#look at that guinness i choked down

[pedrospatch]

ireland dump no one asked for 🇮🇪

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

"Pandora, Worrying About What She Is Doing, Finds a Way into the Valley through the Scrub Oak," from Always Coming Home by Ursula K. Le Guin

Look how messy this wilderness is. Look at this scrub oak, chaparro, the chaparral was named for it and consists of it mixed up with a lot of other things, but look at this shrub of it right here now. The tallest limb or stem is about four feet tall, but most of the stems are only a foot or two. One of them looks as if it had been cut off with a tool, a clean slice across, but who? what for? This shrub isn’t good for anything and this ridge isn’t on the way to anywhere. A lot of smaller branch-ends look broken or bitten off. Maybe deer browse the leafbuds. The little grey branches and twigs grow every which way, many dead and lichened, crossing each other, choking each other out. Digger-pine needles, spiders’ threads, dead bay leaves are stuck in the branches. It’s a mess. It’s littered. It has no overall shape. Most of the stems come up from one area, but not all; there’s no center and no symmetry. A lot of sticks sticking up out of the ground a little ways with leaves on some of them—that describes it fairly well. The leaves themselves show some order, they seem to obey some laws, poorly. They are all different sizes from about a quarter of an inch to an inch long, but each is enough like the others that one could generalise an ideal scrub-oak leaf: a dusty, medium dark-green color, with a slight convex curve to the leaf, which pillows up a bit between the veins that run slanting outward from the central vein; and the edge is irregularly serrated, with a little spine at each apex. These leaves grow irregularly spaced on alternate sides of their twig up to the top, where they crowd into a bunch, a sloppy rosette. Under the litter of dead leaves, its own and others’, and moss and rocks and mold and junk, the shrub must have a more or less shrub-shaped complex of roots, going fairly deep, probably deeper than it stands aboveground, because wet as it is here now in February, it will be bone dry on this ridge in summer.

There are no acorns left from last fall, if this shrub is old enough to have borne them. It probably is. It could be two years old or twenty or who knows? It is an oak, but a scrub oak, a low oak, a no-account oak, and there are at least a hundred very much like it in sight from this rock I am sitting on, and there are hundreds and thousands and hundreds of thousands more on this ridge and the next ridge, but numbers are wrong. They are in error. You don’t count scrub oaks. When you can count them, something has gone wrong. You can count how many in a hundred square yards and multiply, if you’re a botanist, and so make a good estimate, a fair guess, but you cannot count the scrub oaks on this ridge, let alone the ceanothus, buckbrush, or wild lilac, which I have not mentioned, and the other variously messy and humble components of the chaparral. The chaparral is like atoms and the components of atoms: it evades. It is innumerable. It is not accidentally but essentially messy. This shrub is not beautiful, nor even if I were ten feet high on hashish would it be mystical, nor is it nauseating; if a philosopher found it so, that would be his problem, but nothing to do with the scrub oak. This thing is nothing to do with us. This thing is wilderness. The civilized human mind’s relation to it is imprecise, fortuitous, and full of risk. There are no shortcuts. All the analogies run one direction, our direction. There is a hideous little tumor in one branch. The new leaves, this year’s growth, are so large and symmetrical compared with the older leaves that I took them at first for part of another plant, a toyon growing in with the dwarf oak, but a summer’s dry heat no doubt will shrink them down and warp them. Analogies are easy; the live oak, the humble evergreen, can certainly be made into a sermon, just as it can be made into firewood. Read or burnt. Sermo, I read; I read scrub oak. But I don’t, and it isn’t here to be read, or burnt. It is casting a shadow across the page of this notebook in the weak sunshine of three-thirty of a February afternoon in Northern California. When I close the book and go, the shadow will not be on the page, though I have drawn a line around it; only the pencil line will be on the page. The shadow will be then on the dead-leaf-thick messy ground or on the mossy rock my ass is on now, and the shadow will move lawfully and with great majesty as the earth turns.

The mind can imagine that shadow of a few leaves falling in the wilderness; the mind is a wonderful thing. But what about all the shadows of all the other leaves on all the other branches on all the other scrub oaks on all the other ridges of all the wilderness? If you could imagine those for even a moment, what good would it do? Infinite good.

-- Ursula K. Le Guin, Always Coming Home (273-5)

[mangoshorthand]

I know there’s a scene in season 3 where five is singing at diego and lila’a wedding and i’m so in love with that scene 😭 I wish there was more to it especially since drunk five is the best five so i wanna ask for one with what five would do for y/n while he’s drunk pls 🙏🏻🙏🏻 it can be fluff or smut just so the thing cute n schemxy from my mans five 🙏🏻🙏🏻 (some ideas:a wedding, party, worn out from work, a tiny date gone rogue 🤭)

I also love drunk Five. Please accept this as my humble smutty offering. There is a link to the song Five sings in the body of the text so feel free to listen along!

Boy Wonder | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 2.7k words, Rated E

Diego and Lila were long gone, off in search of somewhere where the floor buzzed along with the music. The bar you ended up in was only supposed to be a place for you to have a few drinks before finding somewhere higher energy, but you and Five found yourselves quite happily installed there, drinking and putting the world to rights.

“And another thing,” he slurred, finishing his seventh Guinness with a slurp, “academics never actually do anything. They just navel gaze.”

“I’m just saying,” you reply, “you’d know more about theoretical physics than the Professors. You’d have a lot to offer the world.”

“Hey, I’ve given the world enough already. I saved it-” he counted on his fingers and then stopped, his brow furrowed, “...actually, did I save it?”

He contemplated for a second and then shrugged, waving this away with a careless hand.

“Well, whatever. I don’t want to go into academia.”

“Fair enough,” you said, “just a thought.”

He returned his attention to the laminated book on the table and you took the cue to buy you both another drink.

This was all your doing, really. Well, not entirely, (you didn’t pour that amount of stout down his neck) but you at least contributed to the atmosphere that got him into that state.

Work was shitty, more than usually shitty, in fact. The only consolation throughout was the knowledge that it was Friday. When five o’clock finally rolled around, all you wanted to do was blow off some steam.

After a few hours at the bar, you were more than tipsy yourself, but Five could drink you under the table and you learned very early in your relationship not to try and keep up with him. He was looking down at the book with a serious expression, flicking through the pages. As you watched, he cast off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbow, as if the mental energy needed to make his choice was making him sweat.

By the time you returned to the table, his tie was loosened and a couple of shirt buttons undone too.

“You not chosen yet?”

“I have if you wanna duet.”

“No!” you said, “I don’t know why you want to go up there.”

“Because it’s fun, obv-ously,” he replied, trying to sound reasonable but failing as a result of his slurred voice. 

“Come on,” he said, cajolingly, looking up at you with his most beguiling smile, “I’ll be John Travolta and you can be Olivia Newton John.”

“Honestly,” you wince, “I think I’d rather perform my own appendectomy.”

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll do it on my own. I’ll blow this shitty place away, you watch."

“Okay," you said, eyebrows raised skeptically, "but you’re up next so you better choose quick.”

He returned his eyes the the list of songs and leaned his cheek heavily on his hand. He scanned the list for a couple more seconds before a look of triumph spread over his face. 

“I got one! It’s gonna be great-”

“It’s My Way, isn’t it?” you said, cutting him off.

He looked at you disbelievingly.

“How did you-?” 

“Because that’s what every man over fifty chooses to sing at a Karaoke place.”

Five pouted at this, eyebrows lowering and bottom lip sticking out.

The expression, so out-of-character for him, struck your booze-clouded brain as funny, and you let out a messy peal of laughter, choking on your Guinness and indelicately spitting some back into the glass.

Five, watching this, began to laugh too. Disregarding the book, he leaned heavily against you, his shoulder shaking with chuckles as it made contact with your upper arm. Then, in a feline tribute of affection, he rubbed his head against yours. 

“I-love you,” he said, softly.

You closed your eyes and returned his caress.

“I love you too, sweet guy.”

“You’re my best friend- yknow that?”

You smiled and started to laugh a little again as he continued to rub himself against you, probably slightly harder than he intended and apparently oblivious to how strange he might look to an onlooker.  

“You’re my best friend and you touch my penis. It’s am-azing,” he said, voice dragging slightly. “You’re amazing.”

Laughing at this, you held him to you more tightly, stroking his firm bicep through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re just as-bolutely perfect.” he added.

Though this warmed your heart, as the more sober of the pair of you, you were aware that the guy currently singing was limping his way through the final bars of Wonderwall.

“Come on, sweet guy.” you said, kissing his hair, “You gonna go up there and make everyone listen to My Way?”

“Nah.” he said, sitting up straight and pulling himself to an unsteady stand, “I got a better idea.”

With an overly-expressive wink, he wended his way over, weaving slightly. He took the mic from the last patron with a muttered word of thanks and cursed as he tripped up the single step up onto the slightly raised karaoke stage. You wince in sympathy, slightly anxious for what's to come.

After consulting the laminated song list one more time, he punched the number into the machine with a look of intense concentration as he tried not to let his finger stray too far from the keypad.

As the introduction began, filling the noisy bar with a soulful whine of guitar, he tried to fumble the mic back into its stand, but seemed to give up as the first line of the song came upon him.

Leaning close, he briefly closed his eyes as he began to sing.

“If I could make a wish, I think I'd pass, Can't think of anythin' I need,”

When his eyes opened again, they lock on you, messy hair falling in a curtain over one eye. 

“No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound, Nothing to eat, no books to read,”

Even as drunk as he was, he sounded good; his voice an unusual middle ground between tenor and baritone. Though the words themselves were a little indistinct at times, the notes flowed from one to another with a sweet, natural fluidity.

“Making love with you, Has left me peaceful, warm, and tired,”

His mouth twitched at this, and you smiled back. That exchanged look told you that your minds were similarly engaged, both recalling the same memories.

“What more could I ask, There's nothing left to be desired,”

His body moved, swaying gently along with the music, the smile still alive in his eyes. Though his posture was slumped, his movements were surprisingly graceful.

“Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak, So sleep, silent angel, Go to sleep”

As the chorus swelled, he again closed his eyes in feeling with the words he was singing. He leaned into the mic stand, tipping it slightly.

“Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe And to love you…” smut below cut

Finally back at home, you stripped off your dress while Five chomped his way mercilessly through a sharing bag of Ruffles. He was sitting at his desk in his unbuttoned shirt and underwear, having become distracted by the chips midway through getting changed. His hair was sticking up in all directions from all the times he ran his fingers through it.

“We’re going to be hungover tomorrow, aren’t we?” you groan, the slight spinning of your head notifying you of the fact.

“Not me!” he said through a huge mouthful, “I’m the fuckin’ boy wonder. Gonna enjoy this twenty-year old metabolism while I have it. I’ll probably sleep it off and wake up fresh as a daisy.”

“All right, don’t rub it in,” you grumbled, pulling on a short nightdress.

He chuckled blurrily.

“Drink that coffee, you’ll be fine, and finish these Ruffles,” he said, offering you the bag.

With one hand, you fanned yourself like a flustered debutante having just been asked to dance.

“I’m honored.”

“Well,” he said with ironic suavity, “I’ll get by without them. I got you.”

You took them from him and smiled. 

“You sure know how to treat a lady.”

“I happen to know you ain’t no lady.” he said, drunken grin broadening.

“Luckily for me,” he added, with a wink.

You rolled your eyes at him, sat down on the bed and pulled your knees up to your chest. Leaning comfortably against the headboard, you sipped your coffee and slowly ate the chips looking unseeingly up at the ceiling. You weren’t as badly drunk as you thought: it wasn’t even spinning.

After a few minute, a prickling sensation alerted you to his eyes upon you.

Five was always afflicted by a terrible case of rubber neck, and this intensified tenfold when drunk. Some days, all you had to do was walk past to turn his head, eyes following you with a salacious glower. You thought it probably had something to do with his heightened libido since de-aging his body combined with having spent most of his life without female company of the flesh-and-blood variety. Whatever the reason, his lust was very easy to inflame. 

His eyes were combing your upper thighs and the swell of buttocks just skimmed by the hem of your night dress. Not removing his gaze, he stood up and moved towards the bed. 

“You know…I’m not too drunk. Want me to show you how I treat a lady?”

Teasingly, you stretched your legs out, obscuring yourself from his view and forcing his eyes to find yours.

“You want your best friend to touch your penis again?”

He nodded and smiled mischievously. The sharp canines beneath his lips gave him the look of a tormenting imp. That look was all you needed. You slipped off your panties and shuffled down the bed inviting him to join you with a single tilt of your head.

He didn’t need further prompting, depositing his coffee on the desk and practically tripping over himself to join you. He was already half-hard beneath his underwear, tenting at what looked like an uncomfortable angle. His dick apparently already insisting on release, he pulled off the offending garment and let it out with a gentle bounce.

Stroking your thighs, he parted your legs to reveal your spread pussy.

“Mm.” he said, as he looked down at you, “hello.”

He let out an almost disbelieving exhale, cock swelling visibly as he drank in the sight. He took himself in hand and gave himself a long stroke before lowering his head and running his tongue down the entire length of your slit. With a s long exhale, he surfaced again. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice heavy with lascivious satisfaction, “I don’t need ruffles when I can eat this.”

Despite the arousal, you couldn’t help laughing at this; at the seriousness with which he said it. Alcohol and dirty-talk was always a strange combination with Five. He was usually talkative during sex, but any amount of booze loosened his lips even more, throwing the few inhibitions he had out of the window. The result was sometimes hot, sometimes bizarre and most often a strange mix of the two. 

“It’s lucky they weren’t jalapeno flavor,” you quip.

Clearly not wanting to entertain any more joking around, he looked at you with a look of amused disapproval before repositioning himself. He straddled your shoulders and let his cock hang tantalizingly down towards your face. After another couple of moments stroking your legs and enjoying the view, he dove hungrily back between your thighs.

You raised your head to meet him and you groaned simultaneously as the length of his cock slid between your lips. His licks, pecks and sucks at your clitoris sent dancing flames outwards from the point his lips touched. 

It was hard to focus on pleasuring him when he was driving you so mad with his attentions. He was eating you as if he’d been starved for days. His tongue wormed its way inside you, seeking out the wetness he’d already produced and tasting it eagerly.

You moaned around his dick as your pussy gushed juice in time with his mouth. Even with the booze and with his far-from-precise mouth movements, every sensation felt magnified: every one of his appreciative little noises sent a jolt up your body, each twinge of pleasure he gave you like the sun on the petals of an opening flower.

His hair tickled your thighs, sending little shocks along your sensitive skin; his hands holding your legs open anchored you to the bed. As he lowered himself as far into your mouth as he could go, his balls came into gentle contact with your face. The clean, pheromone scent of him adding to the heady mix of sensation carrying you away. 

You caressed them gently with one hand as he surfaced again, hissing as he withdrew from your mouth. 

“Oh, you’re perfect,” he said, throatily. 

“So are you,” you whispered, gently rubbing the velvet shaft of his dick with your other hand. 

“Look at you,” he breathed.

He made a noise part way between a moan and a sigh as he stroked his fingers across your clit, dipping his fingers down to spread some of the wetness higher up.

Soon, apparently unable to resist, he was back with his head between your legs and his cock in your mouth. In time with his licks and sucks to your clit, his pelvis began to move in tiny little thrusts, fucking your face with gentle, measured strokes. You could feel his hot breath on you as his pleasure grew.

“Mmm!” you groaned, your voice muffled around his cock, so hard yet twitching in your mouth.

His tongue was causing flutters like wings across every nerve: overlapping flames absorbing all the air inside you, building ripples upon ripples until all was turmoil. At last, you let go and came into his mouth, your humming cries undulating and sending vibrations along his entire length.

As you rode out the waves of your orgasm, you could feel his body tensing as he edged closer to his own peak, slowing his hips to try to delay. You didn’t allow this, putting one hand on each of his buttcheeks and urging him to resume his movements.

As your muscles relaxed and warmth spread from the site of your orgasm outwards, Five’s pelvis resumed its neat thrusts, tight and careful not to make you uncomfortable. With your permission granted, he chased his own pleasure, growling like some desperate, cornered creature.

Coming to his aid, you bobbed your head in time with his movements, taking him to the depth he needed. After that, it only took a few shifts of your tongue around his shaft before it began pumping into you, stretching the tight press of your lips with each shot. His come hit the back of your throat, salty and potent as he let out a wavering cry. 

Slowly, tensing from the sensitivity, he withdrew. He clambered off you and knelt for on the bed, looking comically scruffy with his hair all over the place, (not to mention the fact he was wearing nothing but his shirt).

He blinked dazedly, staring into the middle distance. The rush of the retreating orgasm apparently interacting strangely with his intoxication. After a couple of moments, he turned his eyes to you, fixing you with a bloodshot gaze.

“That was really good, but I’m afraid I need to puke now.”

And then, he was at the window with surprising speed, lifting the sash and vomiting liquid and undigested potato chips heavily onto the fire escape. For a few moments after the retching subsided, he stayed that way, head out of the window with the cool night air whipping around his face, refreshing his lungs.

His hand fumbled for a water bottle by the bed and you passed it to him. With this, he rinsed his mouth three times and poured the rest outside to swill some of his puke away.

“Sorry about that,” he said, catching his breath and closing the window. 

“I’ll try not to take it personally.” you said, “you okay?”

“Sure. I just need to sleep now.”

You budged up, giving him room and he moved gratefully into your arms. He snuggled backwards into you, laying his head tightly against yours. You were spooning him warm and close. 

He sighed contentedly, as if right here was where he always wanted to be; the entire day having only served to deprive him of his need.

 “Whatever happened to ‘the boy wonder’”

Five snickered weakly.

“Turns out he tapped out around that sixth Guinness or so.”

You laid a gentle kiss on head.

"You feeling better after your shitty day?" He mumbled, sleepily.

“Yes,” you said, soothingly, stroking his messy hair, “but you need to go to sleep, darling. Just go to sleep."

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 6 - Prompt: Brave @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 674 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

“What happened to you?” Lily demanded, hands on her hips. “Whose arse am I kicking?”

Remus waved dismissively as he limped over to her table and slid into the booth. “It was animal-adjacent. No need to bury a body.”

“Animal-adjacent? Explain.”

“Sirius has a dog. As in a massive, burly creature who thinks he’s a wee sprout.”

She’d just taken a drink and promptly spluttered trying not to spit out. As Lily choked and coughed into her hand, her eyes watered. She waved frantically at him to continue.

“Are you alright?”

Lily cleared her throat twice and croaked out, “Yeah, fine. You talked to Sirius? Met his dog? That was brave, for you.”

“Yes, well. I was flattened by his dog before I realised that he was the one walking Padfoot.”

“It’s name is Padfoot?”

“His, yes. A Newfoundland apparently.”

She frowned, eyes flicking upward in thought. Remus waited to see if she recognised the breed, but after a full minute in silence, she shook her head. He pulled out his mobile and searched for pictures, then handed it over.

“It looks a bit like a Great Pyrenees, if you squint?” she asked, peering at the screen.

“Well, Padfoot is bigger than that. I don’t know about the whole breed.”

Lily’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline. “And you were assaulted by this dog?”

“Yes, and no,” he said, shrugging lightly. “He did knock me down twice, but the bruises are technically from Sirius. We fell while trying to hold Padfoot back from a sausage vendor and I caught an elbow to the eye and a boot to the leg.”

“Did he apologise, at least?”

“No, Sirius was busy chasing after the dog.”

She leaned forward and folded her arms on the table. “He left you like that? Bruised and battered?”

Remus sighed, rubbing his forehead. It sounded so much worse than it was. Sirius ran off to prevent the big, beefy fellow in an apron who was holding tongs from snapping them at the dog, not because he was an inconsiderate prick. He’d practically thrown Sirius after the dog, so it was unlikely he even realised that Remus was hurt when he limped away slightly humiliated.

“There were exigent circumstances. Padfoot was free and that dog is a menace, from what I’ve seen…and personally experienced. Sweet as honey, but a menace.”

“Sounds like Sirius,” she teased, smirking as she relaxed against the booth. “He is fun though.”

“He says the dog is exactly like James, which also seems to fit. I think they’re opposite sides of the same coin.” Remus accepted the Guinness that the server dropped off in front of him, then savoured it with a slow sip.

Lily bobbed her head side to side in vague agreement. “Possibly, they’re both sweet. James came into the bookshop today with his parents and they were adorable together.”

“Sounds nice. I haven’t met the Potters yet.”

Her phone pinged with a new text message. “Quick question. Does Sirius know that you’re obsessed with him?”

“No, but I think I was pretty obvious about fancying him,” Remus said, leaning forward to peek at her screen. “Why?”

“Because I just received a text from him asking if we’re actually friends, or if he has another stalker.”

“Another stalker? Who was the first?”

Lily arched an eyebrow as she slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Are you jealous of Sirius’s stalker? For pity’s sake, Remus!”

He groaned and dropped his forehead onto the table. “I know I’m pathetic, Lily. No need to lecture me about it.”

“I commend you for self-awareness, but let’s rein in the stalking. Just ask him out.”

“Shut it. It was light stalking, at best. I was looking for his best friend, actually. Stalking by proxy, if you will,” Remus defended, flailing a hand above his prone head.

“I will not,” she retorted flatly. “I will, however, ask if he knows how you ended up with a black eye and a limp. That might buy you a little sympathy.”

Remus sighed. “I’ll take sympathy. That’s better than suspicion.”

[bromfieldhall]

Pyewacket

Penelope is in love with Colin.

Colin is in love with Penelope.

Both think that their love is unrequited and don't want to act upon their feelings in case it ruins their friendship

Enter, Pyewacket...

Read from the beginning on AO3 or Tumblr

Chapter 1, 2

My submission for Polinween Week 2 - 'What's a Little Fur Between Friends'

Bridgerton Modern AU

Rating: General for now

Chapter 2 – Back Home

Colin dropped his suitcase and rucksack on the floor of his room then flopped face first onto the bed with an appreciative groan.

It was good to be back…but he was absolutely shattered.

He’d worked his backside off trying to pack in everything he’d needed for his book into a matter of weeks instead of months. His reward for such a feat was being able to return home four days before Penelope’s Halloween party.

He had hoped to return sooner, but there had been delays in travel due to bad weather and times he just couldn’t change his itinerary.

Still, he was here now and that’s all that mattered.

Without even taking his jacket off, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. A quick nap is all he needed…

The quick nap ended up being a few hours long. He woke up feeling rested, but starving.

Checking his phone, he realised it was much later than he’d thought and quickly got up. He had arranged to meet with Eloise and his brother, Benedict, at a local pub that evening and he was going to be late.

He quickly showered and changed then headed out. Walking briskly, it took him a little over fifteen minutes to get there and as soon as he entered the bar area, his siblings both waved at him from a table near the back.

“Brother! Thank you for gracing us with your presence,” Benedict jibed amicably as soon as he approached them.

“Don’t start,” Colin retorted good-naturedly. He gave his older brother a quick hug before turning to do the same with Eloise and then sat down. “Not until I’ve had something to eat at least.”

Benedict pushed a pint of Guinness towards him and grinned.

“Drink up, we’ve already ordered food. Got you the steak and kidney pie, it should be here soon.”

“Thank God,” he said meaningfully before taking a generous mouthful of his drink.

“And while we’re waiting, you can tell us what’s going on with you and Penelope,” Eloise piped up with a knowing smirk.

Colin choked a little on his drink and put his glass down with a thud, the black liquid sloshing up the sides.

“What do you mean?” he asked guardedly.

“Oh, come on, Colin, we’re not stupid,” his sister scoffed.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” he murmured dubiously.

Eloise ignored him and held her hand up as she started listing off all the reasons, tapping a different finger each time.

“You’ve been in contact with her every day…”

“Not every day…” he objected half-heartedly.

“You sent her that cat ornament that looks exactly like Pye…”

“That was a birthday present and pure coincidence,” he dismissed.

“I’m not talking about that one and you know it,” she told him.

Oh God.

“Well, she really liked the first one...” he mumbled and took another drink.

He wasn’t about to tell them that he’d also bought Penelope back yet another blackcat trinket.

“And you’re home nearly two months early!” she concluded triumphantly.

“I’ve simply got all the information I needed for my book,” he pointed out trying to sound nonchalant even though he could feel a tell-tale heat begin to warm his cheeks.

He’d put that down to the alcohol if asked.

“When have you ever come home early, Colin?” Benedict questioned wryly, taking up the mantle of inquisitor. “Usually, you’re late or don’t even come back at all just because something else took your fancy.”

Colin frowned, feeling slightly annoyed at that interpretation.

“I…”

“No, he only stays away when Pen has a boyfriend,” Eloise interjected helpfully.

“Ah yes, that’s true,” Benedict agreed with a nod.

“No, it isn’t,” Colin protested, his frown deepening.

But it was – and he was starting to feel far from comfortable that they’d apparently noticed it as well. He didn’t want them ruining everything by hinting things like that to Penelope. He wanted to see her first before he made any kind of admission. Sending messages to each other and talking over the odd facetime call didn’t really help when he was trying to gauge if his feelings could be in any way reciprocated. If they were, then he’d happily announce his love for the world to hear – if they weren’t…well, his siblings clearly didn’t any need any further ammunition.

“You won’t mind that she’s on a date tonight then.”

Eloise’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he stared at her in surprise.

“I thought she was meeting with her editor this evening?”

“She is,” his sister clarified with a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “For dinner at a swanky new restaurant in town. Very businesslike.”

Colin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Put like that, it didn’t sound as though their meeting was purely about her new book and yet, Penelope hadn’t told him that it was anything more. He’d only spoken to her the day before – surely she would’ve said something?

“Penelope has no interest in Fife,” he asserted, more to appease himself than anything.

“She doesn’t,” Eloise agreed. He relaxed at that confirmation, then immediately tensed again when his sister added, “but he’s interested in her and he’s been pushing for more lately. So much so that she’s asked for a new editor once this book is finished.”

Colin was stunned, angry and upset in equal measure, each emotion warring to be expressed. Stunned that all this had been happening and he had no idea. Angry that Fife wasn’t taking no for an answer and ‘pushing’, whatever the hell that meant. And upset because he had spoken to her almost daily and she clearly hadn’t wanted to tell him – he’d believed they were closer than that.

It was the anger that eventually won out.

“What restaurant are they at?” he asked abruptly.

“It’s fine, Pen’s going to message me when she gets home,” Eloise told him, ignoring his question. “Any problems before then and she said she’ll call. It’s all under control, don’t worry.”

Don’t worry? Of course he was going to worry. He hated the thought that Penelope might be put in an impossible position by that arse.

“Ah, here’s our food,” Benedict observed, giving their waitress an appreciative smile as she placed plates down in front of them.

Colin picked up his knife and fork and stared at his pie, wondering where his appetite had gone. He’d been starving not five minutes previous and now his stomach felt like lead.

“Your food will get cold,” Eloise pointed out as he continued to sit there.

He looked at her blankly, his whole body seemingly a whirl of feelings that made his head spin – and then Benedict decided to add confusion into the already unsettling mix.

“You know, even if Penelope did take Fife back to her place for whatever reason, he’d never make it past Pyewacket.”

“Oh yes!” his sister agreed with a laugh. “That cat is like a guard dog when it comes to Pen.”

Colin looked between the two of them and started to think he must still be asleep and all this some weird, horrible dream. Penelope was having dinner with a lech, and they were sitting here completely unbothered, yammering on about a cat?

What alternate nightmare universe had he stumbled back into?

His cutlery made a stark clanging sound as he dropped them and they bounced off the edge of his plate, drawing their attention.

“What bloody hell is going on here?” he demanded, his voice full of irate frustration.  “Are you two just winding me up? First all that about Fife and now some nonsense about the cat.”

 His siblings stared back at him in surprise.

“No. No wind up,” Benedict assured him, shaking his head. “Fife is a dick and Pye is oddly protective of Penelope.”

“It’s true,” Eloise concurred. “Pye seems to dislike anyone that’s interested in her. It’s like he can sense it or something. Don’t know if it’s a jealousy thing but he really didn’t like Alfie. He scratched him a couple of times, put a dead mouse in his bag and crapped in one of his shoes.”

“That just shows good judge of character,” Colin muttered derisively.

 His siblings both nodded and laughed at that. At least he wasn’t alone in his dislike of Albert.

“And then there was poor Jack,” Benedict said, his amusement increasing.

“Oh yes, Pen told me you set her up on a date,” Colin cut in unhappily, glaring at his brother.

Benedict held up his hands in mock surrender but couldn’t wipe the mirth from his face.

“It wasn’t really a date. He was the brother of a woman who was doing some modelling for me. Penelope was at my studio when he dropped his sister off and they started chatting. They’d both just come out of relationship’s and I thought it’d be nice if we all continued talking over dinner. It was perfectly harmless,” he explained reasonably. Colin gave him an incredulous look, which seemed to amuse his brother even more. “Anyway, we all,” he emphasised, with a nod, before continuing, “went back to Pen’s place after for a coffee and Pye wouldn’t let the poor guy even sit next to her on the couch. Kept hissing at him whenever he tried. In the end, Pen picked him up and put him outside but as soon as Jack sat down, Pye just came out of nowhere and jumped straight onto his lap…claws out.”

Colin winced at that and squirmed a little in his seat as Benedict began to laugh in earnest at the memory.

“I can’t wait to see what he does to you,” Eloise chimed in with a grin.

Colin rolled his eyes at her and picked up his knife and fork again. He refused to take the bait. Even so, as he finally started to eat, he was uncomfortably aware that Pye had unsettled him a few times over calls, although he’d never admit that out loud. He was always with Penelope, staring at him over her shoulder or sitting on her lap. His eyes seemed to transfix him at times, almost as though searching for…something and weirdly, Colin, more often than not, felt as though he came up lacking.

He put a forkful of creamy mash into his mouth and gave himself a mental shake. He was being ridiculous. It was just a cat. Benedict and Eloise had got into his jet-lagged head with their absurd theory when he should be focussing on more important things – like what was happening with Fife.

His gaze flicked to his sister’s phone to see if any messages had flashed up. It was still early, but he hoped…

“Colin will be fine, Eloise,” Benedict dismissed airily, still grinning. “He and Penelope are just friends, right brother?”

The dark-haired man swallowed his food and shook his head.

“Can we not talk about something else?” he suggested wryly, determined to change the subject. “As odd as you both believe Pye’s behaviour to be, I think it’s even more bizarre that after years and years of decrying romance and anything vaguely associated with it, I hear that Eloise seems to actually be in a relationship.”

His sister immediately tensed beside him and he knew his ploy had worked.

Colin smirked as Eloise then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes denying anything and everything with even more vehemence than himself.

They finished dinner and had another round of drinks then decided to call it a night. Thankfully his siblings hadn’t returned to their previous teasing and he’d enjoyed the rest of the evening, bar one thing – Eloise still hadn’t heard from Penelope.

He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t that late, only ten o’clock, but surely she’d had enough time to have dinner and go home?

He stood beside his sister outside the pub as they waited for Benedict to go and get his car. His brother was taking Eloise home before heading back to his studio to finish off a commission that was due in a couple of days time.

A soft buzz had him turn his head and he saw his sister check her phone. Phillip had been texting her on and off throughout the evening so he was half expecting to be disappointed again but she looked up, suddenly, and smiled.

“She’s home.”

At bloody last.

“Good.” There must have been a wealth of meaning in his tone that he hadn’t accounted for because Eloise suddenly reached out and touched his arm. He gazed at her quizzically as she stared at him and the silence stretched out between them. “What is it?”

She seemed uncertain, which was unusual for Eloise, but then she clearly made her mind up to say what she wanted to say.

“Look, I know I’m probably the last person to give advice when it comes to love,” she began. Ignoring Colin’s huff of laughter and nod, she continued more determinedly, “but one thing I’ve learned is that lying to yourself about how you feel doesn’t make it go away.”

Colin sighed and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I’m not lying to myself, El,” he replied quietly, darting her a quick glance. “I know exactly how I feel.”

She looked confused at his admission.

“Then what’s stopping you telling her?”

Where to start? Their friendship being ruined for one – especially if she didn’t feel the same. And, in fact, did she feel the same? He hoped…he very much hoped that she did. But he wasn’t sure. Which in turn made him a coward because when push come to shove, would he actually be able to cross that line? He wasn’t sure about that either.

He looked at his sister again and she stared back at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

So, Colin did what he did best. He deflected with a joke.

“Pye, for one,” he quipped, summoning a bright smile. “From the tales you and Benedict told earlier, I’d be lucky to even make it through the door.”

Eloise shot him an exasperated glare.

“Colin, be serious,” she snapped in frustration.

“I am!” he exclaimed, his face a picture of innocence.

He was saved from any further discourse when Benedict’s classic, light blue, Jensen Interceptor purred to a halt in front of them.

Colin stepped forward and opened the door for his sister. She looked like she wanted to say more but finally huffed out sigh and clambered in.

“Are you sure you don’t want a lift?” Benedict asked, leaning over the centre console to see him.

Colin bent down and shook his head.

“No thanks, the walk will do me good,” he replied, before straightening up and taking a step back to close the passenger door with a slam.

He stood and gave a little wave as Benedict pulled away from the kerb then began the relatively short walk back to his flat. He’d only gone a few steps when his mobile buzzed. He took it out and smiled when he saw it was a message from Penelope.

It wasn’t long. Just a quick text to say that she hoped he was home safely from his trip and asking if he’d enjoyed his evening out with his family. There was also another apology for not being able to join them. An apology that he took as an opening to give her call because he really, really wanted to know what had happened at her dinner with Fife.

“Hi,” he greeted when she answered after a couple of rings, “I’m walking home so thought I’d call instead of messaging back.”

“Did you have a good night?” she asked.

Perfect opportunity.

“I did, thanks. How about you? Did you have a nice dinner?” he queried.

He tried to keep his voice light but even he heard the faint accusation colouring his tone.

So did Penelope, clearly, as there was a distinct pause before he heard her sigh heavily then ask shrewdly, “El told you, didn’t she?” 

“She might have mentioned it,” he admitted cagily, noticing that she hadn’t actually answered his question.

“Oh, I bet she did,” Penelope chuckled. “I think she hates my editor more than I do.”

From the way she was speaking it didn’t seem as though anything untoward had happened that evening, so he was relieved at that. But still…

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble with him, Pen?” he asked abruptly.

Because that’s what he really wanted to know, wasn’t it? Why, when they’d been in contact practically every day, hadn’t she confided in him?  

“I didn’t see the point,” she replied, sounding a little confused. “What were you going to do? Jet back from Bali or wherever you were off to next and sort him out for me?”

She laughed and he wasn’t quite sure what irked him more - the genuine puzzlement in her voice at the thought of telling him, or her clear amusement at the idea that he might come back to help.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know now, since you never told me, will we?” he remarked dryly.

There was another slight pause and then she said softly, “Oh Colin, you’re not really upset about this, are you? I just didn’t want to worry you when it was all under control. He’s an annoyance but nothing I can’t handle, and tonight was the last I’ll see of him, thankfully.”

Now it was Colin’s turn to sigh.

She didn’t want to worry him.

Him.

And all the while, he had selfishly been concerned with his own hurt feelings.

Now who was the dick?

“Oh Pen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he told her apologetically. “I know you’re perfectly capable of dealing with prat’s like Fife yourself. You’re amazing.”

“I don’t know about that…” she began self-depreciatingly.

“Well, I do and you are,” he assured her firmly, then added lightly, “But, just know that now I’m back, if you are ever in need of any muscle…call Eloise. I’ll hold her coat.”

Her answering laugh warmed him and he grinned. They continued chatting throughout his walk home and long after he’d let himself into his flat and settled down on his couch. They talked about their upcoming books, his trip, the new restaurant she’d been to that evening – apparently the portions were small but the prices were high. Penelope admitted to having made herself some supper because she’d still been hungry when she’d got home.

She also, eventually, told him about Fife and his unsavoury comments. Colin was quite glad that he had been out of the country as he listened to her. He was certain he would have done something to the bastard had he been around and quite possibly ruined her contract with her publishers to boot. As it was, he merely interjected with the odd expletive as she talked, relieved that she would no longer had to deal with him.

“It’s getting late,” she finally said. “You must be so tired, you only got back today and I’m sitting here talking your ear off.”

He glanced at his watch and saw, to his surprise, that it was approaching one o’clock in the morning.

“Don’t worry, I have another,” he joked, reluctant to end their call despite the time.

“I could probably talk that one off too,” she laughed, then continued ruefully, “but my phone battery is low and El is coming over early tomorrow…well, this morning, to help me sort some things out for the party, so I’d better go.”

“Oh. I was going to suggest we get breakfast at that café near you,” he replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He’d really wanted to see her.

“You’re welcome to come here instead,” she offered after a beat.

“I’d love too,” he answered quickly. Probably a little too quickly he realised with a slight wince. “I’ll pick us up some pastries and coffee on the way over.”

“That sounds great,” she replied warmly. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah, see you later, Pen.”

He ended the call and smiled to himself. He’d been really fed up when he’d found out that Penelope had had plans that evening. He’d been looking forward to seeing her again, but talking to her for so long instead had been an unexpectedly soothing balm to the worst of his despondency.

And at least he would get to see her in a few hours. True, his sister would be there so he wouldn’t be able to say much in regards to, well, anything really, but he was looking forward to it all the same.

He got up and switched off the light then headed into his bedroom in a decidedly happier frame of mind than he had been all day.

At her house, Penelope tucked the quilt more snugly around her body with a huge smile on her face. Actually hearing from Colin had been nice surprise. That he was in the same country and only a couple of miles away, made it feel even better.

The fact that she was in her bed while speaking to him made it more intimate, somehow, too. Like he was there with her, laying by her side.

Her whole body warmed at the thought.

She’d believed that she’d long given up hope in anything ever happening between them, but now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed over the past couple of months. She didn’t know what exactly, but Colin seemed…different. It wasn’t what he said, but more how he said it that seemed to have altered.

A little bit more flirtatious. A little bit more innuendo. Things that could be taken lightly or to mean something more if she were only to pursue it.

But she never did. She found she wasn’t quite brave enough.

She turned on her side and switched off her bedside lamp.

Maybe it was all in her mind.

Maybe Alfie’s certainty about Colin’s feelings had seeped into the tiny part of her brain that so wanted it to be true, that she was reading far too much into everything he said and did.

But still…

He had sent another gift to her during his travels. A rather lovely cat figurine hand carved from bamboo and bespoke painted to look just like Pye. His note had said it was a thank you for ‘keeping him company’ while he was away.

She’d loved it and placed it on her mantlepiece next to her birthday gift from him. Then she’d picked up Pyewacket and took a selfie with him and the figures in the background. She’d sent it off to Colin who had replied with just one word - beautiful.

Naturally she’d spent a good couple of days wondering what that meant. The picture in general? Pye? Her?

She hadn’t acknowledged his comment. She’d just sent an inane message about sending photos when he got to his next location if he had the time. He’d sent back a thumbs up emoji and the status quo had returned.

Sort of.

And now she was going to finally see him again after all these months away. He seemed keen to see her too, didn’t he?

He certainly sounded like it.

She certainly hoped he did.

More than ever, she cursed Fife for arranging to meet the night that Colin had come back home. She’d tried to get him to change it, but he’d sworn he’d not been able to and, in the end, it had been a price she’d been willing to pay to be rid of the oaf for good.

And, heavens, did she pay.

The man had more arms than an octopus and each one had a horrible grabby hand attached. She’d got through dinner, just – although she could’ve sneezed more food than was presented on her plate. She’d refused dessert as they had concluded the official part of the evening and she’d wanted to leave. When he’d tried to touch her leg, again, she’d grabbed her glass of overpriced wine and poured it straight onto his lap. While he'd sat there spluttering in outrage, she’d told him exactly what he thought of him before walking out of the restaurant without looking back.

Odious man.

A sudden meow broke into her unhappy thoughts and she felt Pye jump up onto the bed. A few moments later he was in her face demanding attention.

“Where have you been, eh?” she wondered aloud. “Out visiting friends?”

He let out another mew as she gave him a quick fuss and then he settled down beside her.

He’d slipped out of the cat flap earlier after she’d come home from her meeting with Fife. She’d been angry and hungry and frustrated and had slammed about the place cursing the wretched human from here to kingdom come.

Pye had watched and listened but it wasn’t until the human who loved her had called, that he’d left. He knew speaking to Colin would make her happy.

He was no longer needed and there was something he had to do.

No one upset Penelope on his watch.

END CHAPTER 2

[impala-dreamer]

We're All Irish Tonight

An SPN Fanfic

~Dean has been pining for Y/N for months now, and he thinks tonight might be the night things finally get going...~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, OCs

1344 Words

Warnings: Jealous!Dean, BAMF!Reader, Fluff. Drinking

A/N: Thought you could all use a fluffy drabble today so I banged this out for ya. Happy St Patrick's Day!

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The crowd was buzzing with faux Irish pride, only about ten percent of the patrons able to boast any actual connection to the Emerald Isle. But it didn’t matter- tonight, everyone was Irish. The bar was crowded three deep and the trio took turns wading through the sea of drunken green to wave down Chris, the bartender, and order more rounds. 

Y/N was nursing a Guinness like it was poison, but knocking back whiskies like they were the cure. 

“I hate this stuff,” she said behind a hiccup, voice carrying over the throng and across the table to Dean, who was the picture of calm with a thick, foamy mustache. “Tastes like bread!” 

He laughed and licked the head from his lips. “Then why do you keep drinking it?” he yelled back, leaning over the table to get closer to her. 

She shrugged and batted her lashes innocently. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a dumb floosy at the bar tonight. Besides, everyone’s Irish on Saint Patty’s Day!” 

Seated between them, Sam laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling for the thousandth time like the third, unwanted wheel on a scooter. “I’ll get you something else when I get back up,” he offered, smiling sweetly at Y/N. 

She was too drunk to really care, but they were having fun. “Nah.” Pushing her chair back, she stood with the pint, downed the rest in one gulp and amazingly did not choke. 

Dean watched her in awe, his green eyes wide, his plump lips gone slack. “Damn.” 

Y/N slammed the empty glass down and cheered. “Whoo! Next one’s on me, boys!” She winked at Dean before turning to the bar and squaring her shoulders, preparing to fight through the noisy masses. 

Dean sat back, staring at her ass as she left. He rubbed his hands down his thighs and whistled with interest. “Ya know, Sammy, tonight might be the night.” 

Sam, having heard this more than a dozen times in the last two months, rolled his eyes and went diving into his beer, hoping to drown or find an escape hatch at the bottom. “Yeah, sure, Dean.” 

“What? You don’t think it’ll happen? Tonight is perfect. Drinks, music, tons of people.” Dean smiled to himself, thinking of the prospects. “Maybe we’ll go for a walk later, find a quiet spot… yada yada… see what happens.” 

There was no help at the bottom of his glass, just a fishbowl view of the grimey table. Sam sighed. “Sure. Just like last week and the week before and that time in Oswego when you were so sure you were gonna hook up. Give it up, Dean. She’s not into you.” 

Dean took it all to heart and slumped down in his chair, crossing his arms. He pouted and then scoffed. “What do you know anyway?” 

Up at the bar, Y/N was waiting for the pints to be drawn, and she herself had drawn some attention from a group of fratboys in various shades of green. One in particular, a blond with pretty blue eyes, was leaning in pretty close, the stench of whiskey and weed on his breath. 

“Come on, baby,” he cooed, pressing himself against Y/N’s shoulder. “You gotta let me pinch you.” 

She spun and lay a playful looking hand on his shoulder while actually pushing him back a step. “Really? And why’s that?” 

He laughed. “Ya ain’t wearin’ green!” 

Y/N licked her lips and gave him another shove backwards. “How do you know?” 

The man ran his hand down her back and moved in again. “I don’t see nothing green on ya, sweetheart.” 

She reeled him in a little closer, whispering. “Well, maybe you just can’t see it over my clothes…”

He sucked in a quick breath through puckered lips and went for it, nearly tumbling over her for a kiss. 

The crack of Y/N’s palm against his cheek rang through the bar like a lightning strike. 

Dean’s head popped up and his eyes narrowed. In an instant, he was at the bar, shoving people aside to get to Y/N.. 

She was standing in the middle of a crowd of morons, one hand on her hip, the other wagging through the air. 

“Don’t you fucking touch a lady without her permission,” she snapped, glaring up at the boy like the Headmistress of a boarding school. 

Blondie got smart and sneered. “I don’t see a lady here,” he barked, arms wide open, looking for a fight. Her handprint bloomed like a rose on his cheek. 

Dean unclenched his fists and his jaw. “Hey! She said back up, buddy.” 

“Who you calling ‘buddy’, pal?” 

“I ain’t your pal,” Dean spat. “And you best take your candy-ass out of here before I paint your other cheek.” 

Dean stepped in, the fratboy countered. Y/N cocked a brow, watching the display. 

The asshole backed down. “Eh, she ain’t worth it anyway.” 

Dean’s shoulders relaxed, but Y/N did not. Stepping between them, she cracked her fist against his other jaw, nearly knocking him over. 

“I am too worth it, ya jackass!”

Sadly, Chris had no choice but to kick Y/N out of the bar, and Dean found her moments later, walking towards home in the chilly night air. Her arms were wrapped around her middle and she walked slowly, kicking at the sidewalk. 

Dean shrugged off his jacket and hung it over her shoulders, startling her a bit. 

“Oh! Hey…” 

He smiled and stepped in front of her to close the top button lest the jacket fall off. She looked terribly small and precious in his oversized coat; too precious to be walking home alone by herself. 

“Ya left without us,” he said, hoping to get a laugh. 

She sighed instead. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want to ruin your night out. Not anymore than I already did, anyway.” 

Dean laughed. “Ruin? Are you kidding me? Watching you beat the crap out of that guy was the highlight of the evening. Hell, of the week.” He turned and slung his arm around her, enjoying the closeness. 

“He really was being a dick. You didn’t see but he was a little grabby…” 

Dean skidded to a halt. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him…” 

“No, no!” Y/N laughed and grabbed his flannel, turning him towards her again. “I was very impressed how you came to my rescue like that.” 

He bit his lip, gazed down with hope in his eyes. “Y/N, if I know anything about you, it’s that you don’t need rescuing. But still, if he comes near you again, I will stab him in the throat.” 

Another laugh knocked her head back and Dean couldn’t stand it any longer. Without a plan, without a thought, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The moment was brief but not without the shock of truth and they both gasped when space lengthened between them. 

“You… kissed me.” Her eyes were wet and her skin was flushed. Her fingers curled tighter around his flannel. 

He blushed, licked his lip, dipped his chin. “I did, yeah.” 

Stunned, she hung there for a long moment, eyes caressing his face, unable find any words at all. 

Dean grew anxious and cleared his throat. “You’re thinkin’ about laying me out like you did that asshole, aren’t you?”

Slowly, she shook her head and smiled. “Actually, I was thinking about kissing you back…” 

Their lips met under the streetlight, with the noise from the bar lost in the background. Dean wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close while she slipped her tongue between his lips, tasting, exploring, begging for more. 

When she let him go, he looked down, awed and drunk and happy for the first time in a long time. 

“Well, I guess today is lucky after all,” he whispered. 

Y/N shook her head, laughing gently. “You’re not Irish, Dean.” 

He inhaled deeply, pulling in the memory of the moment as his arms tightened around her. “Baby, tonight, we’re all Irish.” 

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[dearlymrme]

Hello! Could you do 35 (from the prompt list) with Copia? 💙

The way you write each of the boys feels so accurate- I come back to your blog and re-read your hcs and get so giddy whenever I get a notification that you had posted 💙

Thank you so much! I'm so happy you enjoy it and thanks for the ask.

Make 'Em Laugh (Copia x Reader)

Copia x Reader || Dad Jokes Should Be Their Own Warning || Oral Sex

It's a casual afternoon. Both you and Copia sit in his room on his couch. You sitting at one end with your Switch. He plays his Gameboy, laying on the other end with back against the armrest and socked feet just grazing your leg.

You simply enjoy each others company as you both do your own thing. You hear the tunes of Tetris from his device as you play a new game that had just released, one you had been looking forward to all year.

Then you hear it, a small and fauxly innocent snicker.

"No." You flat out deny. But your order goes ignored and the snickering continues. You take a deep and slow breath through your nostrils, praying for patience.

"My penis was in the Guinness Book of World Records, but the librarian told me to take it out."

You groan, hanging your head and tap your Switch against it. And by giving him his desired reaction he opens the floodgates.

"You know why you shouldn't go for a cheap circumcision? Because they're nothing but a ripoff." His delivery, choked on his own laughter, makes you close your eyes as you thin your mouth into a firm line, trying not to laugh at his horrible dad jokes.

No, you would not give him that satisfaction.

"Copia."

"I bought shoes from a drug dealer once. I don’t know what he laced them with but I was tripping all day." He laughs as you give a pathetic whine.

You settle at him with eyes begging for mercy.

"Please stop."

Only to be met with the tip of his tongue peaking from between his lips and a blown raspberry.

"Make me."

You toss your Switch to the side and quickly slink into his lap. His own Gameboy falls to the floor as he cinches his hands around your hips.

"Did you hear about the guy who dipped his nuts in glitter? Pretty nuts, right?" You quickly attack his lips that despite his laughter he eagerly returns.

Whether he gets you to laugh or not, it's always a win for him.

The kiss is desperate. Your tongue flickering against his that he graciously returns before sliding his hands from around your hips to your backside and squeezing your ass. His dick leaps against your mounds, steadily getting harder.

As you break for air he smiles against your jaw.

"Did I tell you the joke about the truck?" You groan in frustration at failing to get him to stop before deciding to bring out the big guns. That didn't work. it was time to do the thing that always works. Slapping his hands away from your rear, you travel down his body. "It's only semi-ah!" He hiccups as you pull down both his sweatpants and underwear to get at him.

"Your cock is only 'semi-hard.'" You respond with a snicker of your own before your on him. His dick is thick enough that there's a small pain in your jaw as you open to accommodate him. Half flaccid, though he does down your throat easily.

Copia hisses, hands fisting your hair as you lap your tongue against the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste, before devouring him completely. And there is no slow with you this time. You quickly start to bob your head and take him deeper with each pump.

"A...peanut walks in-fuck!!" He coughs as one of your hands reaches past his cock to squeeze at his sack. Your thumb brushes his testicles gently, as though asking forgiveness.

His hips start to rock along with your sucks as his eyes nearly roll as you pull off and flick your tongue around the bulbous head of his dick, flitting across his urethra and pressing into it. His jokes have turned to moans, and snickers have tuned into half stuttered begs.

"Close." Is his only warning before your hand squeezes him at the base and travels up his shaft, and his legs lock. You smirk as you see the skin of his lower stomach quiver before you expertly milk a jet of cum from his cock.

You immediately wrap your lips around his head and lathe your tongue against the underside of his gland as he releases into your mouth. You hear the cushions of the couch strain against his grip as he holds on for dear life.

It's quick, probably the fastest you've gotten him to cum to date, and as you swallow his release and pull of his cock you see him leaned back against the couch with his head nearly hanging over the armrest, his eyes closed and lips parted to a soft groan.

"Knew this would shut you up."

[forgottenamira]

OOC | Amira's Dream

ok so i was just innocently going abt my day at work when amira woke up and said 'hi! i have a recurring nightmare!' so now you guys gotta think abt this too

so in this dream, amira poisons her husband. and, in this dream, amira cannot lie. she sits by his side, holding his hand as he gasps and spits blood and chokes, and she whispers to him abt how she was the viper in his bed all along, how she murdered his first wife and poisoned his children and sowed the seeds of his empire's collapse. he attempts to strangle her w his final breath. she bears the marks around her throat forever after.

the war is long, but it is won. when they fall into her hands, amira poisons her husband's children, one by one. in the end, of all roderick's wives and children, only edmund, amira, and marian remain. she chains marian in the darkest, deepest cavern beneath the palace she can find. marian only smiles. amira sees her white teeth glowing in the darkness as she backs away, crowing, from her cage.

amira crowns edmund emperor, herself. it is her greatest moment, her final triumph. but she has had this dream before, and some part of her knows how it will end. she screams at herself not to do it, not to do it , not to do it. but her strangled throat makes no sound, and the crown fits her ownly child far too well.

w the imperial diadem now upon his head, amira backs down from the dais to make her obeisance to the new emperor. yet, when she looks up, she finds the marian now stands behind her son's throne, her hand upon his shoulder. she bends low and kisses his cheek, whispers in his ear. edmund pronounces his mother guilty of regicide and murder and witchcraft. he orders her seized. tristan himself catches hold of her and will not let her go. godfrey looks on with laughter. and amira cannot lie.

'i did it for you!' she screams. 'all for you!'

'no,' snarls edmund, a strange echo of her own words upon his lips. 'you did it for yourself. all for you.' the last three words echo all around her as edmund orders his mother's execution. bc she is mother of the emperoro, she will not be burned: she will be done no harm at all. tristan, himself, locks her in a windowless room. struggle as she might, she cannot break free. there, in that wretched room, she is left to starve to death, as her grandmother did before her, all while hearing the revelry of the the coronation feast and smelling the delectable whisps from her son's own table. she sobs and pounds her fists bloody against the doors, the walls, sobs 'not like this, not like this!' but the only response she ever hears is the sound of guin's mother's laughter.

amira wakes with a start. but now the only sound she hears, now, is her own laughter in her ears...

the only variation is that, lately, the woman on the dais has been eilia.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

Part 2

"Started without me?" Cillian said, as the bartender placed down your beer in front of you.

"Yea, was thirsty" Zoe said, taking a sip. "Would you like anything? I have a tab open"

"I'll take a Guinness. Irish" He said to the bartender, who nodded.

"Oh, fitting" Zoe said, as the bartender placed his drink down in front of him.

"what you mean?"

"well, you're like the token Irish actor of the moment, of course you drink Guinness" Zoe replied, taking another drink of her beer.

"You're talking like someone who's never had a Guinness"

"You're correct, never have"

"You gotta try. Right now," Cillian said, holding out his drink.

Zoe hesitantly took his glass from him, and brought it to her lips. Once the liquid passed her lips, she choked back a cough.

"That's disgusting," She said, eyes squeezed shut and handing him the drink back, "You drink that for fun???"

Cillian laughed and took a swig of the drink. "Ahh, your generation ruined drinking. All any of you youngin's want is seltzers and shit"

"My generation - I'm literally drinking a beer" Zoe said, motioning to her half drank glass. I'm gonna need another one of these I think, she thought to herself.

"Ohhh, now who doesn't like being typecast," he replied, eyebrows raised with a smirk.

"yea.. but my observation was right... you're Irish and ordered a Guinness. You're just wrong" Zoe replied. This is off to a good start, she thought.

"You can't tell me you never had one of those stupid seltzers before in your life" Cillian replied.

"Of course I have, but they're not my favorite. If they were, I would of ordered one of the stupid seltzers, and I didn't, right?" She said, looking at the bartender for help.

"If it's any consultation, we don't sell any of the stupid seltzers you speak of" said the bartender carefully, who was staring at them wide eyed as they argued over something within 30 seconds of him arriving.

"Alright. whatever. Lets get this over with," Cillian said, downing his drink and asking for another.

Zoe let out a laugh. One of first things she read about him when she was assigned this interview was that 1) Cillian Murphy was insanely private, 2) he's in the middle of a messy divorce, and 3) He HATES interiews.

"What's funny?"

"wow, so it's true - you really hate interviews" Zoe said, also asking the bartender for another drink.

"It depends. I like talking about the work. Not about me. And not about my life. You people think you can have access to every little aspect of actors lives" Cillian mumbled, watching the bartender pour his drink.

"Well, I'm sorry I bother you so much. If you'd like, we can reschedule -" Zoe started, already annoyed and wanting to go home.

"No no, it's ok, sorry. Just came from a meeting with my lawyer across town. It was last minute. that's why I was late. Sorry. Let's start" Cillian said, sighing and motioning to her tape recorder.

Zoe took a deep breath. Be professional, she thought. Do your job. Then you can go home and put on sweats and not leave the couch for the rest of the night.

"I promise, this won't take long" Zoe said, pressing the record button. "An hour, tops."

Zoe woke up with a massive headache.

I can't drink like this anymore she thought, eyes still closed.

God, I drank so much I fell asleep on the other side of the bed she thought, as she reached out for her phone which she was hoping to be on her end table, still with her eyes closed.

Her eyes hit what she felt like was a shoulder blade. Her eyes shot open.

She was not in her apartment. She was not in her bed. She was not in her room.

And she wasn't alone.

tags: @lau219

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 4: Very Full

Summary: Loki follows Melara to a speakeasy where they have an intimate conversation over drinks. Melara opens up and Loki offers her comfort.

Word Count: 4,525 words.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, mention of domestic violence

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Very Full sung by Tom Hiddleston

By Your Side by Sade

Very Full MASTERLIST

As they walked through the busy streets of her town, Melara’s grip tightened on Loki’s hand as if to signal that he should stay close behind her, a sense of urgency in her movements as she navigated. Loki followed her swift pace as they wove between the crowded throngs of people. He marveled at how this mortal woman continued to, rather inexplicably, hold his curiosity.

Glancing back at Loki once again as they neared their destination, Melara’s eyes betrayed a mix of nerves and determination. Her footsteps echoed lightly on the cobblestone street as she led Loki down an alley. Loki continued just behind her curious about the unexpected turn that they had taken, until he noticed a flickering neon sign above an inconspicuous door near the dead end. The sign flashed the words, “The Speakeasy”, igniting a smirk to pull at the corners of his lips.

Descending a flight of creaky wooden stairs, they entered a cozy bar, a much more intimate setting compared to the karaoke bar of their initial encounter. Ordering their drinks – a brandy old-fashioned for Melara and a Guinness beer for Loki – the harried-looking woman fixed her deep brown eyes on Loki’s with a sigh as they sat down in a booth.

They sat in silence for a moment before Loki dared to broach the subject. “So…the genius…who is he to you?” he inquired with raised eyebrows, his gaze fixed on Melara.

Melara sputtered with a laugh, nearly choking on her drink. “David? He’s…uh…my ex-something or other. I don’t even know what we were. Things didn’t quite work out how I thought they would.”

“Ah,” Loki acknowledged, leaning in slightly, a silent invitation for her to continue.

Taking another sip, Melara’s expression shifted, a hint of sorrow clouding her eyes, “I guess you could say that I was just a step on his way to meeting Stephanie,” she admitted, her gaze dropping into her glass, and she emptied it into her mouth in one swift motion.

Loki observed her carefully, noticing the reluctance behind her words. As she finished her drink, he mirrored her actions, downing his beverage nearly as quickly as she had. He tossed his glass at their feet, heartily calling out “Another!” pointing at the pair of them in the direction of the bartender who watched in horror.

Wide-eyed, Melara sputtered out a giggle, “What the hell was that?!”

“What?” Loki asked with a smirk. “This Guinness drink, I’ll have another one of those. I rather enjoyed it.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance, Melara glared at Loki with a heavy sigh, her eyes narrowed. “Oh my g-, ok, we are not on Asgard. You just ask for more when the waiter comes to the table. Got it?”

Loki chuckled softly, his eyes dancing in the soft orange light of the bar as he met Melara’s narrowed gaze. “Ah, the joys of mortal customs. How delightfully peculiar,” he teased, feigning innocence. “You must forgive me; it seems I am still adjusting to the nuances of this realm’s etiquette. But fear not, I shall heed your instructions when the server returns.”

“You really are the god of mischief, aren’t you? And you say you’ve changed,” Melara said in a tone that Loki could not quite read.

In the dimly lit confines of their booth, Loki sat across from Melara, a faint smile etched on his lips, concealing the layers of contemplation that churned within his depths. His emerald gaze shimmered with a flicker of the past and the sacrifices he had made to keep the timelines alive. Timelines that included this one. He could have ignored her call and returned to check up on Mobius or even rekindled attempts at love with Sylvie, but here he was, in a bar with a woman he barely knew. The woman from which he could not tear himself away.

Once their drinks had been replaced and Melara had assured the bartender that Loki, in fact, would not be shattering any more drinkware in the quiet atmosphere created by the speakeasy, he sipped his beverage much more slowly. Behind the façade of his usual charm lay a mind preoccupied, harboring the weight of responsibilities woven into the very fabric of her existence. He even wondered how much longer he would be able to project himself into this timeline before cosmic consequences ensued.

“The god of mischief never sheds all of his tricks,” Loki remarked, answering Melara’s implied question.  His voice was soft, an underlying seriousness nestled within the jest. His gaze drifted, contemplating depths unknown to the mortal gaze, a silent nod to the costs made in the name of preserving temporal harmony.

“What does that even mean, Loki?” Melara asked, tone both annoyed and amused.

“Change is a curious thing, isn’t it?” he mused, words laden with a gravity that hinted at a deeper truth that he could not share. “Some transformations…they come with sacrifices. Happiness bartered against a greater purpose.”

Melara raised an eyebrow, “Glorious purpose?”

A stifled laugh exited Loki’s mouth. Melara’s eyes lingered on Loki, observing the subtle shifts in his demeanor, sensing echoes of a weighty burden borne by the cosmic trickster. Yet, his words, cryptic and measured, betrayed fragments of the truth, shrouding the entirety of his story in a veil of mystery.

Loki leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper laced with solemnity. “Responsibilities transcend the boundaries of comprehension. They are threads that tether me to realms far beyond mortal understanding.”

He paused, considering her, as if weighing her capacity to grasp the weight of his cryptic utterances. “And yet, here I am. Your voice, it beckons.”

Melara, a picture of both curiosity and reservation, met Loki’s steady gaze, her expression a silent invitation for him to continue unraveling the tapestry of their conversation. “Are you saying that I summoned you, somehow?”

“That,” Loki said, shifting in his seat, “is precisely what I am trying to determine. Might I ask you something? Did you feel threatened by his presence?” Loki asked, his face holding a trace of concern behind it.

“David?” Melara gulped.

Loki nodded silently. “I’m just trying to understand,” he added, extending a hand as if to offer it as comfort, but Melara retracted her own before their fingers could touch.

Leaning back in her seat, Melara took a long, calculated sip of her drink. She did not know if she wanted to share such intimate details of her life. Her face clouded with memories, a fleeting shadow eclipsing her features. “David…he wasn’t the man I knew anymore,” she confessed, her voice lowering to a near whisper. “Things grew…complicated at the end.”

She withheld the details, her words dancing on the periphery of deeper revelations, hinting at a tale fraught with sorrow and obscured anguish.

Loki’s expression softened, an understanding glinting in his eyes, his façade of playful banter now bore traces of empathy, a silent kinship forged through unspoken sentiments. It was his fallen face that allowed Melara to spill over the edge, eyes welling with tears before she dropped her head and began sobbing silently in her seat.

As he watched her, Loki attempted once again to extend his hand towards Melara, but noticed the subtle retraction of her hands, a silent reinforcement of the boundaries she had set. Respectful of her unspoken request, he withdrew his hand, allowing it to fall gracefully back to his side, a symbol of his knowledge and compliance. As his hand retreated, a tender sincerity painted across his features, Loki leaned back into his seat, affording her the space she so clearly needed.

A fleeting moment passed before Loki’s voice, gentle and reassuring, whispered softly across the small space between them. “Not without your permission,” he murmured, his tone sincere and laced with delicate understanding, remembering the slap she had given him during their first encounter. It was a subtle reassurance that he would not encroach upon her personal space without her explicit consent.

Melara, her eyes moist with unshed tears, looked up from the veil of her tangled emotions. His whispered words pierced their weighty silence, causing a brief pause in the tempest of her thoughts. She glanced at Loki, registering the earnestness in his gaze and the genuine care behind his voice. Her heart, heavy with past wounds, fluttered slightly at Loki’s respectful gesture. It seemed there was a poignant vulnerability in his demeanor, a marked contrast to the audacious trickster she had first met. His careful regard for her boundaries was a revelation that resonated with her.

The somber atmosphere softened as she felt a faint stir of appreciation for his understanding and respect, especially given that she was a mere mortal in his godly presence. Loki held her gaze with a quiet intensity, conveying a silent reassurance that he was there for her, comforting her with his presence alone as she processed her feelings.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a soft giggle resonated in the quiet confines of the speakeasy, breaking the weighty silence between them. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess. I suppose we all have our own baggage,” Melara remarked, her voice light and airy as she wiped her eyes.

Loki eyed her carefully, sensing a slight lift in her mood before he allowed a cautious smile to curl his lips once again. “It seems we do,” he concurred, a hint of warmth and understanding woven into his words.

“How is it that you manage to stir up these emotions in me? It’s like you know me better than you should,” she said, hinting at the curious notion of fate or destiny intertwining their paths.

Loki’s gaze met Melara’s with a tender sincerity, his expression softening in response to her admission. He recognized the delicate balance between curiosity and vulnerability in her gaze, yearning for understanding lingering between them. Though still guarded, knowing that Melara was fragile in this moment, Loki responded with a wry smile, a flicker of mischief creeping back into eyes. “Am I to believe that is why you so abruptly left the night we met?” he inquired, his tone a playful tease with a trace of genuine interest, his gaze fixed on Melara, awaiting her response.

She chuckled softly once more, blush tinting her cheeks as she recalled their initial encounter. “Oh, that?” she admitted, casting a sidelong glance at Loki, both of amusement and shame. “It’s not every day that one encounters a god in a karaoke bar.”

The pair laughed.

“Really though,” Loki urged. “What happened? It reminded me of someone I once knew.”

Melara paused, studying the pained look on Loki’s face as though he were hiding his own baggage from her during this, their second intimate conversation shared in just a few days. Loki eyed her curiously until she continued, “I-, I left because…I just can’t.”

“You can’t what?” he pushed.

Eyes narrowed in Loki’s direction, Melara searched for the words. “Listen, you met the guy, and I’m sure you can gather by now that the idiot was also an abusive idiot. He nearly killed me once, and now every person I meet, friendly or otherwise, reminds me of him. I remind you of someone you once knew. Well, you…this,” she gestured between the two, “reminds me of him. How it once was when he duped me into thinking that he was this wonderful guy and then tricked me time and time again into thinking he could change into something better.”

Tears spilled from her eyes once more. As Loki wracked his brain for the right words to say, the faint sound of music began to play overhead, inciting Melara to rock side to side, calming herself instinctively. The tune sounded vaguely familiar to Loki as Melara swayed to the beat. The melody seemed to stir them both, Loki wondering what the song could be. It was much slower and subdued than he remembered. It was then that Melara opened her mouth to sing, almost serendipitously:

The trees they dance as the waterfalls stop,

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

Oh, the trees they dance as the waterfalls stop,

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

Loki’s mouth hung open in sheer shock at the timing as the soft lilting notes resonated, coaxing memories from the crevices of Loki’s consciousness. The haunting tune filled the space, Melara’s voice, rich and soulful, played with the melody, eyes closed, immersed in a version of the song that was not only in English but much slower than the usual song that it was.

            The enigmatic songbird, perched across from Loki, sang in perfect unison with the music as it played, her voice tender yet vibrant, echoing the emotional depths of the song. Her eyes remained shut as she repeated the verse louder, eyelids clenched, lost in the music as the words flowed from her lips, carrying the unspoken narrative of longing and heartache that had mirrored Loki’s tumultuous journey.

In stormy black mountains,

I walk alone across the ice.

While in the apple orchard the maiden stands,

And sings, “When are you coming home?

With each resonant note, memories of Sylvie flooded Loki’s mind, entwined with a burgeoning sentiment that he could not quite place – feelings that had simmered, all but unspoken, and palpable between them. The emotional familiarity of the song evoked a bittersweet blend of nostalgia and confusion, tugging at the threads of his heart and mind.

Oh, the trees they dance as the waterfalls stop,

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

Oh, the trees they dance as the waterfalls stop,

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

When she sings, she sings, “come home”.

Loki, spellbound by the raw emotion emanating from Melara, felt her lean into each note of the song as though she were sending a message to him. He sensed the song’s significance seeping through the atmosphere, wrapping around him like a cloak of intertwined emotions. There was a familiarity in her song, an intangible connection that reverberated within him, stirring an unexpected realization.

Melara’s performance was not just a mere echo of the song; it was a reflection of her soul, a symphony woven with her own experiences and emotions. As the final verse of the song reached its crescendo, her voice carried the essence of love and longing that mirrored the impact Sylvie had on Loki’s life.

For a fleeting moment, Loki’s gaze held Melara in a new light. A myriad of emotions danced across his features, a silent revelation stirring within him. The line between the past and the present blurred as he grappled with the flashes of Sylvie’s memory intertwined with the enchanting presence of Melara. His heart, an intricate web of conflicting emotions, pulsed with a burgeoning affection that transcended all logic and reason.

Under his breath, a whisper escaped Loki’s lips, laden with bewilderment and introspection, “What are you doing to me?” His voice, barely audible amidst the remnants of the song, carried the weight of his inner storm – a whisper meant for his ears alone, a fervent question to the enigma unraveling before him.

As the echo of Loki’s whispered query drifted into the sweet chaotic ambiance of the bar, Melara’s sudden reaction caught him off guard. Her eyes, glistening with a mix of emotions, locked onto Loki’s with an intensity that belied her seemingly oblivious demeanor moments before. It was as if she had heard the inner musings that had escaped his lips, her gaze probing into the depths of his unsettled soul.

Caught in the midst of his own turbulent thoughts, Loki was momentarily thrown off balance by Melara’s piercing stare. He had meant for those whispered words to remain veiled in secrecy, an intimate thought meant only for his own contemplation.

Yet, her abrupt shift in focus, her gaze now firmly fixed upon him, left Loki unsettled. “How are you doing this?” he asked her.

The question lingered in the air, a testament to Loki’s utter bemusement at Melara’s almost uncanny ability to unsettle the very core of his guarded composure. She could summon him from across the multiverse with just a thought, belt out a song that brought him to her side in an instant, and now, she impossibly read the thoughts of arguably the most powerful being in the multiverse.

A human. There was nothing more to her than that. She had been honest; she was merely a petite human woman who enjoyed singing in karaoke bars. And now speakeasies. But there was also the fact that her timeline appeared stronger than all the rest.

Melara, upon hearing his latest question, offered no immediate response, but a puzzled look on her face. Instead, her gaze softened marginally, a flicker of understanding in her eyes, though her lips remained sealed, withholding the words that could provide insight into Loki’s perplexity. He could not help but notice that her caramel-colored skin glowed in the candlelight of the bar, her dark hair floating in waves that framed her face.

“I’m not a witch, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said with a smirk.

Loki laughed nervously, “Then, what are you if not a witch?”

She paused to answer carefully, “Would it surprise you to know that I have been having dreams about you?”

“Oh?” he said, leaning in with intrigue.

Melara rolled her eyes with a sigh, “Not at all like that,” she giggled, wiping a tear from her eye. “The night I met you, I dreamt of you sitting on a golden throne. You were entwined in a web of green, glowing strands, but there was an emptiness about you. I felt your sadness, your pain, and your…sacrifice.”

With the last word, Melara offered her hand for Loki to take. He stared down at her palm before resting his own gently within hers. She pulled his hand to her lips, gently kissing the back of it before continuing. “That’s not where it ends. I was caught in the web when I saw the strands around me start to glow with fire. You saved me, but before you did, I watched as you extinguished those fires with a blast of ice.”

Loki sat across from Melara, speechless.

“Don’t ask me what it means. I’m no philosopher or dream whisperer. But I thought it might make a good story if I ever were a writer,” she admitted before looking down at their hands, Loki stroking the back of hers with his thumb.

Melara had all but seen the truth of his existence in a dream, but also found herself caught up, tangled in the timelines, her essence lighting them aflame. Loki’s own reaction to the dream was not just astonishment; it was an internal whirlwind of emotions. Her vivid descriptions sent a shiver down his spine, triggering an unexpected surge of recognition, aligning with his own haunting memories from the end of time.

Loki’s breath hitched, a sudden realization dawning within him. Her recounting mirrored fragments of his existence at the climax of the timelines, when he had decided to destroy the loom, ensnaring him in a duty that his corporeal body was carrying out at this very moment. She had even seen him perched atop his throne of absolute power, sensing his solitude, longing for the people he loved.

He looked at Melara, his gaze holding a mix of incredulity adding to the implications of her dream. Her words peeled back layers of his own haunting memories, unearthing the desolation and sacrifice he had endured at the precipice of all existence. For a moment, Loki was lost in his thoughts, grappling with the gravity of her vision. The imagery of fire and ice resonated deeply within him, vivid echoes of the profound choices he had faced that still weighed heavily upon his heart.

Collecting himself, Loki’s voice emerged, tinged with a subtle tremor, “That’s…, you’re…remarkable.” His words fell softly, dripping with genuine surprise and a newfound sense of intimacy threading through the air. He could feel the unsettling connection between their destinies unraveling in a way that defied rational explanation. He could have used this power to find Mobius again.

He gently squeezed Melara’s hand, a gesture of knowing, hinting at the depth of the inexplicable bond that seemed to knit their fates together. Their encounter had transcended mere chance, delving into the unfathomable realms of interconnected destinies and the enigmatic tapestry of time. The haunting parallels of it all struck a chord within him feeling the forces that brought them together leading to this moment right here in the clandestine bar she had chosen for their conversation.

In the candlelit haze of the speakeasy, the music softened to a gentle melody, a tender song that seemed to stir the air with its quiet yearning. Loki’s eyes, usually so full of cunning and mischief – and a hint of something else – held a warmth as he regarded Melara across the table. The revelations of the night hung between them like the delicate notes of the song, each word she had spoken weaving itself into the fabric of his thoughts.

He stood, the movement fluid as if drawn up by the music itself. With a grace that belied his inner turmoil, Loki extended his hand towards Melara, palm up, and invitation clear in his eyes. “Melara, would you honor me with a dance?” he asked, his voice low and resonant, echoing the vulnerability she had unveiled within him.

There was a moment’s hesitation, a flicker of surprise in Melara’s deep brown eyes that quickly gave way to a quiet acceptance. She placed her hand in his, and as he pulled her to her feet, there was a shift in the air, a sense of two worlds colliding and merging into one.

As they stood near their booth, no dance floor in sight, Loki drew her close, his hand resting gently on the small of her back, his other hand clasped hers. They began to move to the rhythm of the music, slowly turning in a dance that was less about the steps and more about the connection forged between them. Melara’s head rested lightly against Loki’s chest, her ear over his heart, and she could feel the steady beat through his button-down shirt, a reassuring drum in a world of chaos.

Loki was surprisingly gentle with her, leading with a patience that Melara had not anticipated. They moved together, and for a moment, the weight of their destinies seemed to lift, leaving nothing but the simplicity of two beings swaying in the soft glow of the room. His throne was momentarily forgotten, his title as god of stories put aside. In this moment, he was simply a man, moved by the presence of a woman who had, inexplicably, sung her way into his very being.

The music wove around them, a cocoon of sound that held them in its tender grasp. Melara’s scent, a mix of the earthy and ethereal, filled Loki’s senses, grounding him in the now. Their bodies moved together in harmony, finding a rhythm that was theirs alone. Loki gently closed his eyes, allowing himself to be present in the dance, to savor the feel of Melara in his arms, to memorize the way her hair tickled his nose, the softness of her skin under his fingertips.

As the song came to an end, they lingered, reluctant to break the spell that had encircled them. Loki’s eyes opened again, locking onto Melara’s, and he saw the universe reflected back at him – not the cold, lonely expanse of space that he ruled over, but a universe filled with the warmth of potential and the light of stars yet to be born. They stood still, still embraced, as the music faded, and the chatter of the speakeasy returned.

It was then that Loki realized that he needed to consider the level of energy it took to cast such an intricate projection of himself, one that interacted with Melara and the environment around him. His apparition was more like an avatar through which he could sense the gentle way she grasped his hand. He had to cut his time short, knowing that if he exhausted his own body enough, there would not be enough power to keep the timelines within his grasp alive. Let alone, hers.

He also considered human customs surrounding this intriguing woman and realized that a significant amount of time had passed since his arrival to the timeline. “’Lara?” he asked, in between silent glances. “Shouldn’t we be getting you home? It is awfully late.”

Melara checked her watch, seeing that it was after midnight. “Oh my goodness, it is pretty late. ‘Time flies’ as they say,” she shrugged, reluctantly shuffling her feet.

Loki watched as she gathered her things. “Might I walk you home? I would not want anything to happen to you on your way.”

A deep red flush flashed across Melara’s neck, rising to meet her cheeks. “That…that is sweet and very gentlemanly of you, but you don’t have to. I don’t live far from here.”

“I’m afraid, I insist,” Loki pried. He meant what he said, he could not have anything happen to this woman before he was able to understand what this power was that she wielded over him.

They walked the few blocks in silence from the speakeasy to her apartment. Loki saw to it that he walked her inside, through the halls of her building, and up to her door before he would even consider allowing her to take leave of him. The door to her apartment had the words, “Unit 9”, scrawled out in golden decals.

“Nine realms connected by Yggdrasil,” Loki whispered.

Melara giggled, catching Loki’s reference to the world tree. “You could not possibly know Norse mythology too,” she said with a hint of incredulity in her voice.

“You humans really got all the stories of Asgard mixed up with that rubbish,” he scoffed, scrunching his nose.

Melara erupted into full-blown laughter as she unlocked the door to her apartment. “There’s some truth to those stories?” she asked, watching the pained look on Loki’s face.

“No. Absolute rubbish. Absolute…,”

Melara stopped him, placing a finger on his lips to shush him. “Rubbish, I know,” she whispered. “Hold on a moment,” she said, ducking into her apartment, and returning with a small footstool.

“What is that for?” Loki asked, his brows furrowing into a baffled look.

“Think of it as this pint-sized Valkyrie’s noble steed,” she joked with a twinkle in her eye. Melara ceremoniously stomped her feet as she climbed atop the stool, placing her eye to eye with the god that usually towered over her. She winked playfully as she pulled him close, slowly, but firmly, connecting her lips with his. Loki crumbled under her touch, his shoulders falling as though she had conquered him completely as he returned the kiss with a fervor he had not quite experienced before. Placing a hand gently on Loki’s shoulder, Melara broke the kiss with a sheepish grin, whispering, “Goodnight, Loki” against his lips.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

[creativepawsworld]

Everything But You - Part 3

Pairing = Cillian Murphy x OC

Summary = Brianna comes to terms with no longer being in a relationship and finds herself in the arms of her blue eyed saviour. 

Warnings = Language, Grammar, Implied cheating, Kissing, 90s Cillian...

Word Count = 2178

“This place is not our scene at all.” Billy grimaced. The disgust on his was laughable as we pushed through a few people to get to the bar. Anything that touched him he was acting as though it was the plague.

“Grow up baby, we can’t go to clubs all the time. Tonight is a chill night, some music, couple of drinks, nice company…” Aoife’s words trailed off. Turning around to wink at me, specifically before telling the three of us to find a table while she got the drinks in.

“Anyone else think this is weird?” Marion expressed with a sigh, once we sat down at a small round table. She was dressed in a pair of black slacks with a glittered boob tube, not exactly this bar’s attire but she wasn’t allowed to change. According to Aoife we were already late. 

“Oh it is but knowing Aoife this has something to do with a guy. Why else would we be dragged out to this shit hole, last minute with no notice.” Billy grumbled, the disgust never once leaving his face as he dusted down the dark wooded table with a white napkin.

Choosing to remain quiet, I pulled at the ends of the black long sleeved top I was wearing, using it to cover my hands as I surveyed the room around me. There was a good crowd in the place for a Thursday night.

Allowing my mind to wonder, I instantly started to regret coming out tonight, I just didn’t feel ready. I had just came out of a two year relationship to a guy that considered me trash. Whether it was said in haste or not, I didn’t care. I considered it highly unfair and disrespectful.

The day after it happened Andrew called round to my home, pleading with me that he would change but a leopard can’t change their spots. I had been listening to those exact words for months and nothing ever changed, only now that he lost me did he start to show any interest towards me.

My father was furious when I told him exactly what happened the night before, thankfully I had kicked Andrew from our property before divulging such information. I could watch another fight, especially not one involving my dad.

My mind instantly went to Cillian and the guilt began to eat me alive. I really should have checked in on him after Andrew hit him with a nasty looking right hook. He had stood up for me but I walked away. Who does that? I should have at least made sure he was okay. 

“Your rather quiet tonight? You’re not sad about Andrew are you?” Marion asked getting up from her seat next to Billy to sit next to me, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder so she could pull me into her. The smell of her perfume almost choking me.

"What no? He isn’t worth it.” I shook my head pulling my sleeves over my knuckles once again. “I’ll never forgive him for calling me trash, he is done.”

“Heard some guy hit him a good smack in the mouth. Wish I had seen that.” Billy cackled slapping his hand off the table just as Aoife appeared with a bar tray full of drinks. Her eyes trained on someone behind us.

“I would pay to see it.” Marion giggled, both of them ignoring Aoife’s strange behaviour and the extra drink of Guinness resting on the tray.  

Squinting at her strange behaviour, I managed to catch her attention only to have her wave off my unspoken question, handing me a drink of rum and coke with a soft smile.

“I need a smoke, who is coming to keep me company?” Billy asked after taking a large gulp of his rum and coke, eyes dotting around the three of us before resting on me. “You look like you need some air, come on.”

Reaching for my hand, I allowed him to pull me to my feet, pushing our way through the crowd to get outside.

*****

“Excuse me, who are you and why are you at our table?” Billy asked just as we returned to the table to someone with their back to us.

I felt my breathe hitch in my throat instantly knowing who it was. Catching Aoife’s eyes she smiled apologetically before Cillian turned around in his seat, his bright blue eyes taking my breathe away.

“I’m Cillian” He stood to introduce himself, offering his hand for Billy to shake. Billy, acting like the diva he was, began to fan his face with his free hand, eyes shamelessly checking the man in front of him out.

“Boy you are gorgeous, I’m Billy but I can be whoever you want me to be.” He smirked, gladly taking Cillian’s hand.

Cillian let out what sounded like an awkward laugh, unsure of how to respond to Billy but thankfully Aoife rescued him, telling Billy to take his seat and mind his business.

“What are you doing here?” I asked interrupting the flirty eyes Billy was throwing towards Cillian who seemed to be nervous standing under the penetrating brown eyed stare that was Billy Michaels.

“I could ask you the same question.” Cillian laughed, eyes flickering between my own and Billy, an uneasy smile finding its way onto his face.

Shoving his heads into his pockets, he offered a soft smile in my direction as he turned his back to the table, ushering me with his head to stand in front of him. “My band, we are playing here tonight.”

“Oh” I answered, surprised to hear that before finally realising why Aoife was so adamant I came out tonight. “Oh” I repeated a little louder, looking past Cillian to glare at my blonde friend who just smiled back, offering me a double thumbs up.

“You didn’t know?” Cillian asked, a hand coming from his pocket and reaching up to scratch an itch behind his neck.

“No but it’s all starting to make sense now.” I nodded wrapping my arms around myself as Cillian looked at me, silently pushing me to continue. “Aoife, she was determined to get me out and that the four of us came to this bar. If she hadn’t included Billy and Marion I would have suspected something was up but…”

“She included the whole bunch.”

“Yeah, you got the whole Brady Bunch.” I laughed, leaving one arm crossed across my body while the other came up to my face so I could hide my mouth behind my hand. Why did I say that?

“About the other night…”

“Thank you” I interrupted quickly. It was something I had wanted to say to him since last week but I had no way of contacting him and as time went by, I chickened out ever wanting to see him again.

“Your thanking me? I thought you were pissed I started a fight with yer man.”

“Ex man, well ex-boyfriend actually. And why would I be mad you didn’t start it. He threw the first punch.”

“He did that. I’m sorry to hear that you aren’t together anymore.” He spoke, chewing on the corners of his lips almost as if he was trying to bite back a smile.

“Are you really?” I challenged.

“I’d be lying to ye if I said I was. I just didn’t want to come off as an insensitive prick before.” He laughed, it was my first time hearing it and it honestly sounded so heavenly, my face light up at the sound.

“I wouldn’t consider you a prick” I shook my head with a smile. “How’s your jaw?”

“It still hurts. Could be doing with a kiss to make me feel better.” He winked, tongue darting out to dampen his lower lip.

“I’m sure your mother gave you a nice kiss at some point this week, so you should be fine.”

“Mother kisses don’t work.”

“No?”

“No, only kisses from attractive girls I meet in bars seem to do that trick.”

“Your in a bar, there is plenty of them around here.”

“Only one I have my eye on.” He smirked, placing a hand on my hip, his eyes never leaving mine, silently asking if it was okay before taking my arm into his pulling me into his body.

“Cillian, come on we are on stage in fifteen.” Casey appeared beside him causing him to pull away. Looking over at me, he forced a tight smile on his lips, giving me a curt nod in acknowledgment.  

“Good luck” I announced, Casey nodding in my direction before wrapping his hands around Cillian’s arm pulling him away from me and my friends who I had completely ignored but no doubt they were all watching the interaction.

“Meet me out front when we are done yeah?” Cillian called, tripping over his feet as Casey dragged him through the crowd. Nodding, I saw his face light up with happiness before he finally turned around, facing forward, disappearing into the backrooms of the bar.

“Someone has some explaining to do” Billy mused, both eyebrows almost touching his hairline, a sassy smile on his lips as he stirred his drink with the little red straw that was provided. “There was me thinking we were here for this slut when its you.”

*****

Standing out front I waited for Cillian but he was nowhere to be found. His band had finished playing their set twenty minutes ago and remembering back to last week, it had only taken ten minute to put away their stuff.

“Girl I am freezing, come back inside, maybe he forgot?” Billy spoke up, tossing his cigarette butt into the drain. He was dancing from foot to foot, rubbing his bare arms with his hands to maintain some heat.

“I’m gonna give him a few more minutes if he isn’t out by then I’ll come back.” I explained.

Billy had opted to come out and wait with me, at first claiming because he didn’t want me to be alone but we all knew he was only interested in having a smoke, he had zero intentions of quitting even though he will insist - its starts tomorrow.

“I’m not leaving you out here alone, there is a lot of unknowns.” He whispered, peering over his shoulder to a group of older gentleman who were eyeing up all the younger girls coming and going from the bar. “Come on we will find him inside, he aint out here.”

“Okay” I sighed with a nod.

Truth be told, I was rather cold myself and there was a specific man from the group of men who keep staring in our direction which was making me feel rather uncomfortable.

Following behind Billy, I allowed him to guide the way back to the table when a hand slipped into mine stopping me in my tracks. Turning around to confront who ever it was, I shut my mouth when I was met with those gorgeous blues.

“Sorry, Paidi was sick wanted to make sure he got home alright.” Cillian spoke loudly, bending forward so I would hear him over the newer band that had began to play, they were a much heavy rock than I was used to. 

“Is he alright?” I asked, stepping into his space, placing a hand on his chest to ask in his ear.

“Yeah, he’ll be grand.” Cillian responded with a nod, smiling at the closeness. 

Nodding I went to take a step back when his two hands clasped around my hips holding me in place.

“Where you think your going?” Cillian asked, the cocky smile from the first night returning.

Biting my lip, I let out a giggle as I shrugged my shoulders, allowing both my hands to rest on his chest pushing their way up to his shoulders, intertwining behind his neck.

“You going to make a move here Cillian or am I?” I asked, fingers threading themselves through the curls at the bottom of his hair.

Without an answer, he moved closer pressing his plump lips against mine, softly at first before progressively allowing the hunger he had held for me for the last two weeks come out.

One of his hands left my hip, coming up to cup the side of my face before reaching back and entangling itself in my hair, tugging on the roots, letting me know who was in control. Our tongues fought against each other, ultimately resulting in me succumbing to his talented mouth, with a low, deep moan into his mouth.

Pulling away for a much needed breathe, I swallowed back the lustful feelings growing inside me. Cillian’s hand untangled itself from my hair, coming back to my face, his thumb swiping across my bottom lip, pulling it aside as he continued to stare into what felt like my soul.

“Your place or mine?” I asked, the words leaving my mouth before I even had time to register them. But I didn’t regret them, I wanted him as much as he wanted me it was just a matter of where.

 Taglist

@stars-of-scorpio @lovemissyhoneybee @peakyscillian​ @cillmequick​ @forgottenpeakywriter​ @lyarr24

[kaz-identified]

Guinevere pauses, glancing sidelong at the gates. "Uh, you all go on ahead. I've got some business to attend to."

Gale gives her a confused look. "I thought we were headed to-"

Vas sees the look in Guin's eyes. "She's always got business somewhere. Come on, guys," he interrupts, signaling Gale and Karlach to follow. "We should go see about those books you need, Gale."

Guin gives him a small grateful nod. The two groups split off, Guin heading towards the graveyard, Vas and the others headed towards whatever magic shop Gale was looking for.

Guinevere stops outside the gates, swallowing hard. It was approaching sundown. She never liked being in graveyards late. But it was just as well, the place was all but empty.

She moves quickly, quietly, approaching the secluded corner. Her breathing grows shallow, that impenetrable, fierce armor of the untouchable Phoenix breaking in all the wrong places. Her eyes growing wet with barely restrained tears. Her fire growing dim with every step she took towards the small grave.

She takes a breath, swallowing hard as she comes to stand before it. She fights back tears. She would hate to see her like this.

She lowers herself to the ground, leaning against the wall beside the grave. "Hey kid," she greets, quiet. "I brought you something." She digs about her bag, pulling a small deck of cards. "Those trading cards you always liked. I traded some kids on the road, got a Gold Dragon card. And I brought some whiskey," she pulls two glasses from her bag of holding, pouring the small bottle of whiskey between the two. She sets one on the grave, holding the other up in a small toast. "To your bravery, oh Dragonheart," she toasted, clinking her glass with the one on the grave. She throws the shot back, wincing at the bitter taste.

She pours the shot glass on the grave out, letting it soak into the soil. The grave remains silent.

"I know, I know. Your mom would be pissed. But no one should die without drinking once. Even if it's in the afterlife," Guinny defends herself to no one but the wind.

She looks down, swallowing hard. "Speaking off, I uh... I spoke to your mom again. She's doing better. As... as good as she can, given what happened. She got your sword polished finally, like you asked."

She grows silent for a moment. "I'm... I'm sorry for not visting for so long. I was busy in Neverwinter and Waterdeep. And well, you know the Lord's Alliance doesn't quite like me," she chuckles. "And now I'm on this whole new adventure. Vas' with me. Sorry he didn't come by, one of our new friends had some business to attend to. He's a wizard, kind of a loser, too ambitious but he's got a good head on his shoulders. I think you'd like him." She pauses, fighting tears. She looks up, eyes trained on the stars.

"A lot of my new friends remind me of you. Lot of good hearts and clever minds. And I met Jaheira! She's traveling with us now. She's exactly like you always expected her to be. Harsh tongue, whip smart. Almost took Vas' head off when she met us," she laughs. "He almost deserved it this time." She breaths out harsh. "And we met a blacksmith who worked in the Hells for a time. I let him see your sword, he said it's well made, but it's balance is off. Like I kept telling you."

She pauses, tilting her head to the side. She could hear something like a girl's laugh in the wind. She smiles, ever so softly. "I'm thinking of seeing if we can join her and the Harpers, once we kill this... Absolute. Like you always wanted to..." Guinny trails off, letting herself take a moment to breath.

"...I'm sorry, I couldn't protect you, back then. We met some kids on our adventure. They're a lot like you when we first met. Bright eyed and too clever for their own good. I saved one of them from a druid with a snake," she trails off, choked up. "I think that counts as something akin to doing right by you. And if that doesn't, I'm going to cleave a sword right into this damn 'Absolute's' heart and drive it so deep that it feels the wrath of the Phoenix and the Dragonheart." She looks down at her scabbard, where a slightly misshapen rapier rests. "...I'll break this evil with your sword, Kath. I just... I hope you guide my hand when I do."

She stands up, corking the bottle of whiskey. She rests it in the flowers at the grave. "Share that with Danny when you see him, yea?" she requests.

The wind whistles through the trees, a cheerful tune in the branches. "I'll see you later, kiddo."

[novelmonger]

Moments That Bring Me Joy: Star Wars Episode IV - A New Hope

I'm going through some of my favorite childhood movies and listing all the moments in them that bring me joy. I'm fully aware that many of the stories I loved as a kid are deeply flawed, but I just want to take some time to appreciate what they did well. Just because I'm focusing on the positive doesn't mean I'm unaware of the negative.

Note: I chose the word "joy" deliberately. Not all of the moments that bring me joy bring me (or the characters) happiness. Scenes involving death or pain might not be very fun or cheerful, but I find joy in a good story well told.

And here we are, the movie that started everything! I don't think it's an exaggeration at all to say that this movie changed my life forever. I could tell, as I went to bed that night when I was 8, that I would never be the same again. This movie has almost as much nostalgia for me as Episode I, because while I didn't watch it quite as constantly as that one, Episode IV was the first Star Wars movie I owned, so until I got the whole original trilogy and then Episode I, this was the one piece of the fandom I could consume...over and over and over again ^^'

You know, I really like Jawas and their chattery language.

"All right, shut up, I'll take this one." "Shutting up, sir."

"But I was going into the Tosche Station to pick up some power converters!"

"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."

"No, I don't think he likes you at all." *sad beep* "No, I don't like you either."

Ohhh, that lovely Tatooine sunset... <3

Alec Guinness' Obi-Wan is just so...warm and comfortable to me. He really came into his own as my favorite in the prequels, but I love him as an old man too. I just love listening to the cadences of his voice as he calmly explains things to Luke.

"You know him?" "Well, of course I know him. He's me."

I really like that subtle, cold sound when Darth Vader chokes people. You might not even notice it at first, but it just supplements what you can see on the screen so well.

That moment where Luke stands in front of his burnt-out home, staring in horror at the skeletons of his aunt and uncle, while the Force theme swells....

"You don't need to see his identification." "We don't need to see his identification." "These aren't the droids you're looking for." "These aren't the droids we're looking for." "He can go about his business." "You can go about your business." "Move along." "Move along, move along."

"He doesn't like you." "Sorry." "I don't like you either. We're wanted men. I have the death sentence on twelve systems." "I'll be careful." "You'll be dead!"

"Sorry about the mess." *flips coin at bartender*

Tarkin is probably my favorite Imperial officer (is it weird to have one of those? XD). He's just so...deliciously evil. And just look at those cheekbones!

"That's no moon. It's a space station."

"Who's the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?"

Luke and Han's argument about whether to rescue Leia or not is so good XD Especially "If you were to rescue her, the reward would be..." "What?" Well, more wealth than you can imagine!" "I don't know, I can imagine quite a bit."

"We're fine. We're all fine here now, thank you. How are you?" *cringes*

I love the misunderstanding when Threepio thinks they're being crushed with the garbage, but they're actually whooping in triumph and relief XD

Han pelting down the hallway, screaming bloody murder as he chases several stormtroopers...only to burst into an entire roomful of them!

The stormtrooper falling down the shaft before Luke and Leia swing across was Baby's First Wilhelm Scream :P For years, before I found out that's actually what it's called, I referred to it as the Stormtrooper Scream.

"Close the blast doors!" *five seconds later* "Open the blast doors, open the blast doors!"

The duel between Darth Vader and Obi-Wan has always been so epic and dramatic, but there's so much added weight to it now, after the prequels and especially after the Obi-Wan Kenobi show. It might not be as flashy as a lot of other lightsaber fights, but wow, is it powerful.

Endlessly useful, quotable line: "I care."

"You think a princess and a guy like me--" *too quickly* "No."

Biggs: "I can't see him!" - Why did my brother and I latch onto all the weirdest lines to quote incessantly in everyday conversation?

"Stay on target...stay on target...."

"Almost there...almost there...."

Han Solo swooping in at the last moment, knocking Darth Vader out of the sky with a space-cowboy "Yeehaw!" 8D

The exuberant, practically incoherent joy of the main three when they get back after blowing up the Death Star is just perfect. That's exactly how it is to achieve something amazing and then celebrate with your friends <3

[lieutenanthowell]

There was something - there was always something. Right at the back of his neck. Like static. Or a breath, rattling. Something. Guin brushed at it, scratched, dug his fingers in. Held. Still. Listening, to her. Nadia, louder than - nothing. It was nothing.

Left. Gone. Daglish. So fuck you very much for that, too.

Yeah, fuck him. For that. And fuck Boulet, for bending to that jackass, Strafe, and sending them out there to do what they'd done, against all goddamn good sense. Fuck Daglish for being Daglish and making Commander, after all that. As for the rest of them, the ones who hadn't died, that night... well, they probably hadn't even lied to her. Not really. Why would they have any answers? Could've guessed where he'd fucked off to, at least, but. Nadia could've done that herself. She wasn't looking to guess. She'd wanted to know. And not the place, not the dates. Just - not dead.

First thing out of her mouth. Hadn't expected that, somehow.

Hadn't expected to see her again. For good goddamn reason, but up north, in the quiet and the cold, he'd managed to convince himself - over and over - that he was just worrying. The way Guin always had, when, and maybe because, Nadia didn't seem to have any worry left for herself. He hadn't stopped. Just hadn't fucking done anything about it. Hadn't known what to do. So he'd worried, for all that was worth, while she - just about. By Nadia's standards, that'd mean ready. Hard to imagine her pulling a trigger, though. Only because she'd always liked her knives better.

(Did Tom change that? Killing Tom. Cutting Tom, at least, opening him up - first blood. She hadn't killed him. Any more than she'd killed all the others.)

Did he really just what? Head cocked, Guin waited for her to finish that, fucking failing to choke down the jawbreaking tension that goddamn half-joke of hers had left between his teeth. If I had known, she said. Like the department mattered. As if she didn't have a death wish before they stuck her on leave. Before that night. Like she hadn't shipped into the vanguard, like that. Christ. He had a cigarette between his lips before Nadia... didn't finish that thought so much as rearrange it. Told, instead of asked. He snapped a match out of the book in his hand. (The Stag, the book-cover said. Dumbass name for a bar.) Lighting up, he answered. Honestly. "Couldn't've. Left my phone in Fairbanks." Not an excuse; just a fact. He left his phone in that PO box he kept in Fairbanks, off, locked up. For a year. No texting. No calling. No fucking emails. Hardly a single human conversation.

No wonder he found himself sliding, sinking into one of the last ones they'd had, before - all that. A warm hotel bed, in a warmer place than the one they both nearly died in. Much warmer. "Would you break my nose," he started, slow, steady as he could. Not as steady as he'd usually be. "If I said I was glad you didn't? Try." Nevermind pull it off. Gutting herself like a fish. Or, yeah. Blowing her brains out.

Would you break my nose, he'd asked, before, if I called you beautiful?

"Or sorry." Guin tacked that on, "If I said sorry. For not..." doing something he didn't think would matter. And being wrong, about that. Not the first time. Probably not the last. Real bad habit for it, all things considered. "I just -" he circled that cigarette, hazy swirls of smoke haunting the air. Like the ghosts of everything he thought he might say, decided against. "Had to get lost, for a while." And she'd get that, or - not.

He was scrubbing at his eye, the left. The one she had last seen split through and weeping blood into the horror show the rest of his face had been. As if something had eaten it. That had been in her dreams more than a few times: Guin standing in the woods at the end of a trail. Smiling at her in a way that was just left of correct. Half of his face mauled and, in those dreams, when she moved to step closer to him, her legs always folded. Suddenly, her stomach was shredded — like it had been that night. That was usually the point that the laughing started.

She could hear it then. An eerie tinnitus playing against the back of her mind, like an insect’s stridulation rising.

"Just said you'd left,” she rushed out, trying to down out the laughter. “That no one knew where you'd gone or when you'd be back. If you'd be back." Daglish looking at her like she was something he found on his shoe. “Which means I spent more than twenty seconds listening to Daglish so fuck you very much for that, too.” She had always hated that fucker and Guin knew it.

[tw dark humor regarding suicide & suicidal ideation]

"I got put on leave. For six months. And then they tried to give me another three but I was just about ready to blow my brains out. So." Just about. If that's what you could call tucking herself behind the door of her bedroom with her knife laid in front of her. Prepared. Not as protection but-- "If I had known they were going to put me in Decomm I might have tried to actually do it."

Her eyes tick over to him, to where he's leaned against the counter and how his hands are clenched. None of that is why she came over. None of it is why it feels like something inside of her has come loose when she looks at him.

"Did you really just--" No. Because from a distance she could hear their glasses, his rocks and her collins, clinking together in that Arizona bar come back. No bullshit. "You could've...texted. Or something."

[queenshelby]

My Friend’s Father (Part Eight)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

Words: 5,416

Please comment and interact...it's what keeps this blog going

*********

When you arrived at the restaurant, you felt somewhat awkward when you saw Denise and her mother sit on the large table which had been set aside for you.

Most of Denise’s friends had already arrived and spread around the table and you were quick to sit down next to Denise as she had saved the seat for you.

‘You look fantastic Denise’ you complimented her as she was wearing a very nice and colourful dress.

‘And you look tired’ she joked before carrying on. ‘You had a good afternoon with Chris, I see’ she then said somewhat amused, referring to the university lecturer she thought you were meeting with that afternoon.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked quietly and she discreetly pointed to the small bruises on your neck which caught Amalie’s eyes as well.

‘Oh…uhm…yeah’ you barely managed to say just as Cillian and three more guests arrived, one of whom was Cillian’s brother Patrick and the other two were Denise’s cousin and his wife, both of whom were related to Denise’s mother.

Cillian sat down directly across from you and gave you a shy smile while Amalie was quick to change her seat, sliding next to Cillian and causing Denise to roll her eyes.

‘You look nice tonight Mr Murphy’ Amalie said and Cillian politely thanked her for her compliment while his brother, who sat down next to him as well, had a quiet chuckle.

‘So, tell me Y/N, what did you get up to other than the obvious’ Denise then asked quietly while Amalie was preoccupied flirting with Cillian.

‘Not much else’ you said shyly, unsure what else to say as your cheeks were blushing red and you glanced over towards Cillian who, occasionally, glanced back towards you.  

‘Oh my god…I need details’ she then said excitedly before she dragged you to the lady’s lavatory so that she could bombard you with questions.

***

‘Tell me everything’ she then demanded as she reapplied her lipstick and you stood in front of the mirror and applied some foundation over the little bruises on your neck.

‘There is nothing to tell Denise’ you said with some embarrassment.

‘So, you had sex for hours and there is nothing to tell…common Y/N’ she said somewhat disappointed just as Amalie entered the bathroom to see what you were doing.

‘Did you say hours? Aren’t you fucking sore now?’ Amalie asked somewhat amused and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘A little…but it was worth it. Now can we please return to the table and order dinner. I am starving’ you said but neither Denise nor Amalie had a bar of it.

‘Of course, you are starving. You had sex for hours which is incredible. Is he older? Because, the only guy I ever had extensive love making sessions with like this was already over thirty’ Amalie observed and you certainly didn’t want to answer this question.

‘I don’t kiss and tell guys…it’s nothing serious and…uhm…I just want to keep it myself, okay?’ you stammered but Denise demanded to know.

‘Oh, common Y/N. How old is he? I am your best friend and you need tell me’ Denise then said, causing you to bite your lips nervously.

‘She is embarrassed, so I guess early or mid-thirties’ Amalie then said and you shook your head nervously.

‘I am not embarrassed, I just don’t want to discuss my sex life in a restaurant lavatory’ you then said, but Denise and Amalie looked at you sternly, demanding an answer.

‘Alright! He is in his mid-forties. Now can we go back and order dinner?’ you then quickly admitted and both Amalie’s and Denise’s chins dropped.

‘Y/N that’s a huge age gap. I don’t think I could…’ Denise went on to say but got interrupted by Amalie pretty much immediately.

‘Well, I could if it was your dad’ Amalie laughed, causing you to gulp and Denise look at her in disgust.

‘Oh god Amalie, that’s so disgusting’ she said before agreeing to return to the table and order dinner. The last thing Denise wanted to talk about was Amalie’s desire for her father.

***

After you sat back down at the table, Cillian would glance over towards you occasionally again but, every time he did, Amalie tried quickly to catch his attention, asking him the weirdest kind of questions much to the amusements of Denise’s mother, who, when Amalie, excused herself in order to get some more drinks from the bar, joked about it.

‘Even attracting your daughter’s friends now, are you?’ she said and Cillian couldn’t help but choke on his pint of Guinness.

‘Excuse me?’ he asked somewhat surprised, thinking that his ex-wife was referring to you.

‘I think the blonde one sitting next to you has got a little crush on you’ she then whispered just loud enough for you and Denise to hear it as well.

Immediately, Cillian sighed somewhat relieved before having a little chuckle about it.

‘Well dad, according to some of my friends, you are a DILF’ Denise then said before pulling a face quite similar to an emoji which was about to throw up.

‘Some of your friends, huh?’ Cillian then chuckled before looking at you, causing your cheeks to turn red yet again.

‘And what about me?’ Cillian’s brother then asked, causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow.

‘It’s the haircut man, I highly recommend it if you want to be a DILF’ Cillian then said, causing both, his ex-wife and Denise to roll their eyes.

****

Over dinner, you and Denise talked a lot about university and your upcoming trip to France while Amalie continued to annoy Cillian who, politely, engaged in a conversation with her.

You were amused by the situation and he would often give you a little smile or wink when no one would notice.

His smile was incredible and, if it wouldn’t had been so obvious, you could easily have spent the evening by simply staring at him.

When your desserts finally arrived, you thought about teasing him a little and, discreetly, licked off your dessert spoon in the most seductive way imaginable.

‘I just love whipped cream’ you said and, whilst Cillian gulped, Denise wasn’t suspicious in the slightest. After all, you were telling the truth and had always been a sweet tooth.

You slowly twisted the spoon around in your mouth, licking off the whipped cream for the third time before reaching for the candied cherry on your plate and putting it into your mouth. You ate it slowly before removing the pit with your fingers and licking the sugar from the tips as you pulled it from your mouth.

Then, you licked your lips and discreetly lifted up your foot beneath the table after slipping out of your shoes.

‘Don’t you like your desert?’ Denise asked Cillian as the ice cream on his plate was melting.

‘I am…no…’ he stammered just as your foot brushed over the bulge beneath the denim of his jeans and it was obvious to you that he was hard and straining against the fabric.

When he gulped again, you removed your foot, realising that you shouldn’t tease him any more than that and, just as you did, your phone buzzed and you received a text message from him.

‘Naughty Girl’ it read and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘You can punish me for my actions when I see you tonight’ you responded, confirming that you would be coming over to his apartment again as discussed after you go for celebratory birthday drinks with Denise and her friends.

***

Following dinner, Denise, you and her friends went to a local bar for drinks to celebrate Denise’s birthday amongst yourselves for a few hours and it was at around 11 o’clock that night when you excused yourself, telling Denise that you would have to go home as you had plans with your parents the day after.

Whilst you felt guilty about lying, you couldn’t really tell her what you were really doing and, when you left the bar, you nervously walked around the corner to visit Cillian at his apartment again.

After a five-minute stroll, you arrived and Cillian was quick to let you inside, kissing you passionately as soon as you walked through the door.

‘Let me have a shower first, my hair smells like smoke and booze’ you demanded after Cillian’s hands began to roam your body pretty much immediately.

‘I will be waiting in the bedroom then’ he winked and you nodded in agreement before disappearing into the bathroom.

***

‘So, I am curious Y/N, are you one of Denise’s friends who said that I am a DILF?’ Cillian asked amused as you came out of the bathroom while he was waiting for you on his bed, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs.

‘Yes Mr Murphy, I am. In fact, I think you are a sexy daddy who I most certainly can’t wait to fuck right now’ you smirked as you dropped your towel to the floor and revealed your naked body to him once again.

‘I thought you were sore?’ Cillian then asked but you shook your head and climbed onto the bed with him in the most seductive way possible.

‘I am aching for you my sexy DILF’ you whispered as you climbed onto Cillian’s lap and bit your lip seductively.

‘Well, I better won’t let you wait then naughty girl’ Cillian said as he pulled you close for a passionate kiss. The touch of your lips was like someone brushing a feather across his, and it sent a rolling warmth down through his whole body, making him tremble.

‘Naughty, huh? I can’t remember being naughty’ you winked as you slid into his arms, and he held you to him, letting his hands move down from your face to wrap around your middle. You gently rubbed your lips together, enjoying the contact, the moist touching. It was more playful than usual.

‘Really? You can’t?’ he asked after you sighed into his mouth, slipping your arms around his neck while sitting on his lap and grinding your naked mound against Cillian’s core.

‘No sir, I can’t’ you said playfully before your heads began to move, slowly, side to side, bringing your lips into greater contact. A hunger started to claim you, and any inhibitions that you had been feeling dropped away.

‘Well, for starters you teased me at the restaurant licking off your dessertspoon so fucking seductively, didn’t you?’ Cillian whispered against your lips and you couldn’t help but grin.

‘And then this fucking cherry you put in your mouth’ he went on to say and you grinned again.

‘It made you hard, didn’t it?’ you asked seductively, hoping that your little discrete playfulness at dinner was having an effect on him.

‘You know it did…now that’s naughty, isn’t it?...Making me hard in public’ Cillian teased before his lips met yours once again and you nodded against them.

By now, soft groans permeated the semi-darkness, the sounds of two people breathing harder, gasping, needing, wanting.

Cillian tentatively slipped his tongue forward, and you met it with enthusiasm, thrusting yours right back into his mouth. Your juicy lips rolled all over his, sending waves of pleasure running down his back.

You clung to one another while you kept grinding against him as your kisses were becoming more desperate and needful.

Then, your lips drifted away from each other and your eyes were wild, so filled with lust, it was almost scary how primal your expression was at that moment.

‘What are you doing to me?’ you then whispered.

‘I am going to make sure that you won’t be walking straight for days’ Cillian said as he ran his hands over your breasts firmly.

‘Hmm, I can’t wait’ you moaned and the skin against his hands was smooth, warm, and he closed his eyes for a second and just took in the wonderful feel of your breasts.

‘God, you have the most beautiful breasts’ Cillian the observed as he ran his fingers around the edges of them, feeling their heft, the way they just barely filled his palms. They were so firm, the solid core of a fruit that had, as of yet, gone mostly unsullied. You were always so self-conscious about them and disappointed that you were only blessed with an A-Cup but Cillian seemed to adore them.

‘And I love you touching them the way you do’ you gasped before you kissed him again deeply, with all the passion that was suddenly let loose inside you.

You sighed and met his excitement full-on, pasting your creamy, silky lips to his and letting your tongue roam around his mouth. The room filled with the sounds of ragged breathing, quiet moans of desperation.

Cillian let his mouth slide free, covering your neck with gentle kisses, moving ever downward before somehow pushing you off and beneath him. He took those sweet breasts in his hands again and brought his lips to them one at a time, just brushing across your tight areolas letting the skin rub on his face, his tongue flick out for a taste.

‘Oh god, that feels so good’ you moaned as he was the first man who had paid so much attention to your small perky breasts.

Your stiff nipple barely moved when his tongue rolled around the edge of it. He licked it harder, listening to your gasp when he pushed his mouth around the whole of it, drawing the entire erect knot inside. Your cries grew louder when he started to suck on it, catching the skin between his teeth and pulling it away from your areola, gripping your nipple hard.

‘Oh god’ you moaned, enjoying the slight pain which was a totally new experience for you.

Cillian smiled, setting your nipple free only to grasp it again between his teeth. The teasing went on, long licks, running his tongue in circles around your areolas until they shined with his spit.

Your arousal was blooming into a pulsing heat in the pit of your stomach and spreading down between your legs. You could feel the dampness, your labia swelling and pulling away uncovering your pink fleshy hole.

‘I want you so badly Cillian’ you hissed as he roughly squeezed and suckled your tits.

‘And I want you Y/N…you are driving me absolutely crazy’ Cillian said as he brought his fingers to your juicy labia, running them slowly down your slit, feeling just how wet and slippery you had become in a very short time.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned as you arched your back slightly, groaning and biting one nail while looking down at him.

‘You have the sweetest pussy, so fucking beautiful’ Cillian then said as he gave you a wicked smile before covering your entrance with his mouth and letting his tongue run free.

‘Ah…yes…just like this…fuck’ you moaned loudly as the juice that poured out of you were coating his tongue.

Cillian ran it straight up between your labia to catch your clit at the top of your hood and you nearly came off the cushions beneath you.

‘Oh Jesus Cillian, I don't know what you're doing but...GOD! Don't stop!’ you moaned loudly as he found yet another pleasure spot of yours and you realised that, clearly, the boys you had been with before didn't have a clue how to please a woman.

With one hand, he fingered your tight opening, and with the other, he played with one firm breast. His tongue lashed your clit like a badly behaved child. You were beside yourself, unable to lie still, pushing up with your hips and forcing your pussy tighter to Cillian’s face while you moaned and grabbed at the sheets

‘Oh god, fuck. I'm going to fucking cum’ you screamed and Cillian caught it full-on, your juice roaring out to drench his face while you whimpered and threw yourself from side to side. He had never seen a woman go off so hard before, and it turned him on so bad he knew he had to have you right there and then.

***

‘You are incredible Cillian’ you huffed out while you recovered and Cillian pulled off his briefs and you couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful cock again.

‘So are you…so fucking sexy’ he growled like a caged animal, unable to contain his needs any longer.

‘Do I feel good around your cock?’ you asked as you found yourself pressed over onto your back with Cillian on top and looking down at you with a lust that was almost frightening in its intensity.

‘So fucking good’ Cillian groaned and you screamed in pleasure when he entered with one deep thrust.

‘Jesus, you are so tight’ he moaned as your eyes squeezed shut, and you cried out with the feeling of your slit being slammed open by Cillian’s cock.

Despite of what you told him earlier, you were still sore from the afternoon session that you had with him but you wanted it again so badly and ignored the sharp burning sensation which, somehow, felt incredibly pleasurable at the same time.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned, pushing upwards against Cillian, meeting his thrusts.

His cock pushed into you over and over again, shoving aside your dripping pink walls, descending toward your cervix.

‘Your cock feels so good inside me’ you moaned just as Cillian arched his back, revelling in the sensation of being squeezed inside your body and held tight in your slippery hole.

The euphoria quickly started to fade though when he looked back down at the pained expression on your face, and it hit him that he had allowed his overcharged libido to take over, taking you harder than he had ever did before. He should have gone slow, been gentle, but you were doing incredible things to him.

‘Don’t stop, fuck me hard Cillian’ you gasped when he slowed down. ‘I want you to take me and fuck my pussy hard’ you spurred him on and you were surprised with the filth that was leaving your shy lips. Cillian certainly unleashed the wild desires deep within you.

‘Fuck, you are a naughty girl, aren’t you?’ Cillian groaned and you nodded as he slowly resumed his pace. ‘It feels so fucking good inside you’ he observed as he thrusted deep inside you again, making you scream.

‘And you feel so good inside me Cillian, I've never felt it like this...It was never this good with anyone before...Don't hold back…’ you moaned as your bodies fell into sync. Your hips were meeting with the distant slapping of skin on skin and you began to moan and thrash beneath him, digging your long nails into his back with each thrust. He gasped and cried right along with you caught up in the sheer, unbridled joy of it all.

There was no denying your allure. Your body so perfect, every curve, every flawless inch of skin. The way you looked up at him with so much hopeless, naked desire.

Your movements began to reflect your internal struggle between the need to be released from this exquisite torture and the longing for the pleasure never to end.

You pulled Cillian’s head down, covered his lips with yours in a fiery, intense kiss.

‘Fuck Cillian, you are going to make me cum again…oh god…fuck’ you warned him a breathless whisper and he felt you go. A climax so hard he found it difficult to push through it.

You looked so gorgeous caught in the spiders web of your orgasm, shaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream. It was an image of beauty that would be seared into his brain forever.

‘Fuck Y/N, you are so beautiful’ Cillian groaned, trying to hold back on his own release.

‘Don't fight it, Cillian. I know you're close. Cum inside me, I want to fucking feel it’ you groaned, spurring him on and Cillian was seized by an implacable urge to move ever faster like an engine fed too much fuel. The sounds of his hard, panting breaths became more audible. His body snapped tight, back arching as he emptied himself into you.

‘Oh god, Y/N, fuck’ he groaned and you clung harder to him, holding him close while feeling each pulse and jerk of his cock shooting inside you.

‘That's it! Give it to me! Give it all to me’ you moaned and you fell into another sweet kiss as Cillian filled you with his cum before pulling out of you slowly.

‘God, I love when you cum inside me, it feels so fucking good and it looks so fucking sexy when it comes out’ you huffed out while you were still shaking from your orgasm.

‘Does it just?’ he chuckled, causing you nod, biting your lips.

‘Yes, watch’ you said as you spread your legs and pushed out some of his cum from your soaking core before collecting it with your finger and bringing your finger up to your mouth.

‘And it tastes so fucking good too’ you then said, licking the cum of your finger, causing Cillian to gasp.

‘You are something else Y/N, you know that?’ Cillian said before you collapsed on the bed together and the sheets slipped around your naked bodies as you slid between them cuddling together.

Cillian kissed your forehead and stroked your hair while you pillowed her head on his chest.

‘I should probably get home soon’ you murmured as Cillian was holding you close.

‘Stay’ Cillian said rather suddenly, gently taking hold of you and pulling you even closer towards him.

‘Uhm’ you said, thinking about whether you could stay or not. You didn’t want to tell Cillian, but your father had been keeping close tabs on you ever since your sister got herself into trouble a few years ago and you knew that, if you were going to stay, you would need to come up with an excuse and text one of your parents.

‘I am going back to Manchester tomorrow afternoon and I want to make the most of this’ Cillian then said and you nodded reluctantly, agreeing to stay.

‘Alright, I will stay’ you said before kissing him passionately and then reaching for your phone.

‘I will be right back, just getting a glass of water and putting this on charge. Can I use the charger in the kitchen?’ you asked and, of course, Cillian nodded.

When you walked into the kitchen, you quickly texted your parents, letting them know that you would be staying with Denise at her hotel room and that you would see them tomorrow at 8 o’clock.

***

When you returned to the bedroom, you crawled back under the doona, curling up against Cillian’s chest.

‘So…uhm…what is next for us? I mean…when will I see you again?’ you stammered as Cillian ran his fingers through your long hair gently.

‘Probably not until the 14th or 15th of this month’ he then said and you gave him a disappointed pout.

‘That’s two weeks away Cillian’ you observed and Cillian nodded before caressing your face and kissing you gently.

‘Yeah, I am sorry. I’ve got a busy filming schedule and Denise is visiting me in Manchester next weekend so I can’t come home’ he then explained before suggesting that you could come with Denise to visit him.

‘I am working that weekend. Despite, I think we would be playing with fire if I did’ you said and Cillian agreed.

He then told you that he would come to Galway the following weekend and, after that, he would only have two more weeks of filming left.

‘So, do you have many scenes with Laura Jennings during these last four weeks on set?’ you asked cheekily and Cillian couldn’t help but chuckle. He was somewhat flattered as you gave him a mildly jealous stare.

‘No intimate scenes, if that is what you are asking’ he explained before telling you that he wouldn’t be seeing her anymore on an intimate level, which is more than you had expected to hear from him.

‘Cillian…uhm…I didn’t mean to…’ you began to stammer but Cillian quietened your lips with his.

‘I know, it’s fine Y/N’ he said as your lips drifted apart.

‘So, does this mean that, whatever this is between us, is somewhat exclusive?’ you asked and Cillian confirmed that, indeed, he was not interested in seeing other people nor would he feel comfortable if you did.

‘Okay…I like that’ you confirmed and, with that, you curled up against him again with his arms still wrapped around you.

For a while, your fingers played with his chest hair while his hands stroked through your hair, slowly making you tired and it wasn’t long until you drifted off to sleep in Cillian’s arms.

***

The following morning, you were woken by your alarm which went off at around 7 o’clock.

‘Hmm, what was that?’ Cillian murmured still half asleep and you informed him that it was the alarm on your phone before you gently crawled your fingers across his chest and began placing gentle kisses over it and then all the way down to his stomach while moving the doona away from his warm body.

‘What are you doing?’ he gasped, still with his eyes closed and dreamy in his mind.

‘What I didn’t get to do last night’ you said with a sultry smile before you rolled down his underwear, letting his cock spring free.

‘Oh my goodness Mr Murphy…you are already hard and I didn’t even get started yet’ you observed as you glanced at his hard shaft, the head of which was swollen and dripping with clear fluid.

‘Sorry, but I usually wake up like this even at 45, especially after dreaming about making love to a beautiful woman like you’ Cillian chuckled as he slowly opened his eyes and saw that your head had already disappeared in between his legs.

You touched his cock gently, electing a moan from him as you watched his long, vein-covered shaft poking up at you. Whilst he usually woke up somewhat aroused most mornings, he couldn't remember ever being this hard before. His cock stood high, curved toward the ceiling, and he thought his balls had never felt so full even after you had spent almost four hours having sex the day before.

Despite your seeming inexperience, you moved slowly, letting the pressure mount while you ran your fingers up and down his cock, exploring every inch before wrapping them around it. The jerking motion that followed made Cillian groan, and you compounded his growing excitement by rubbing your lips on the underside of his shaft. He grew crazed with the need to feel your mouth on it, but every time he pushed towards your waiting lips, you pulled away.

‘Such a tease, aren’t you?’ he gasped out.

‘Poor Baby...You need me. Don't you?’ you asked, your voice filled with lust.

‘God yes…please’ Cillian huffed out, begging you to take his cock into your mouth and you took pity on him at last, letting your tongue roll around the head before rising to take him fully into your mouth.

‘Fuck Y/N, just like that’ Cillian moaned as he bit his lower lip and tossed his head back, eyes shut. The pleasure was amazing, and you had more than a little natural skill. Your head bobbed up and down his shaft taking him deeper with each push until you were gagging on it. When you pulled back, his cock was covered in your slick spit, and you went to jerking him hard and fast, watching with fascination his balls surge and harden. He felt a moist heat on his swelling sack, and you took his pleasure up another notch when you started to lick and suck on his balls.

‘Holy...fuck! Y/N! That feels so good!’ he whimpered as your mouth sucked on his balls and your tiny hand masturbated his straining cock the whole time, driving him crazy with the desire to join his flesh to yours.

‘Let me fuck you Y/N…if you keep going like this, I won’t last’ Cillian groaned as your mouth wrapped around his cock again firmly and you began to massage his balls with your hands.

‘No time’ you huffed out in between sucking and licking. ‘Gotta go to church with my parents at eight’ you then said as you began to stroke his cock hard and fast with your hand.

‘I want you to cum in my mouth and watch me swallow it’ you smirked before wrapping your mouth around his hard shaft again before bobbing your head up and down.

‘Jesus Y/N, fuck’ he groaned and, about two minutes later, he let go and gave into the pleasure.

‘I am close’ he warned you and you began to moan around his cock, sucking him harder, wanting to taste him so badly.

‘Give it to me Cillian’ you moaned around his cock and, just after you did and firmly wrapped your mouth around his shaft, you could feel him pulsating and swell.

‘Fuck’ he groaned again loudly as he jerked upwards and held your head steady while he filled your mouth with rope after rope of his sweet and warm cum.

You collected it all in your mouth and on your tongue until he let go of your head, which is when you pulled back and opened your mouth for him, showing him your mouth filled with his seed.

‘Are you going to be a good girl and swallow it all?’ Cillian teased and you nodded with an open mouth, smiling, before closing your lips shut.

‘Hmm, so fucking good’ you smirked after you swallowed with a big grin.

‘Jesus, I am not sure whether I am more turned on by the fact that you swallowed everything or that you used the word church while you had my cock in your mouth’ Cillian chuckled before pulling you close towards him.

‘Yeah, I should probably make this part of my confession later. I shouldn’t have mentioned such a holy place while performing such a sinful act, huh?’ you winked before telling Cillian that you needed to hurry into the shower and get going.

***

You arrived at church ten minutes late and your parents were not impressed with your punctuality.

‘We ask you to make an effort once a month and you are late’ your father said, causing your sister to chuckle.

‘Sorry, my alarm didn’t go off ‘you said as you sat down next to your father, pinned up your hair and reached for one of the bibles in front of you.

You were beyond exhausted and tired and couldn’t stop yawning throughout mass, which irritated your father even more and, when he looked over towards you, he noticed something else he most certainly disapproved of.

After mass, he confronted you about it in front of your mother and sister.

‘It wasn’t Denise you stayed with last night, was it?’ your father asked and you looked at him somewhat confused.

‘Go and look in the mirror’ he said harshly before asking you whether you were still seeing Connor.

‘No and, even if I was, why do you care? I am an adult and quite capable to decide who I go out with’ you explained and your father shook his head.

‘Connor is almost thirty. That’s unacceptable. He is too old to be dating you and, surely, you realise this. Despite, so long as you live with us, you be adhering to my rules’ your father said and, little did he know that you had been applying for positions at other universities, allowing to move now that you had saved up enough money to do so.

‘Sure dad’ you simply huffed out before walking to your car and, just as you did, you remembered your mother’s 50th birthday a few years ago and how much he did, in fact, disliked Cillian.

If he would know the truth, he would probably kick you out of the house right then and there.

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@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

[newdeobis]

May i ask to tbz reaction as you (their friend) asks them to teach you how to give head please 🥺

sangyeon

The boy licks his lips while staring at you up and down quietly. He knows he's making you nervous, but it's easy to make you obey him and guide you like that.

Tapping his thigh while tilting his head, beckoning you over “come here, sit on my lap”.

If you hesitate, he'll pull you closer. Hands on your waist, fingers gently caressing the soft skin.

jacob

voice small, hands touching your thighs.

“yeah... yeah, of course”, fingers feeling your soft skin up, tugging at the helm of your shorts before repeating the same words, this time firmly “of course I can”.

Already laying back on his couch and pulling you on top of him, making you straddle him “can i kiss you first? I want you to make you beg me to fuck your throat first, is that okay, angel?”

younghoon

His voice sounds so deep when he smirks and say “guess that was on your mind for a while”. I swear that it's enough to have you melting

your knees getting weaker, body getting warm under his dark eyes as he gets closer enough to wrap his arms around your waist and pull your body against his.

“you need to tell me you're sure, darling” cupping your face, thumb rubbing against your bottom lip “there's no come back once I get you own your knees and fuck your pretty mouth like I want to”

jaehyun

“and what are you gonna do later, ask me to eat you out? to fuck you?” he's joking, but is already all over you, hands quickly touching your body and squeezing your thighs now that you're letting him touch you like this.

So greedy and ready to show you how to pleasure him.

“fuck, never thought my pretty baby would be asking to go down on me, that's so hot”

juyeon

Juyeon just can't believe his ears, a “come again?” falling from his lips as you play with his fingers nervously. Body too close to yours, intertwining your fingers when you don't repeat your words.

“do you want me like that?” he's so confused for a second, but, come on, is not like you're asking his hand in marriage.

You don't even have time to say anything, his fingers already grabbing your guin and making you stare at him, a smile playing on his lips “I'd love to guide you” Juyeon whispers, lips hovering yours, eyes still taking in the details of your face “before we get started, can I call you baby?”

kevin

Kevin had no idea he could get hard this fast, laughing nervously at your words “wait, are you for real?” while trying to hide his bulge by fixing his shirt

“well, if that's what you want...” like he never thought about it before

wants to be sweet and do things slower than he usually does but it's so hard when you're kissing him like that

greedily grabbing your ass and making you feel how hard he is while whispering “can you feel it? That's how you make me feel”

lowkey wants you to lay down on his bed, his hips hovering over your face as he pumps his cock, looking so fucking hot when he tells you to take a deep breath before pushing his cock past your lips, groaning when he feels your mouth slowly closing around him as he tries to go as deep as he can without making you gag (yet)

chanhee

He's trying to look so composed, but can tell how excited he's getting when it gets hard to supress a smile.

“why do you even want this? is not like you're gonna have any other dick soon”, almost choking when your answer is a simple “then I can have yours until I find another”

literally tells you to take his pants and underwear off as he just waits until you follow his commands.

hand on your hair, pulling you up when you take his clothes off, whispering “wait, you need to help me get hard” before kissing you

oh, and he loves kisses. Gonna kiss you and rub the tip of his cock against your inner thighs or clothed core until pre-cum is leaking from his tip. Moaning out your name when you get on your knees again. Telling you to kiss, lick and play with his slit while sweet mewls come out of his lips, eyes already closed.

changmin

not that easy, he wants to get you needy first

you think you can just ask to suck him off and have him into your mouth the next second? nope

Be ready for a long night, baby. You gotta make out first, sitting on his lap and having his hands on your hips, grinding up into you as he helps you keep his pace

“that's how I'm gonna fuck into you when you're ready”

Wants to have you almost cumming in your panties so he can pull you off him. Lips still on your skin, marking you up like you're his. Won't stop until you're begging him more.

That's when he'll make you get on your knees, cock so hard. Throbbing, needing you to make him cum as he brushes the hair out of your face and taps his tip against your lips “open up for me, baby”

haknyeon

he swears to himself that there's nothing better than the sight of you on your knees in between his thighs

there's just something about corrupting his pretty friend that is enough to have him hardening without much stimulation, palming himself through his pants as he watches you

“you can take your clothes off if the room gets too hot to, i don't mind it” smirking to himself when you nod, unzipping his pants and dragging it down his thighs along with his underwear as you watch him, licking your tongue when you take in the sight of his muscular thighs in front of you

“I'll let you ride my thigh later if that's what you want, sweetheart. we're kinda busy now, right?” fingers running through your hair before pushing your head down until it's hovering over his cock. “stick your tongue out, beautiful”

sunwoo

You shouldn't have asked him. Not when you know how can he can be a tease. How he usually knows how to make you do whatever he wants, the way he wants to.

“does it mean that you've thought about me before?” getting close to you, face hovering yours as he smiles at you “Is that what gets my best friend going?”.

Trying to hide how nervous he actually is by teasing you. Slowly getting rid of his clothes and sitting with his thighs spread in front of you. Pumping his cock slowly, loving how easy is to get hard when you're watching him with such innocence, such curiosity.

making you touch him, wrapping his fingers around yours to help you stroke his cock, a lazy smile on his face “looks big on your hand, right?” “does it turns you on? fuck, just wait until you get a taste”

eric

something like this

“mmmh you need to make me hard first, what are you going to do?”

loves teasing you, loves dirty talking you into this, into going insane and loosing up

even though he loves it, still pretty nervous because it's the first time you're trying this and don't want to fuck things up

so takes slow even though it means that it'll take him longer to cum

just let you use your tongue to play with him as much as you want

loves to tug at your hair and just hopes you're needy enough to beg for more once he's done cumming all over your face