish’s hat?”

****

Tagging the Pedro pals: @emmy-dandiliom918​ @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse​ @keeper0fthestars​ @scarlettvonsass​ @casually-introverted​ @knittingqueen13​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition​ @agirllovespasta​ @songsformonkeys​  @gamingaquarius​ @mstgsmy​  @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @dornish-queen​ @maxphillipswasright @winters-buck​ @mourningbirds1​ @pascalitomorales​ @mrsparknuts​ @alldatalost​ @abuttoncalledsmalls​ @mrschiltoncat​ @auty-ren​ @heatherbel​

it’s 10.45pm my brain has failed if I left you off I apologize!!

[dalishthunder]

Imagine....dualscar being tense and grumpy from a nights work on the ship...sitting down in his chair and reader comes out behind him to start rubbing at his shoulders....he has appearances to keep and doesn't like loosening his posture much but it's so hard not to melt under those warm hands

I actually wrote something that went down like that.... let me find it for you. It's between a servant reader and dualscar.... if that is your cup of tea (I'll put it under the cut in case it's not).

But just the thought of him melting..........

“Would you like me to go…?” You asked him, hoping beyond hope that he would say yes. It had been a while since you’d gotten a good sleep in. His first mate always had a task for you to do. Always. Without fail, something else. But if you slipped out now, maybe you could sneak back to your hammock before the sun rose.

He didn’t even turn his head to look at you as he spoke into his pillow.“I need your tiny little hands, there’s a knot in my shoulders. Work it out.” He unclasped his cloak and tossed it to the ground. Lovely.

You sighed, standing up and walking over to the bed. His armor was still on of course, but you weren’t going to mention that, no need to doff that if you didn’t need to. You just wanted this over as soon as possible… and with any luck he’d fall straight to sleep. You really, really hoped he was sleepy drunk.

Your fingers began to rub little circles at first at the top of the shoulders first.

“Harder.”

You applied more pressure.

“No. No, angles off. You should know by now how I like it.” He snipped, voice muffled by his pillow.

You ground your teeth, but hopped up onto the bed and straddled his back, kneading the base of his shoulder blades. He allowed it for a few minutes before speaking again.

“You’re going to have to take off the armor, sweetheart. I can barely feel you.”

“Of course.”

“’Of course’ what?”

“Of course, sir.” Your nostrils flared as you found the buckles on the side, working the stiff leather until it finally came loose. He shifted so you could slide it off of him leaving him only in a lavender silk chemise and pants.

Your palms pressed firmly into his back and you dragged up, eliciting a deep moan from the man below you.

“That’s the ticket.” The troll hissed, arching his back into your touch. You worked your fingers into his muscles, another shameless moan escaping his lips. “Just like that.”

Dualscar The Orphaner, Feeder of the Deep One wasn’t usually so… vocal.

“Mindfang is just so infuriating.”He moped. “That’s the third trade ship this sweep that she’s raided… the third fuckin’ one! That ship had off-world product on it! Four hundred and thirteen kilos of Timoorian steel just gone. She’s probably selling it off to the rebellion for a killing. It'd be endearing were she not such a piss poor kismesis…. She does this all the time. Wind me up with enough hatred to turn my bloodpump black then just fuck off to glub knows where doing glub knows what just leaving me stewing in my own concupiscent rage.”

Ah. He was chatty drunk tonight….

He went on and on as you worked his muscles, babbling like a brook. Mindfang this. The Condesce and Gl'Bgolyb that. You wanted nothing more than to zone out, but a talkative drunk could slip up information that could be used against him. So you listened, giving a thoughtful hum whenever the situation demanded, learning more and more about the intergalactic price of raw dafad wool against your will.

His monologue began to peter off after what felt like hours.

“Do you know why I chose you to be my personal attendant?” He asked suddenly, propping himself up just a bit.

“Because you’re not threatened by me.” You replied without hesitation. “And even if I tried anything an ocean surrounds us so there’s nowhere for me to go.”

“Well don’t we have a smarty pants here… Didn’t realize you could talk so much.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” You muttered under your breath.

Dualscar turned his head to grin at you cheekily, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you under him. “So small.” He murmured. “With such a smart little mouth.”

He was intimidating even on the best of days, but pinned by his weight with his face only inches from your own…. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly as you caught a glimpse of his shark-like teeth.

“Such fragile skin.” His grin widened, teeth so sharp…. So sharp, you could swear you saw serration on the edges. Not the uneven rows of a bull or mako shark… but the perfect even triangles of a great white. The troll bent his head down, tracing his lips along your jaw and down your neck. “I could kill you right now.” His breath was cool against your skin, the bristly hair on his chin scratching against you. “It would be so easy….” He dragged his teeth along the length of your throat, just hard enough for you to feel it.

“… To rip your windpipe right out with my teeth.”

It was all you could do to keep still as he gently bit down, cold sweat covering your skin. No self defense class had prepared you for this. You could feel your limbs trembling as you stared up at the ceiling, view obscured by his bright orange horns.

“Not that I would of course,” He murmured into your neck, chuckling as he pulled back just enough to plant a soft kiss where his teeth had been a moment ago.

You exhaled shakily, and he pressed his lips against your throat again, laughing. “There’s nothing to be scared of… I’m not actually going to hurt you.”

You gave a nervous chuckle, hyper-aware as the prickle of his stubble left your skin as he brought his face back up, pupils blown wide as his eyes met yours, cheeks flushed a deep lilac hue. Your breath hitched in your chest….

Dualscar was a handsome man, Probably one of the most handsome men you had met; Troll or human. High cheekbones, thick black hair, violet eyes framed by golden sclera and long dark lashes… even the thin jagged lines that scarred his otherwise perfect face gave him character.

He loomed over you, his weight on your arms was almost unbearably uncomfortable at this point, pins and needles prickling along your veins, as his eyes bored into your own. Until he closed them, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours gently as though testing the waters. You melted against him faster than you would ever care to admit, and you could feel the smile on his lips. His fingers lit fires under your skin as they slid down your arm to your waist and up against the small of your back. How long had it been since you’d felt the comfort of an embrace…?

Passionate. Insistent. Desperate.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him closer. You could taste sea salt and his drink, bitter and slightly citrusy, on his lips… So different from what you were used to.

His cool skin was a balm to the heated way he kissed you. You gasped as he groped your ass, claws pricking through the fabric of your pants, taking the opportunity to unceremoniously shove his tongue in your mouth. He absolutely reeked of alcohol but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, getting lost in the cold, foreign feeling as he explored your mouth.

You followed as he retreated, nipping his lower lip before running your tongue along it. He moaned, breath ragged as you dragged your nails along his scalp and behind his fins. You kissed him deeply, hands curling around his horns.

He gabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, Dualscar’s voice just a low growl in your ear.

“No.”

You whined as he nipped your jaw, lathing over the spot with his cool tongue. His free hand slipping under your shirt, blunted claws scraping against your skin as he kissed along your jawline and back up to your mouth. It was hot and needy, grinding his groin against your leg.

You pulled back, ducking your head to kiss his neck. He moaned, hand exploring your chest, thumb rubbing over a nipple, sending a shiver down your spine.

After a few more minutes, of licking and sucking his neck, careful to avoid the sharp plates in his gills, he finally sat up, breath ragged as he looked at you. Nudging you off the bed.

It was unexpected… and you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done something wrong before he spoke once more.

“Now strip.” He was looking at you with a lazy smile, sitting upright, legs crossed.

You flushed, pausing for a moment, mouth slightly agape. The kissing, the groping, the humping… you had figured it would lead up to this, but you couldn’t help but feel nervous. Sure, plenty of people had seen you naked before, but this was far from your forte. It wasn’t that you were a prude or anything… but it had been longer than you’d like to admit. In your younger years you had been so focused on excelling in school, and completing college that romance hadn’t been your primary concern. You’d had a couple of datemates, but it usually didn’t last very long anyways. And since you’d landed on Alternia it wasn’t like you even really thought about romance… probably something about too busy trying to survive to really care.

You must have been taking too long because Dualscar reached out and took your hand in his, pressing his lips to your palm, dragging his sharp teeth along your skin. Giving you an altogether disarmingly charming smile.