#more fat bears of both sorts sounds great

[thayerkerbasy]

Everyone, go vote for your favourite non-human fat bears. This week is for the junior fat bears to celebrate their first chonkening, and the main event starts next week.

Hi Lynda, it's Fat Bear Week Who are you rooting for?

You know who I'm rooting for.

🏳️‍🌈 

[the-firebird69]

These are becoming very popular again and he wants to create the rescue rangers and come up with the company to make these and to make them so they are new and different and for rescue rangers as a military vehicle and we'll have plants all over the world and we'll have ties to the UN and America's army and other armies and people go there and it's competition is very dicey a horrific experience everything in the place will be bolted or welded down so you can't harm each other and it'll get it done and we'd like to do it we're going to go ahead and try and solicit people to try and get them interested and it's going to be a small fundraiser we're kind of going to donate a lot of it and we want to get people going on it and have you build the small basis and with us and it can be a multiple different types of ways of doing it mostly we're thinking like habitat for humanity and yeah the max probably won't be helping so we have interested people and we are going to start and pick an area a place I usually neutral somewhere in New York area and they won't interfere with your invite stuff or started but this is one of the vehicles we're going to make I want to call it the badger it's not as fierce as the wolverine but this is what we're going to do and he wanted to keep the animals small but I don't think that's going to be possible. And we want to run surveillance missions and little ones and put extra tanks on a small plane and what better plane then you then the su-37 but a knock off it's a wonderful jet it's extremely fast it's faster than the raptor and it handles better and it is our daughter's design and it's smooth and he wants to pay the Chinese guy he's a Chinese warlock to have him join up with the group and we'll make the jet but we need a base first and it's not a big jet it's like 30 ft long and a single cedar he's kind of excited he sees what this could be he is Asian he is a minority morlock but his name is somewhat Hawaiian sounding and the trumps get involved and they say they want to design all this crap but really they're helping to make them and all kind of the same family fighting each other and his name is not benihana that's kind of our son's name and nobody has it in the show it's kind of weird but people are calling him that when he was little and he's a little big one and they figured out that it's the name of Honor in Asia and a lot of people calling that to him when he was walking around he's looking around trying to see who it is it was a lot of fun and they said he's special boy and he's got a lot of Asian in him and they saw that he was fast and he is accurate with the peas and his chopsticks and he wants to show people again so he left the restaurant felt good cuz they respected him for the vast it was a good time he said he saw a real ninjas going out after people. In military it was harsh it was harsh but we want to name this the badger and he says I believe that's correct and wolverine is a little bigger and more fierce is two wheel drive and it's both wheels and we'll have fat bear and all sorts of things these jets are great idea so he's going to try and find it and we're going to try and get this going and he says that we should we have the huge company we're going to be building projects there's a spot that's not bad in LA county and so we can try and get permits might not be able to fly the Jets there right away but we're going to try and fly something's helicopters and Trump has some and he might join up to do it and run rescue missions and he knows what it is it's so we can get together oops are tough so we're going to move out he's got suggestions and a son says they will have to set up some kind of meeting and he says that the VFW in LA and Trump likes it and other races are invited he says too

Thor Freya

Olympus

I don't know what happened today you guys always lose it this is terrible

Tommy f

Okay okay we see you do we need to do this though this is a great idea and we have bikes like this and they're not newer we need new ones and they want to contract and we want to send it and they're going to use the old Harley plant and that makes sense Max says no that he says yes but he's going to be in this too and someday he'll probably come on base to the rescue ranger Base and inspect it and we can't wait

Trump

Olympus

[talesofstyles]

Good Morning Indeed

absolutely no plot whatsoever, just a bit of husband and dad harry in the midst of the family’s morning chaos 😂

Harry

“Go get the condom on.”

“I’ll pull out, I promise.”

“Your pull out game is weak.”

“Oi, them’s fightin’ words.”

“There’s a reason we’ve got six kids.” Says the missus with a roll of those pretty—but sometimes deadly (please don’t tell her I said this)—eyes. “‘Sides, I’ve just changed the sheets yesterday. You are not coming on the sodding sheets.”

“Fine,” I sigh and reach down to the bedside table. Why is the drawer filled with sodding Duplo and those tiny, pricey Sylvanian Family bunnies? I’m guessing kid number two, three and four have something to do with that. A few more seconds of rummaging before I finally found my treasure in the very back of the drawer. I lay on my back as I sheath myself up, and seeing as I’m already here… might as well, right? I smirk at her as I say, “hop on then.”

“Fat chance that,” she mutters. “Do I have to take off my top?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, it’s cold, and I’m a considerate husband. “A flash will do. Just give me a visual.”

She rolls up my shirt that she wears to sleep, a really old white rolling stones t-shirt that has two holes and a loose thread hanging on for dear life from the hem. She looks homeless. Gorgeous homeless though. 

“Nice,” I flash her a boyish grin, like a teenage boy seeing his first pair of tits. “You’ve got great racks.”

“You’re just saying that…”

I know what she sees when she looks at herself in the mirror and I wish she could look at herself through my eyes. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. My babies grew in that body, that’s everything.”

Her tender smile hits me right in the gut. “I love you.”

“Love me enough to ride me?” I say with a playful flick to one nipple.

“Nice try.”

“I love you,” I mutter near her mouth and give her a searing kiss. I run my tongue over her bottom lip, then I kiss her down her neck, her cleavage and her breasts. I slowly circle one nipple, and she giggles, knowing it’s a well-rehearsed move that is guaranteed to do what’s needed. See, her tits are kind of like start buttons. No matter the situation, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick. Her head slams back against the pillow. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We’ve got ignition lads. 

I nestle my body on top of hers, and there’s a bit of wayward angling and poking until I find my way inside of her. And then it’s on. Two bodies writhing on the bed. My hips rotate in long, slow circles.

“Bollocks!”

“What? The condom isn’t broken, is it?”

“No, it’s bin day. I forgot to take out the recycling bin.”

“S’fine, we’ve got time before the school run.”

The bin’s sorted, back to the shag…

I slide my hands under her, bringing us closer. Rocking us faster. My forehead hovers close to hers and I open my eyes so I can watch. What can I say? I’m greedy like that. I want to soak up every gasp, every flicker of pleasure across her face. Pleasure I’m giving her.

Her breathing changes. It turns panting and desperate, and I know she’s close. I move harder, grinding against her, inside her, with every forward push. Warms sparks tickle my spine and heat spreads down until every nerve in my body is shaking. I slam inside her, burying deep as her hips jerk upward. She spasms hard around me, gripping me tight. 

I rock back my hips and pull almost all the way out, but then I freeze. Because a dreaded sound echoes across the room, grabbing our full attention. It’s coming from the baby monitor. It’s a rustling, the sound of cotton rubbing cotton. Like snipers in the jungle, we don’t move a muscle. We don’t say a word. We wait, until the rustling stops. And all is quiet again. 

Too bad it’s not for long. Because two thrusts in, a light comes on in the landing. Followed by small footsteps heading down the stairs. Shit.

“Harry, just come already. They’ll all be up soon.”

“I’m close… don’t rush it, you’re scaring it away.” 

She grinds her hips. Also another well-rehearsed move that she knows will get me off. But I freeze again, because there’s a second set of footsteps and the sound of a toilet flushing. Oh, and the babies next door are starting to whimper. 

Great.

“I’M HUNGRY!” That’s James, darling little cockblocker number four who likes to be fed on time. He’s three.

“WE’LL BE OUT IN A SECOND!” My wife shouts over my shoulder. “Harry for the love of god-”

I pick up the rhythm. Small beads of sweat form on my brow. She grinds her hips again, and I try to focus. “Just like that, fuck, keep doing that.”

“Sshh, keep your voice down.”

“IS THERE ANY BREAD THAT ISN’T 50/50?” That’s Eleanor, child number two. She’s seven, and she’s one of those children who seem to possess a discernible palate that knows when we’ve changed brands of baked beans or attempt to bring sugar-free fruit squash through the doors.

“IT’S THE SAME,” I reply.

“NO, IT’S NOT. DO WE HAVE OTHER FOOD?”

“THERE ARE SHREDDIES.”

“DON’T LIKE ‘EM.”

“PORRIDGE.”

“I’M NOT A BEAR!”

Honestly, seven-year-olds gunning for a fight this early in the morning can go do one.

The babies are starting to gather volume next door so I try to focus again. It only takes a few more thrusts before ecstasy wrecks my body, making me shudder. I press my lips against her neck as I come back down to earth. But I don’t move yet. I know we should get going because things are already chaotic outside our door, but I just don’t have the will yet. I’m considering going back to sleep for a minute or two. She won’t mind, will she? Well, I’m wrong. Because she proceeds to perform the move that seems to amuse every sodding woman on earth. And causes every man to squeal like a bloody pig. Without warning, she uses her powerful muscle to squeeze my extremely sensitive cock. 

Girls, grab a piece of paper and write this down. I’m speaking on behalf of every man to walk on earth here; we hate that. We don’t think it’s funny.

I jerk back, pull out, and roll off her. I try to look annoyed as she giggles, and obviously I fail, because that freshly fucked, flushed-face makes it impossible not to grin back.

“CAN I HAVE JAFFA CAKE?” That’s Victoria, child number three. She’s five, and she’s yelling as she thunders up the stairs. 

“JAFFA CAKE ISN’T BREAKFAST,” my wife shouts back as she sits up and hands me a nappy sack. “Harry…”

I wrap up the condom with it and toss it to the bin. “You’ve just taken me life force, woman, give me a moment.”

“CUSTARD CREAM?”

“NO.” We shout in unison. 

“HOBNOB THEN?”

“STAY AWAY FROM THE BISCUIT TIN!”

“You want to wrestle a biscuit-hunting kid out of a cupboard and 50/50 bread drama or fussy babies with full nappies?”

“Babies.” I hear a small child get whacked by a sibling downstairs and I feel like I may have got the better deal here.

Next door, the twins are not happy. They’re six months old now, and they’re both teething. Thing one glares at me as I walk into their nursery and thing two stares at me stroppily from the corner of her cot. Their cheeks are scarlet, and thing one proceeds to bark at me like a seal. I pick his warm, sleepy, cuddly body and cradle it close to mine as I lay him down on the changing table. I smell the dampness. It’s definitely wee. He’s soaked through, I think I didn’t tuck his willy in when I last changed him around three in the morning so it sprayed in some upward motion and drenched his clothes. See, this is why girls are better than boys. There’s no way they can pee upwards. 

After I put a fresh nappy and a change of clothes, I put him down on the rug so he can wiggle around while I grab his sister and sort her out. After six kids, I’m definitely a pro with baby duty and can practically change their clothes one-handed. The whole thing takes only a few minutes.

I cuddle the babies on each side as I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. They immediately reach out to their mum who’s cracking some eggs as soon as they spot her, knowing she’s the only one who can cure their hunger this morning. 

“Uniforms!” She says to the big kids as she takes one baby into her arms. “We’ll do breakfast after. Please, please, please…”

Desperate pleas lead them to saunter out and up the stairs. I follow my wife into the living room and hand her the other baby as she plops down on the couch. She rolls up her shirt and the babies latch instantly. Tandem nursing is harder now that they’re a little older and aware of their surroundings. They’re trying to scratch each other’s faces as they nurse. “Oi, what’s this? You each get a tit, stop fighting.”

They seem to somehow listen to me and have stopped trying to poke each other’s eyeballs. We’ll see how long that lasts. “Finish the eggs?”

I nod. “I’m on it.”

I brew some coffee, finish the scrambled eggs, and pop the slices after slices of bread in the toaster. Breakfast is done just in time as my wife walks back into the kitchen with two full and happy babies. She puts them in their high chairs and I scoop a bit of eggs on each of their trays for them to nibble on.

George appears back in the kitchen clad in his uniform with his also dressed brother trailing behind. We always lay his clothes the night before on his bed and he gets dressed all by himself in the morning. And he’s getting better at it, seeing he only missed a button on his shirt.

“Hi mate,” I say as I fix his button and he flashes a toothy grin at me. I plop him down on the chair, he’s graduated from the high chair now but still uses a booster seat.

“No toast!”

“What do you want then?”

“Chee-yos?”

I nod before I grab a handful of cheerios and set them on his plate next to his eggs. Then I take a few steps back across the table. “Hey, James, set it up.”

He flashes me another toothy grin before he opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one. Styles got the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots…”

I toss the Cheerios in a high arc. It lands right into his mouth.

“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”

“Viv stole the biscuit tin, you know? She ate three jammie dodgers upstairs.” Eleanor says as she walks in with book bags and school shoes. 

George, seeing his sister walks in, proceeds to open his mouth wide and flashes her the half-chewed eggs on his tongue. It’s his current thing and it annoys his sisters to death. The young’uns think differently though as they double over in laughter. 

“Eeewww!” She shrieks. “You’re so gross!”

“VICTORIA, PUT THAT BISCUIT TIN DOWN AND GET YOUR BUTT IN THE KITCHEN! AND GO GET THEM HAIR TIE THINGIES…” 

“I didn’t have any biscuits!” She yells and runs down the stairs.

This kid is the quintessential daddy’s girl. She climbs up onto my lap right away, handing me the brush and a hair tie. 

“See, poppet, I would’ve believed you if you didn’t leave evidence all over your face,” I arch one of my eyebrows as I sweep a speck of raspberry jam on the corner of her mouth. 

“You always do a ponytail,” she huffs.

“Either that or I give you a bowl cut with kitchen scissors. I reckon that fruit bowl will do. Your choice.”

“Can I have some more eggs?” George asks with his mouth full of his last bite.

“God, that’s like your third serving,” Eleanor grumbles.

“Nag.”

At that insult, Eleanor flings a piece of toast like a ninja. Before George can retaliate, my wife gives them both the look.

“Viv, will you at least have some eggs?”

“No.”

“Fine,” my wife sighs. “I’m gonna get changed then.”

I glance at the clock and, well, shit, I should get dressed too. “Can you lot watch the babies and try not to kill each other for the next five minutes?”

“Five quid each?” Eleanor tries to negotiate. “Babysitting isn’t supposed to be free, you know? That sounds like child labour to me.” 

Bollocks. 

“Two quid each,” I give her my dad look that says the offer is final and indisputable.

“Deal.”

[jakey-beefed-it]

Rather boring, rather personal musings on relating to monsters below the cut

I don’t have any of the same struggles that non-cis, non-straight, non-men have, but there’s a whole lot of music written by, for, and/or about non-cis non-straight love that *really* resonates with me. And sure, part of that is empathy- it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to contemplate a version of myself that wasn’t straight or cis, and thus putting myself in others’ position isn’t a big stretch -but I think part of it is also related to me being... and this is going to sound really offensive so please bear with me... fat and ugly.

It’s not to the same degree by a mile and then some, but there is certain othering, a view of any sexual feelings I might have as somehow *monstrous* or *grotesque* which is similar in kind if nowhere similar in magnitude to how, say, a gay man might be made to feel when confronted with heteronormative society. In a very different way, yeah, but we’re both doing masculinity ‘wrong’, if that makes sense. And the whole ‘redefine masculinity as being an incel jackass’ thing doesn’t work for me because I’m not *actually* a monster, I just *feel* like one sometimes. 

I went to an all-’boys’ (several of whom turned out to not be boys at all in later years) Catholic high school. I wasn’t Catholic then and I certainly never will be having gone there, but it was the best education in the vicinity and I figured it would give me the best odds at college. So for four years, basically the only girls I encountered were through sister schools; coming over to work on theatre productions with us. None of them was especially interested in me, and several of them were openly contemptuous, but that probably has more to do with theatre people frequently being a bit shallower than most about looks and Catholic school girls being a bit shallower than most about finances; at the time I wasn’t considered *good*-looking but I wasn’t a freak or anything. I dated a couple of people (not one of whom I met through theatre), went off to college, and had *no goddamn idea* how to talk to women. 

I figured it out within a year or so (pro tip: talk to women like you’d talk to anyone else, duh) but yeah, during that year and the one previous I went from ‘husky’ or perhaps ‘chubby’ to ‘morbidly obese’. So while the circumstances changed (no longer surrounded by a limited pool of people looking for someone handsomer and/or wealthier) to some extent, the whole ‘hm, no one has ever desired me carnally’ thing stuck around. And that doesn’t feel great, obviously. 

Compounding matters, I’m *somewhere* on the grey/demi/asexual spectrum. In that I can certainly find people *attractive* but the thought of *actually having sex* with them is more off-putting than appealing unless I’m Properly Smitten. And literally only one of the people I’ve ever been Properly Smitten with has ever felt the same way. The rest varied from embarrassed disinterest to sympathetic disinterest. 

So that’s *another* way in which I’m ‘doing masculinity wrong’, apparently- not out trying to make as many ‘conquests’ as possible, not especially even interested in *sex* beyond the right planetary alignment. I do *have* a libido (though it’s suppressed somewhat due to depression, weight, and medication) but it’s not the sort of thing that would ever lead me to make dumb decisions, if that makes sense. 

So yeah. Spent most of my life being made to feel somehow inadequate as a man for my relative lack of sexual feelings, then being made to feel disgusting and monstrous for them when they *do* come up. I’m mostly straight, I’m pretty comfortable being male, I’m not even properly *a*sexual, so I’m never going to *really* ‘get it’ with regard to being Acctually LGBTQIA+, but on some level... maybe because of empathy, maybe because of experiencing the tiniest version of that sort of social stigma, I kinda almost maybe get it sometimes.

Anyhow that’s probably why I nearly broke down crying at the age of 21 when seeing fucking *Shrek* of all things, why my favorite d&d character is a hulking slab of a tiefling with a kind heart, why I feel like Guillermo Del Toro *gets* it in the way that most people don’t. 

I’m doing lots better lately- both mentally and physically -which is probably why I have the self-reflection to *analyze* myself and my thoughts beyond ‘People don’t like me because I suck.’ So if you’re reading this and worrying about me, 1.) aww 2.) nah it’s cool, I’m just Contemplating.

Meh, I’m not entirely sure where I was going with this beyond “It’s a Sin,” by the Pet Shop Boys and “Losing my Religion” by REM are really good songs that I have no right to relate to but somehow strongly do anyway. Loads of other songs fit the same mold but those were the two that brought out this word vomit.

If you’ve read all the way to the end, woof, thanks? I’m sorry? Please keep all replies to the reply function or private message, I don’t want this thing seen by all kinds of people who don’t know me and are more inclined to take it in bad faith. As a bribe/reward for getting this far, here is a picture of my cat, Frisbee.

He’s also morbidly obese, but people don’t seem to mind that as much in cats.

[colossal-fallout]

Hello darlin, can I a request a nsfw poly Annie x Mikasa with a male bodied reader

Well howdy there, partner. Here, let this here waterin' hole quénch that thirst you have.

Tbh I got too carried away with the smut so don't expect it to be good 😂🤠

Three's a crowd

Warning: NSFW 18+ SMUT

Male!bodied reader X Annie X Mikasa

Threesome / Poly

Your poly relationship with Annie and Mikasa was, for the most part, great. All three of you loved each other equally. Respect was held in high regard amongst you but sometimes, Mikasa and Annie... well... They would clash.

It wasn't too often, but it did happen. So as you stand there with your arms folded in exasperation as those two hash it out, your mind just zones you out to a better place. A one where two competitive girlfriends would just relax a little. You knew they'd sort it. They always did. Hell you'd only come upstairs to grab your notes and you'd heard them yelling. Knowing better than to get involved you just awkwardly squeeze by them, your eyes scanning the surface of the drawers for your papers.

"Okay then. Y/N, what do you think?" Annie asks, her piercing blues lassoing you and pulling you right into the rodeo pen. This wasn't one Mare you fancied taming right now - you could see the thunderstorm brewing behind her orbs.

"To be honest, I have no idea what you're arguing about." You reply honestly.

"Is that so?" Annie frowns.

Mikasa cuts in; "We were discussing who would get to..." Her irritation is dampened by her timid side - her face begining to flush and her fingers fumbling with one another.

Annie rolls her eyes. "For gods sake. We were arguing about who gets to have you fill them up later."

Your body freezes.

Surely they wouldn't debate such a stupid top-

"Hey. We can sort this out." You grin eagerly, placing the papers back onto the wooden surface. "But ladies... You gotta make up."

You genuinely didn't like it when they fell out. But to your joy, Annie grabbed the shy Mikasa who was now even more flustered.

"You annoy the hell outta me." Annie mutters, her eye lids becoming heavier than usual. "But God do I love you..."

Their lips connect in a slow, yet deep embrace, your heart swelling that they'd made up.

Among other things swelling.

You watch them for a little while, the room filled with the gentle echos of their smacking lips and small exhales, their tongues slithering around the others, like two coiling snakes fighting to the death. As usual, Annie gets fired up pretty quickly, pushing Mikasa down gently onto your large bed that you all share.

"Annie..." Mikasa gasps as her blonde lover pins her by her wrists and her mouth hungrily devouring that sweet spot on her neck.

Mikasa's legs automatically wrap around Annie's waist, her arousal sending her body into autopilot, her hand sliding up her shirt and rolling her breast in her hand. Deep breaths errupted from Mikasa's flushed face, her innocent eyes blinking up at you.

You begin to remove your shirt with haste, Mikasa's mouth had barely uttered; "Please, come here..." when it was a crinckled mess on the floor.

Annie's peachy ass was up in the air as she was lowered over Mikasa - you decide that would be your first target. Rubbing nyour hands roughly over her perfect behind, you allow them to run up the sides of her stomach and around to her tits, your mouth trailing kisses down the back of her neck as she sits up to lean into your touch.

Mikasa watches your hands caress Annie under her shirt, your longing, desperate face now biting into the side of her neck.

Annie let's out a moan, her hands unzipping Mikasa's trousers and begin to slide them down her perfect pins.

Mikasa sits up, now in just her shirt and panties, the visible damp patch on her crotch already becoming larger as her tongue slides back into Annie's mouth, her delicate fingers pushing her shirt up and over her head, exposing your greedy hands that were pulling on her now errect nipples.

You can hardly contain yourself, your swelling cock already pushing the boundaries of your thread count, your hands gliding down Annie's stomach and pulling off her bottoms too.

Mikasa gasps as Annie's gorgeous form is stripped bare, your hands taking all innocence from her body - it belonged to you and Mikasa. You tug Annie's hair, pulling her head back as you slide your wet muscle down her throat, Mikasa's mouth latching onto her nipple and sucking.

"Huahh ~!" Annie's high pitched moan calls out as your finger begins to slide along her wet slit, Mikasa's teeth now nipping at her breast.

"Annie's been bad again..." Mikasa mutters between mouthfuls of her girlfriends flesh.

"Guess we gotta teach you both a lesson, huh?" You breathe, your finger circling Annie's clit from behind as your free hand splays across her throat.

"There's more than enough cum in me for both of you..." Your chest heaves as your heart pounds the much extra needed blood supply to your now solid cock, Annie's whimpers vibrating your hand as you give her neck a little squeeze.

You remove your wet finger from her soaking lips, repositioning yourself so you were in a better position to marvel at the view - Annie's face pink and her hair already a mess, her tits raising up and down with her heavy breaths.

The raven haired siren encases her lips around her lover's clit, a squeak of joy in response to her taste as she flickers her tongue against her nub, her ass in the air just begging for you to touch it.

You pull down her now soaked panties with anticipation - harshly shoving the tip of your tongue right inside her tight cunt.

"Ah~~!" She cries loudly into Annie's vertical mouth, her hair being tugged by Annie as she rocked her hips against her tongue.

You swivel your position, pulling Mikasa down onto your face as she continues to work on Annie.

"Mikasa... Fuck..." Annie hisses, her orbs eyeing the delicious buldge in your trousers eagerly as you drink deeply from Mikasa.

Your cock is becoming painful now, your hands removing themselves from Mikasa's ass and - without stopping your tongues movements, you unzip and free yourself, Annie gasping at the sight of your glory, her mouth salivating as her grip on Mikasa's gorgeous face tightens.

"Y/N... I'm going... Ah ~ " Mikasa's knees begin to tremble, her insides clenching and grasping for any part of you to hold onto - you feed her with two of your fingers, her tight internal ridges pulling you in happily.

Mikasa's face is cherry red as Annie removes herself from her mouth, watching her orgasm, her eyes closing and her mouth open wide as her high pitched squeals fill the air.

"Yes! Y/N!"

Her pussy massages your fingers, sucking them in as her golden wave crashes across her body, her cum dripping down past your fingers and into your waiting mouth.

Annie lovingly reaches down and cups her face, her mouth reconnecting to hers as she begins her recovery.

You sit up and watch them make out, your dick craving some sort of friction, and Mikasa's soaked cunt is still in the air, ripe for the taking.

"Ahh ~ !! " She cries loudly in ecstasy as you slide your fat head into her tight entrance.

"Good girl..." You grunt, watching them trying to kiss through Mikasa's hysterical songs of praise.

A string of saliva connects their lips together as Annie slowly pulls away, watching your struggle. Mikasa's constrictive core a challenge to stuff yourself inside of - but after a few pushes you reached your cosy destination, your entirety being pressed and released as you roll your hips, your fingers kneading into her tasty ass cheeks.

Annie gets up, Mikasa too far gone to be of any use with her mouth now, as it just hangs open, her eyes rolling and only your name now the only word she was capable of muttering.

"Y/n...y/n...y/n... Ah~ Ah ~ oohhhh ~~!"

Annie stands above Mikasa, a leg on each side of her bent over form as she runs her fingers through your hair, you gladly take her into your mouth.

You sit back on your feet, one hand on Mikasa's ass and guiding her up and down your shaft, the other on Annie's ass, pressing her cunt against your face with as much force as possible; making out sloppily with her nub of nerves.

The sounds of both of these gorgeous woman crying your name out in desperation was almost too much to bear - Annie's orgasm peaking as she tugs at your hair, taking out her joy.

"y/n, ah! Don't stop! Yes! Oh fuck!" She gasps in a high pitched tone.

"y/n... Y/n..." Mikasa is still squeaking weakly, her overstimulation now hurtling her into another climax.

"Shit!!" You hiss as her contractions get even more tight around you, her juices covering your groin and splashing up onto her ass, her vocals now too high pitched to be heard by humans.

You were nowhere near done.

Annie moves back a little, her knees weak from that mind blowing end.

You sit up slightly and thrust harder and faster into Mikasa, her over sensitive cunt not able to handle your girth as you stretch her and absolutely destroy her pretty little pussy.

"Pah... Oh... Y-y/n..." She begs and pleads in a language only known to the heavens as her entire body burns white hot, your hand reaching down and tugging on her nipples harshly, drool begining to pour out of her mouth as you re arrange her insides with your manhood.

Your balls slap against her pubic bone, her cunt squelching beautifully around you and the scent of her cum was breathtaking.

"ah~~~ pah, please... Hua~~"

Annie latches her mouth onto your neck and sucks, biting and licking, moving up to your mouth and tasting Mikasa off your tongue.

"She tastes so good..." She hums, glancing down as you push her into the bed with your deep thrusts.

You remove yourself half reluctantly, not taking your eyes off Annie as you pull her down by her nape, pushing her face towards Mikasa's now wider hole.

Annie immediately places her three fingers inside of her, trying to recreate the thickness of your cock, as her tongue slithers onto her clit, laying upside down underneath her.

Mikasa's face is streaming with pleasured tears, her body overloaded with beyond amazing sensations.

As Annie gladly overtakes Mikasa's body, you grab her legs and push them as high to her chest as they'd go before Mikasa's ass being in the way.

Your cock is soaked in Mikasa's sweet juices and you eagerly begin to insert yourself into Annie's just as tight slot, more than happy to stir their mixed pots with your cock.

Annie groans loudly, the vibration was all Mikasa needed to be hurled into another dimension, now squirting over Annie's face and down her chest. You watch her now soaked tits bounce as you thrust, your cock so close to reaching its overload.

You shuffle back and pull Annie out from under the ruined, shaking mess that was now Mikasa, your hands grabbing fistfuls of her hair as your back hunches over her, pushing yourself deeper and deeper into her deep, warm pocket.

"Y/n... Yes... Ah!" She cries out, your thumb rubbing her clit, her face and chest that was gleaming in Mikasa's cum bobbing violently with your harsh movements.

"I'm... Cumming..." She whispers, eyes crossing upwards and her nails digging into your skin.

Her back arches as she spasms around you, the red mist of crazed lust taking over her.

"y/n! Yes! Oh my god... Ah! This cock is the best...! Ah... Ahh...!"

You can't take it anymore.

With a small roar your hips stutter as your steaming hot cum begins to collide with her cervix.

You quickly pull out of her, your ropes pulsing up her already cum soaked chest and face as you lean over her and slide back into Mikasa, thrusting deeply.

"FUCK!" You curse, your orgasm still coming in huge waves, Mikasa's insides starving only for your cock as it weakly twitches to pull in your seed.

You pull out, splattering more mess on her beautiful ass, back down and into Annie your knees suddenly giving out. You're still cuming as Annie's tight pussy leaks with your now more watery junk, your vision fading as you slump down, finally begining to re enter reality.

After a few deep breaths, your eyes open to the view of both your girlfriend's covered in your mark, breathless and destroyed.

"Oh my god, y/n..." Mikasa whimpers. "That.. was...amazing..."

You nod in agreement, even though she can't see you. You didn't quite have the energy for words right now. But you weren't surprised. Your sex life with these two was always absolutely mind blowing.

Annie sits up, kissing your arm and instantly becoming needy.

"I guess you do have enough for us both..." She chuckles lightly - still out of it. "I guess we'll have to shower together now."

Mikasa finally springs to life, rolling onto her back, both you and Annie leaning down and kissing her affectionately.

"You did amazing." You praise. " Both of you."

[robininthelabyrinth]

My prompt is just more trans au. Various people reacting to baobei. Just i love trans au so much thank u for this gift.

Baobai Pt 1 - on tumblr, on ao3

-

“Oh, hey, you have a kid,” Wei Wuxian said, out of lack of any other conversational topics that weren’t ‘so are you here to kill us all?’. Kids were usually a good, neural topic, especially when they were that small. “Look at her, she’s so tiny! Her parents know you brought her out here?”

“She’s da-ge’s,” Lan Xichen said with a smile and a nod towards Nie Mingjue, who as tall and terrifying as always. He was glowering at the half-grown radish fields as if he was personally offended by them.

“Congratulations, Chifeng-zun,” Wei Wuxian said to him, hoping to stave off any impending violence. The baby was young enough that the mom was probably still in isolation recovering, and maybe hadn’t consented to said baby being brought to the Burial Mounds of all places - certainly Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have agreed to cart a small infant all the way from Qinghe, and he’d thought mothers preferred to remain near their children in the few months after birth - but Wei Wuxian was not really in a position to object.

Certainly not after the quick work Nie Mingjue’s saber made of all of his defensive arrays. That man was scary.

“Thank you,” Nie Mingjue said, and it was awkward for a moment until he added, “Pain in the ass to acquire.”

That made everything better: Wei Wuxian knew how to deal with snark. “Oh yeah? Carried her yourself, did you?”

“Ten fucking months,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wei Wuxian laughed and shot Lan Xichen a wink, figuring that his stupid joke about having given birth to A-Yuan had made the rounds. Funny, he wouldn’t have pegged Lan Wangji to be the sort of person to pass on jokes…

At that point, Nie MIngjue twisted his head around to look at Wen Ning and Wen Qing, who were hovering nearby, trying to hide A-Yuan behind their legs, and said, “She’s your cousin three times removed, if I have my family tree down right, so stop being queasy and let the kid come see her.”

“Fuck,” Wen Qing said, and abruptly sat down. “I’m sorry.”

Wei Wuxian had the distinct feeling he was missing something, especially when Wen Ning’s expression shifted from equally puzzled to outright horrified.

“It’s not exactly your fault, you’re not soldiers,” Nie Mingjue said, and glared at the radish field again. “But in all seriousness: let the kid see her.”

Wen Qing waved a vague hand at A-Yuan, who correctly interpreted it as permission and zoomed over to the baby as fast as his little legs could carry him. He was in that another-kid-how-cool phase that all kids had, and babies were a particular fascination.

“You’re cousins?” Wei Wuxian asked Nie Mingjue, feeling a bit weird about. Three times removed wasn’t close, but still…of all people...“With the Wen sect? You?”

Nie Huaisang made a strangled noise that from anyone else Wei Wuxian would have said sounded a bit like he was going to imminently stab someone.

Nie Mingjue just gave Wei Wuxian a look like he was an idiot. 

“No,” he said very slowly. “I’m not.”

Wei Wuxian continued not to get it, right up until he glanced at Wen Ning who mouthed a name at him and – wait, but no, that’s impossible – but he’d have to be – wait, he was from Qinghe –

Wei Wuxian suddenly noticed that he had sat down on the ground as well at some point.

“Pain in the ass,” he said blankly. “Right.”

Nie Huaisang was glaring at him like he really was going to pull out his never-used saber to start chopping Wei Wuxian into bits, and honestly that might be a preferable option to the sheer awkwardness of having just put two and two together like that in front of so many people. Maybe he could use demonic cultivation to open the ground up beneath him? It’d never been done before, but then again, that was most things he did…

“Why are people so weird about babies?” Nie Mingjue complained, picking up the baby in one arm and a giggling and blissfully ignorant A-Yuan in the other, swinging them both around a bit. “They’re like – lumps of little people. We were all babies once. It’s not that weird.”

“You heard him,” Jin Guangyao said to Wei Wuxian with a smile that looked like it had daggers in it. “It’s not weird at all. Right?”

“Right!” Wei Wuxian said hastily.

Apparently scary people flocked together. Though, did that mean there something he was missing about Lan Xichen..?

-

Lan Xichen smiled at Jin Guangyao, who smiled back. That was really the only good thing about these discussion conferences, he thought – they were long and draining and he had to meet a lot of people he didn’t want to see (Sect Leader Yao ranked highly), but he got to spend a great deal of time with his sworn brothers, which he didn’t often manage. And, really, that made everything worth it.

“How are things going?” he asked in an undertone, scanning Jin Guangyao with his eyes. Madame Jin did not have the reputation for being a kind woman, especially not about her husband’s affairs, and he couldn’t help but worry.

“Manageable,” Jin Guangyao assured him, though it wasn’t really that comforting. “It helps that this conference isn’t at Jinlin Tower – less to arrange, less work to fall on my shoulders. It’s positively easy by comparison. When did you arrive? We’ve been here for a shichen already, setting up.”

“Just now. They’re still moving our things into our rooms –”

“Er-ge! San-ge!” Nie Huaisang’s voice rang out, sharp and clear and murderous; they both turned to look at him at once to try to determine if it was the sort of murderous that meant someone had bought out a painting he’d liked before he got there or if it someone had actually offended him. He had a fixed smile on his face, which boded no one any good. “I was just looking for you. I want to chat.”

“What happened?” Lan Xichen asked, looking around – they were more or less alone, and a quick hand-seal made it so that they wouldn’t be easily overheard. “Did someone do something to Baobei…?”

He couldn’t believe they still hadn’t named her, the poor thing.

(Jin Guangyao had briefly been lobbying for them to name her A-Shi, but then Nie Mingjue told him that if he wanted to have a girl named Nie Shi he ought to man up and sire her himself, and ever since then Jin Guangyao had been proposing different names entirely. Possibly he was concerned Nie Mingjue would take back the offer if he used up the name.)

“Surely not,” Jin Guangyao said. “In the middle of the Lotus Pier…?”

“Not Baobei,” Nie Huaisang said. “But your father just figured out who carried her, and he just – he put his hands – he said he had the right to check on account of da-ge having misled them –”

Lan Xichen observed, a little distantly, that he’d previously thought that the phrase ‘seeing red’ was an exaggeration, rather than a perfectly accurate description.

“Did da-ge rip him to pieces?” Jin Guangyao asked, sounding as if he was very much in favor of that result.

“He did not,” Nie Huaisang said. “You know how he is during these conferences; he’s far too reserved. Slapped his hands away but didn’t do anything else about it.”

“Surely that would put an end to it…?” Lan Xichen suggested, mildly hopeful, but the expression on Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang’s face did not fill him with much expectation.

“He’ll try something,” Jin Guangyao said flatly. His voice tremored briefly, full of rage even he couldn’t hide, and he gripped his hands together tightly. “He will try something.”

“Sect Leader Jiang will help us keep them separate for the conference,” Nie Huaisang said. “He still hasn’t figured out the details of Baobei’s parentage, I think he’s convinced himself that men just bear children – in some way that man is as dumb as a rock, same as when we were teenagers, I don’t know how anyone is that gullible – but he’s offended on da-ge’s behalf anyway. But when the conference is over for the evening…”

“It would be unfilial of me to plan my own father’s assassination,” Jin Guangyao said, and his eyes slide towards Lan Xichen, questioning. “But if you wanted to have a theoretical discussion regarding the security system at Jinlin Tower, and the weaknesses thereof…”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, putting aside all concerns regarding the morality of assassinations, and found that he didn’t regret the decision one bit. He’d barely tolerated that lecher when he had no choice, when he was Jin Guangyao’s father and a powerful sect leader. But putting his hands on da-ge – thinking of doing more – “Let’s have that...theoretical discussion.”

“I knew I could count on you two,” Nie Huaisang said with satisfaction. “So here’s what I was thinking –”

-

One of the worst days of Nie Huaisang’s life started quite normally – waking up when his brother lifted him bodily out of bed and slung him over his shoulder.

“Da-ge!” he yelped. “Da-ge, no – it’s too early –”

“If you stayed up late, that’s your own problem,” his brother said with the sort of purposeful cheerful sadism that only a person who actually enjoyed waking up with the sun to go train could employ. “I told you yesterday that we were going to be training this morning.”

“But da-ge –”

“You missed the last three days. You’re not missing today.”

But it’s so fucking early, Nie Huaisang thought despairingly, drooping into dead weight over his brother’s shoulder – not that that helped, of course. His brother was too damn strong.

“Are you sure you’re not taking out your feelings about getting fat on me?” he asked, poking at his brother’s somewhat-rounder-than-usual waist. “That peacetime bulge of yours hasn’t gotten any smaller, you know…”

In all honestly, Nie Huaisang was delighted by the small swell of his brother’s usually flat stomach. His brother wasn’t vain – his body was a tool shaped for purpose – and the idea that his brother had finally let go enough, whether by eating more or resting more, to actually gain some weight…

“Whatever you say, pork bun,” his brother said, and Nie Huaisang yelped and hit him because he was not a pork bun! No matter how pale or chubby he might become!

It was a hot day, which of course made going through the steps of training even more miserable than usual. His brother was patient as always, showing him the steps and then making him repeat them a few times before starting up his own morning training routine; after a while, they both got into a nice rhythm, swings and chops.

Training wasn’t that bad, especially when it meant he could spend more time with his always-busy brother. He still didn’t like it, and obviously he had a reputation to uphold, and yes, it was obnoxious to get up early...but it could be worst.

And then, just as Nie Huaisang was turning to tell his brother a joke he’d heard the day before, he saw his brother abruptly turn pale and fall over.

He even dropped Baxia.

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang screamed, a thousand ancient fears rearing their heads at once, and he rushed over at top speed. “Someone get a doctor! Quick!”

Not a qi deviation, not a qi deviation, don’t be a qi deviation, he prayed, dropping to his knees next to his brother, who was already waking up – eyes clear, not red, and looking more confused than anything else. He’s too young, I’m not ready, I can’t lose him, not him, not yet, please –

On Nie Huaisang’s instructions, some of the nearby retainers helped Nie Mingjue back inside, even though he was insisting that he was fine.

“You collapsed,” Nie Huaisang snapped at him. “In morning training. You are going to see a doctor, and that’s final.”

Nie Mingjue held up his hands in surrender, looking amused at Nie Huaisang’s uncharacteristic fierceness. His amusement faded into sympathy when he realized why Nie Huaisang was so tense – their father’s death had hit them both hard – and he pulled Nie Huaisang into his arms for a hug.

“It’s not that,” he said confidently. “Not yet. The doctor will tell you.”

The doctor’s face did something funny, though, when he listened to Nie Mingjue’s pulse. Not the oh-no-it-really-is-a-minor-qi-deviation sort of funny or even a nah-total-fluke-you’re-overreacting sort of funny, more of a what-the-fuck sort of funny.

“What is it?” Nie Huaisang demanded. He knew enough medicine – the entire Nie sect knew enough medicine – to understand most basic diagnoses, as well as what they might mean for future health. “What type of pulse?”

The doctor hesitated.

“Well?” Nie Mingjue said. “Spit it out.”

“…a joy pulse,” the doctor said. “About five months, I’d guess.”

For a moment Nie Huaisang didn’t understand. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what a joy pulse was – he did have female friends, some of whom were now mothers – nor that he didn’t know that his brother was capable of carrying, he’d known that forever.

It was just that his brother was an antisocial misanthrope. He didn’t have any lovers, as far as Nie Huaisang knew, which meant he shouldn’t have a joy pulse. 

Besides, five months ago they were still at war! His brother took his duties far too seriously to waste time on a battlefield dallying with someone, anyone, and especially not if there was a major battle around that time. Five months ago there must have been one – which one was it?

Five months…the main force of the army had gone up from Xingtai to Shijiazhuang six months ago, and then there would have been – Yangquan.

Yangquan.

When his brother had been duped by false information into leading an attack on what should have been a mostly abandoned outpost, but which turned out to be in the middle of being reinforced by Wen Ruohan personally – when his brother had been captured – tortured – and even -

“Shit,” his brother said, presumably realizing at that exact moment that Nie Huaisang was capable of math and also dates and possibly even logic. “Doctor, you can go, thank you.”

Nie Huaisang didn’t even hear the doctor leave.

“Huaisang…didi…” His brother was trying to pull him into a hug, but Nie Huaisang didn’t want one, struggling unsuccessfully to get away. He didn’t want to be any closer to – to that – to the creature sitting his brother’s stomach, weighing him down; to what he’d thought was a sign of peace and good times and what was actually nothing more than yet another scar left by the war.

He’d actually been happy about it, and the thought twisted his stomach.

“Can you get rid of it?” he asked, voice strangled. “You can, right? It’s still early…”

“Five months is pretty close to quickening,” his brother said, wincing. “After quickening, the medicines don’t work as well. It might not be that easy.”

“Do you know how dangerous childbirth is?!” Nie Huaisang demanded. His mouth was moving on automatic; he wasn’t even thinking about what he was saying. He wasn’t thinking of anything, anything at all, because if he was thinking he’d have to think – he’d have to – his brother – “What if it kills you? You can’t let them kill you! Not after everything we did to avenge A-die!”

“I’m not going to die,” Nie Mingjue said, holding him tightly, his chin on Nie Huaisang’s head the way they always where when they hugged. “I’m a very good cultivator, Huaisang. My golden core will keep me healthy, even if I start bleeding…it won’t be like your mother. I promise.”

Nie Huaisang started shaking. “Da-ge,” he whimpered, pressing his face into his brother’s shoulder. “Da-ge, tell me…”

“Anything,” his brother promised, and he’d regret that promise in another moment, Nie Huaisang knew, the question would only cause him pain, but he needed to know. The second they were out of this situation his brother would clam up, pretend that nothing had happened and that it was all fine, so if he had questions – and he did – then he needed to answer them now.

“Was it – who was it? Was it him?”

His brother stilled.

“You said you’d tell me,” Nie Huaisang reminded him.

“…I don’t know,” his brother said. “I don’t – it could be. But it might be – someone else.”

There had been more than one, then. Nie Huaisang swallowed back bile, wanting to be sick. His father’s murderer had forced himself on his brother, and he’d let others do the same, and now they had to deal with the fallout.

“I want to kill them,” he whispered. “I want – I want them dead – all of them –”

“If it’s anything, I’ve made a pretty good head start on that already?” his brother offered, and of course his brother was trying to find some levity in a terrible situation. “We broke them, Huaisang. Even if some individuals remain, there’s no Wen sect left. If I do end up keeping it, the child won’t have a paternal family to lay a claim – they’ll be surnamed Nie. Another Nie, like you and me. You’ll be their uncle; you have to forgive them, it wasn’t their fault...you have to spoil them rotten.”

His brother’s thumb wiped away some of Nie Huaisang’s tears.

“You’ll be a good uncle, didi,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Nie Huaisang’s brow. “If the child is surnamed Nie, that’s all that matters.”

“People will know,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “About you, about…I’m not the only one who can do math. We won’t…it can’t be kept quiet, can it? People will know. About you, about - what happened.”

“Let people know,” his brother, brave as ever, said with an indifferent shrug. “What do I care? In the end, it’s just another way to show that even when they threw everything they had against me, I still won.”

-

“What a charming child you have,” the young man from the mountain – Xiao Xingchen, he said his name was, and he was already famous despite having only been around for a few months – said, smiling down at her. “She’s beautiful.”

Nie Mingjue was not currently feeling especially kindly disposed towards human reproduction at the moment, being currently heavy with his second – the world needed more Nies, he wanted more Nies, children to keep Nie Huaisang company if that qi deviation he was promised ever actually turned up, and he had a very good list of cultivators with various pros and cons willing to help him introduce some more diversity into the Nie bloodline to try to minimize the chance of future qi deviations for his descendants, but at the same time he hated waddling around like a stuffed hippo with a bunch of people insisting that he not even think of physical exertion – but he nodded his thanks regardless.

At least for once someone wasn’t going to comment about the child’s parentage, he reflected wryly. There was only so much purposeful playing dumb a man could do, and the first year or so of his little baobei’s life – by the time they’d finally gotten around to trying to name her, the nickname had stick so firmly that they’d succumbed to reality and made her given name A-Bao, though of course, it being Qinghe, no one actually called her that – had really strained his tolerance in that specific regard. 

It was the quickest way to avoid awkwardness, to pass along the information while avoiding conversations he didn’t want to have, but still…

Nobody brought up on a celestial mountain would know about Wen Ruohan, though. He was pretty sure of that.

“And I see you’re expecting another? Sometime soon..?”

“I am,” Nie Mingjue said. “Soon enough.”

Not soon enough. He wanted to go back to training – why did he keep getting high blood pressure no matter how much medicine he took?

“I see,” Xiao Xingchen said. “You’ll have to let me give you a gift of some sort. Do you have a favorite form of cloth?”

Nie MIngjue blinked at him. “Cloth?”

That was a strange gift. Did Xiao Xingchen think that his sect was so poor that he couldn’t cloth a child?

Xiao Xingchen – who was really quite young – blushed red, the color going all the way to his ears.

“I’m sorry for my presumption,” he said, then hesitated, before saying, very delicately, “Have you finished preparing the nest for the egg, then?”

[prose-for-hire]

Claimed

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Angel x vamp!reader

Request: as promised I'd like to request a part 3 to So wrong it’s right/Natural attraction

[Desc: Third part. An old friend of Angel’s comes to town and makes him wonder where your affection truly lies]

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Swearing. Implied sex/sex reference. Biting. Blood. A little violence.

You let me handle the plot so, as always, things got carried away. The timeframe moving from the previous part is either a while later or diverges a little from the show depending on where your imagination wants to take you. 🖤💖

You were slumped on the sofa in front of yet another re-run. So, incredibly bored. As if the lack of his presence had made life unbearably boring. When he was around he made you feel alive. Made you excited - as if you wanted to be someone he could hold affection for.

But all of this embarrassing hope had been dashed. You hadn’t seen him in so long, you only had the delicious memories of your last stolen moments with him.

But without him, the colour had been sucked out of the world again. It was so bleak that you were stuck inside moping over him hopelessly. God, when had you gotten this way?

It had been too long. You missed him so badly you ached. Yearned in this guilty way to be even just in his presence. This wasn’t just lust anymore. The excitement of sex or trading blows with him. Somewhere inside you knew that it was all of him that you wanted. Craved.

Mind, body and even that stupid soul of his.

He had crawled into your dead heart. Made a home there. Leaving you suddenly full of life. Wanting to be more. It still irritated you, at how much influence he now held over you. But you couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to anymore.

But he had been away recently. Dropped you as soon as he heard some Slayer was in trouble. He had been away in some ugly little town called Sunnydale. She needed his help. You soon learned from Angel’s team this Slayer was his ex. 

You dropped in on them every so often now to check in when you were bored and thought you might as well help them save the world or whatever. You were fun to be around, you didn’t hold back and they couldn’t help but like your company. So you stuck around them, enjoying the feeling of having something close to a group of friends. 

It was new to you, but you secretly enjoyed it. You spent a lot of time sharing your knowledge and trying to make their lives easier. Something you wouldn’t have even considered doing. Not before him.

But he had left you sorely lacking ever since he skipped town without so much as a word. You had really hoped that he might tell you himself, not get Wes to pass on some vague message about his ‘weekend plans’. 

The television buzzed soullessly as you stared through it. The only vision you wanted to see being him. And you were just sat there. Not even having the heart (or the attention span) to open a book. All you could think of was him. You were so bored. You were even considering masturbating for the millionth time to distract you from the way you needed him.

You started to move as if to do just that, when there was a massive thud at the door. Someone was knocking pretty urgently.

Shit. Debt collectors. You owed a lot of people a lot of kittens. You muted the tv and stumbled over your feet in the opposite direction from the door. You decided for everyone’s sake it would be better if you disappeared. Pretended not to be in.

You were almost panicking a little, not really sure if you had the mental or physical strength at the moment to take on a fight. So you did something too embarrassing to even describe properly. You rolled under your bed. Hid.

After some more urgent knocking, whoever it was got bored of waiting and just kicked the door in. As you had been expecting. You were hoping whoever it was looking for you was either too stupid to check under the bed for you or thought better of you than to even consider looking there.

The door was broken clean off its hinges. And you stayed still. Hearing two pairs of footprints stomping through your home. You were considering sliding out the window and onto the ledge while they looked around your living room. But then you heard something.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded urgent. Your chest swelled at the sound of his voice. Angel.

You rolled your eyes though. At what you were doing. God this was embarrassing. It was either stay hidden and risk not getting to see him or admit you had just hidden under a bed like some soon-to-be-dead loser in a shitty horror flick.

You decided you would just have to bear it. You rolled from under the best giving him the best scowl you could muster (you couldn’t help smiling a little at seeing him again).

He had the decency not to say anything about you rolling out from under the bed, although he had to hold back a small smile about it. He would tease you later, he was sure. Hopefully if there was a later he thought to himself.

“Funny how a weekend trip can last the full fourteen days now, isn’t it?” You hinted. You had missed him. You wanted him. He had left you longing.

“Look, it’s a Hellmouth stuff happened-”

“Too bloody right-” Someone else spoke up but you cut the stranger off. You hadn’t noticed him at first, your eyes only on Angel.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Look, he’s-”

“And why the fuck is he just stalking through my house like he owns it?” You snapped, snatching a rare book of yours back from his hands.

The pair shared a look at your outburst as if you were the unreasonable one. You smelled it then. They both had souls. You eyed them both, not sure how you had found yourself the only sane, normal vampire in a thirty-mile radius.

“Name’s Spike” he offered and you squinted, recognising the name.

“Oh. Old flame right? Did you go through every ex’s town on your way back from Sunnydale or just the ones you thought were attractive enough to make me jealous?”

“Spike is not an old-”

“One time! It was one-!”

“Well, that hit a nerve” You muttered, rolling your eyes. Great. You had more competition for Angel’s affection. And God, did you want all of his affection laid on you. You wanted him so badly that it almost made you throb with need just from this brief interaction.

You were just staring now as he spoke. The way his eyes glistened in the dim light. His features chiselled as if made just for you. He made you feel things you weren’t sure you could even name. Some long-forgotten emotion that made your chest swell and your stomach feel like there were baby bats in there.

“I thought you said they were a help. Fat lot of good this one is considering their fourth wank of the day in front of bloody Time Team” You snapped out of your Angel-induced daze to scowl once again at the blonde man and his, unfortunately, accurate depiction of the way you were currently living.

They turned conversation quickly to try to convince you that you were needed. There was yet another plot to take over LA. Someone had informed them on the Hellmouth. To reverse it, they needed three vampires, ones that have enough good in them. No human could stand the pain of it. Angel insisted the third one is you. 

He had faith in you. In some way, it made you fill with pride. But, again, this wasn’t your life. You had never wanted to save the world. He mentioned that there was a ritual you could do to check, to at least prove him right and to begin the reversal of this apocalypse was needed.

“And tell me again why I would want to go through all that pain rather than, say, relocate?” You muttered, already knowing you would agree. For him.

“Y’know... because you’re good now, right?” Even as he said it, Angel knew these were the wrong words to use. You scoffed at him. You had never claimed this. You just liked the company of the team. Enjoyed a good fight. Enjoyed… the proximity with him.

“I’m okay, thanks. Don’t care. Sorry. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out”

“Listen here, pet-” The other vampire appealed to you. Which was also the wrong move.

“Why is this Billy Idol impersonator talking to me? Is it a joke I’m too cool to understand?”

“Oi- look here-”

You didn’t speak this time, you just went to punch the man in the face. But Angel caught you before either of you reacted. Wrapped a strong hand around your wrist. Kept it there.

His grip tightening in a way that made you smirk. You had missed this. God, you had really missed this. He lowered your hand, his still firmly grasping your wrist. And you just stared at him as he did. Hoping he would lean in and catch your lips again. Tear the fabric of the walls apart just with a look.

“Enough” He warned. Touch lingering as his eyes did on your form.

You would let him wreck the house if you thought it meant you could have him pressed against you again even for a second. He was dangerous to you and you loved it. He, on the other hand was still more cautious of the way you navigated your relationship. Of how he showed just what you meant to him.

He thought about you all the time. More so, while he was away. He was addicted to you. The way you moved, spoke. Held yourself. Had such entrenched opinions and he might even deign to say morals (loosely, of course).

He thought more of you than he had ever done before. Dreamt about you. Thought about what you could be doing, wanting to know what you were thinking. What made you tick. He held on to every intimate detail he could discover.

Remembered it in such crystal clarity. Because it was you.

He decided to get you on side, he would appeal to the more logical side of you. Which, surprisingly, worked. He managed to convince you to put your un-life on the line. Because it would help your new sort-of friends. To save Fred and the others, you could try it.

You finally relented. You almost didn’t so soon, hoping that he might descend to fighting you over it. Some contact with your skin. It was needed after so long. You nodded though and they nodded and you started for the door. Stepping over it as you left.

“What a bloody delight” Spike murmured so that you could hear it.

“Can it, Blondie” You hissed as you strode behind them, your usual confidence evident to all around.

Angel side-glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips at seeing you again. Even if all of your barbs were being thrown Spike’s way. It was so good to see you.

Angel had never been so sure that he wanted you around. Permanently. He just wasn’t entirely sure how to admit this. To himself or you. You always left him wanting more. That demon part of you matched his. The demons had claimed the other long before either of you had embraced how you felt. 

Neither of you had dared ask the other how they felt. What they wanted from this relationship. It may shatter the illusion you both had. That there could be a future there. That at least some of your eternity could be theirs.

You were staring blankly at a carved tablet, one that Wesley had found in connection with this stupid apocalypse you had been roped into stopping. You weren’t really reading, just skimming it. You’d catch up later, you always did. Right now, you were thinking about Angel. He was all you were ever thinking about at the moment.

“What’s that? Picture book?” A British accent asked. Spike.

“No” you said shortly. God, he was dumber than a bag of rocks. What had Angel ever seen in him? He rubbed you up the wrong way. And not in an exciting way either.

Wesley explained what it was as you had a rant in your head, just staring at the tablet.

“All that eternity and you can’t even read. What exactly do you do?” You couldn’t help it. It slipped out. He was a fly you wanted to swat away. Squish into nothingness. 

You glowered at him, but knew there was some big stupid prophecy so Spike had to stick around. You did what the powers wanted just enough to save your own skin. And, well, if you staked him God forbid, they tried to make you a champion in his place.

Angel frowned at your words. He wanted you to be talking to him. Ragging on him at how he couldn’t read them either. Wanted the charged tension that always stretched between you back. But since he had returned you had appeared more distant. Less smug about the way you rendered him simultaneously infuriated and obsessed with you.

You were laughing with the team when Spike stalked in after calling up his precious Slayer and talking loud enough to wake the dead. Or, at least wake Angel who had been trying to sleep. Instead he had joined you and the rest of the team. Your face had lit up when Angel entered the room but he hadn’t noticed. Or, you thought he hadn’t anyway.

The laughter died when he entered and he scowled. Spike had enough of you. How nobody appeared to accept him but even with your ‘evil’ nature and lack of soul these people embraced you with open arms.

“Why’s every bugger hangin’ on their every word? Hello, I’m the one with the bloody soul here”

“Because nobody likes you Spike” Angel shrugged from the doorway.

“Yeah, because having a soul makes you suddenly likeable and some all-encompassing good right? You’re kidding yourself - choices are what make us not writhing around in the sand with some dumb demon for a couple months”

Everyone had braced themselves, expecting your usual rant about not having a soul not meaning anything. That you could make good decisions. You could do what you wanted and still not be evil. But you had decided to just make a cheap shot.

“Piss off. Like you could stand it anyway”

Angel had been watching with a frown. Didn’t like the way you gave Spike such attention. He thought it was the way you used to give him attention before you began to deepen your relationship. 

He wanted you to be focusing on him. Only him. He missed you. In his bed. The way you looked contorted in pleasure. His.

When he thought about it, truly thought about it, he missed talking to you. The way you could make him laugh. Speak to him the way nobody else could. You embraced every side of him. Even the parts that he struggled to embrace himself.

He found himself almost needing that interaction. Needing you. Desperately. Not just your body but your mind too. All of you in fact. He ached for it, quivered with need. He didn’t care you lacked your soul anymore, he just needed you. Thirsted for every side of you.

You kept glancing at each other. You weren’t his partner but he really wanted you to be. He was finally able to admit it to himself. He just didn’t know how to ask. How to tell you what he wanted. He wanted it just you and him. Not to have to smell any of the particularly nasty lingering scents of lovers you had taken since he had been away.

Angel kept making snide comments about Buffy and Spike at any opportunity. This always made you scowl because he seemed so bothered by them. Spike smirked smugly. Which made you scowl even further. It was mostly to distract himself from his feelings from you. But you didn’t know this. You wanted his mind to be on you again. He hadn’t even pulled you aside during any slow moments like he usually would.

On a particularly boring day, while they were taking a break from the research that was making everyone have a headache (except you and Wesley), talk turned to Spike’s new soul. And why he had fought for one. For this Slayer.

“I think it’s romantic!” Fred cooed as you caught on to what had happened.

“For love? You got a soul for love?! That’s so cute, did it come with a complimentary heart shaped box? A dozen roses?” You cackled and Spike looked like he was about to thump you. Pretty ruthlessly too. But Angel pulled you away before he could. Apparently he was the only one allowed to berate Spike.

He took you by the shoulder and pressed you against the wall in the corridor once you were alone. You smirked, face lighting up expecting his lips on yours. Just like the last time you had been close in this way. But he just half-heartedly chastised you instead.

“Cool it off” he warned. You were disappointed with his tone, you missed the way he would excite you. Mix with anger and passion the way you had missed so badly.

“Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable? It’s foreplay for us. You know it, I know it” You plucked the nerve just to see what would happen. Making his blood boil. You saw it then. That hint of jealousy. This flicker of the demon side of him, he wanted to claim you as his.

“Whatever. Do anything you want after the case, just not here” He consciously tried to even his voice this time, hide the growl. But his chest rumbled dangerously at even the thought of you and Spike. He was clinging to his human form as the demon protested.

This is what made you tug on the nerve, near severing it. You leaned into him, so that your lips brushed his ear. Your tone seductive, one he would usually enjoy.

“Don’t be jealous, baby, I’m very good at sharing myself out. Especially while you were away-”

You were cut off by his hands tightly gripping your shoulders. Even as a vampire, you were sure you would bruise. Your stomach flipped at the fire behind his eyes. The need for you to not stray from him. He slammed you back against the door you had just left out of, near shattering the glass behind you. God, you had missed this. So badly.

You couldn’t help smirking. You were ready to take him right here. Fucking or fighting. Either one would do it for you. So long as you received his full attention. Just you and him.

He had come back so disaffected. His face mostly neutral. You thought he had barely looked at you, let alone touched you. Even in this way. You would take what you could get and savour every second of it.

You didn’t realise just how hard it was for him to be back in Sunnydale or all of the baggage he had left there (some of it that he had had to bring back as well). Dredging up his past had confirmed something to him. That he wanted you with him. Wanted you to be his. He wanted something more than what you were already doing. It scared him. Made him nervous, which is why he had kept a distance from you.

Even though it guilted him that this was selfish and something that would make him happy. Even though you were rough around the edges and morally dubious. Even though you had never expressed softer feelings of your own.

You meant something. Everything. And he couldn’t deny it now. Couldn’t begin to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

That was why he didn’t like you interacting with Spike. Because he felt this so strongly. That you belonged with him. Not with anybody else. But you had never labelled your relationship and he didn’t know how to even begin to tell you.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, let me go” You warned. Hoping he would do the opposite. He gripped tighter for a moment and you got excited but then he just let you go.

Disappointment washed over you and you frowned. You had so wanted to taste him on your tongue again. To have his body, hot with desire, pounding against yours.

As time went on, Angel began to get more and more jealous watching you and Spike interact. You began to notice it more. The way his furrow deepened whenever you glared holes in the man. Mistaking the interaction for something that excited you.

But he didn’t say anything. Barely looked at you. Which left you so sore. So needy for him.

So, you took it into your own hands. Of course, you didn’t actually speak to him about it. Oh, no. Instead, you dialled it up. Speaking to Spike much more. Making Angel so jealous he would shake. Aiming to make him want you more.

The ritual couldn’t be conducted for a few months yet, just before the steps to the scheduled apocalypse had begun. So there was a lot of waiting around and planning. However, your mind was less on that and more on how to get Angel to touch you again.

You had an idea. You gestured with your head to get the blonde vampire to come over and speak to you. The vampire was hung up on the slayer and you were hung up on Angel so neither of you had any particular interest in the other.

“Look I don’t like you, you don’t like me. But you wanna annoy Angel right?” You offered, giving him a knowing look. You weren’t stupid, Spike had an obvious and complicated past with your- the man.

“I’m listening” He squinted. And you didn’t waste any time, you whispered in his ear your suggestion.

Along with your obvious intelligence, you could be very persuasive. Near manipulative (it was how you had survived this long and gotten yourself out of many, many debts).

So, the next day you swung your plan straight into action. It wasn’t a particularly clever plan. But it was enough for you and Spike to know it could end badly wrong. Like, dust on the floor wrong should Angel be in a particularly bad mood.

You and Spike turned up to the building with his arm slung around your shoulder. You had asked to wear his jacket but he told you to sod off. So, you compromised and had him sling his arm over your shoulder told him to whisper something. Anything. Encouraging him to be as crude as possible. Implying that you had spent the previous night together.

You were speaking to the room but your eyes were on Angel the entire time. Watching the way his thoughts began to spin out of control behind his eyes. He was shaking with anger. Filling with pure jealousy. The way Spike was allowed so close to you. How he pressed against you the way he should be pressed against you. Natural touch that should be his.

He couldn’t just stand there. Watching. He just walked up to you, snatching your hand in his and dragged you from the room. If he didn’t he would have exploded then and there.

“Problem?” You asked, that infuriating tone you always used. He just directed you by the back of your head to move your ear next to his mouth.

“You’re mine” he growled and you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped in excitement. Made you weak for him. Your eyes lit up. But you wouldn’t let him see you submit that easily.

“Prove it” You challenged. And he did just that. He pulled you into him, crashing his lips to yours. The rough embrace made your heart soar with happiness. He wanted you. He really wanted you.

As you made your way to the bed you stopped in your passion every now and again on the way. Slamming you into the walls, more furniture lost to your desire. You pushed him back onto the bed smirking down at him. He reached for you and pulled you down against him.

Lips crashing. Hands grasping. Skin slapping.

He claimed you as his. The feeling, it was shared. His eyes telling you that he was yours. He clutched you, while you grinded against his body. He made you feel alive. It was primal. This animal attraction never ceased. But this connection was deeper than anything either of you could name.

Your demon forms shifted, facing each other again. As they always did when you were together. They had missed their equal so desperately. You moved with him. As if you were one. He bit down hard, fangs embedded in your neck. You moaned in his ear and it made him bite harder still. 

Your blood tasted so good in his mouth. He hadn’t done this in so long. Hadn’t trusted anyone this way. This bond, it ran deep.

You directed his head further into you as he did this, grasping at the hair on the nape of his neck. It was pure pleasure.  Blood oozed down your chest as his mouth moved from the bite on the side of your neck. He pressed some open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, following the trail of your blood. He licked slowly up it, catching every drop. His eyes bored into yours. Telling you what you already knew. You were made for him.

He pressed further into you, with a urgency that matched yours. He was finally embracing his demon. The way you had hoped he would for so long. You wanted all of him. To do this, you would have to give all of yourself. So, you did.

You stayed in bed together a lot longer than you usually might. You were just lying in bed together. You were on a slant, the bed had been lost to your passion. Frame splintering and collapsing. He would have to replace it. You were leaning on your side facing him. God, you had missed this. He had left you aching, empty without him.

He hadn’t so much as implied wanting to touch you like this since he had returned from Sunnydale. Just spent his time squabbling with Spike. So, this had been a needed release. Building up over so long.

“I missed this” You admitted, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked and you just nodded your reply. He found himself reaching for you, stroking your bare skin. You met his eyes, this tender touch he had never afforded to you before. It was alien but you wanted more of it.

“It was hard. Bein’ back there” He said slowly, referring to Sunnydale, “Seeing them both. Together as well, it hurt. Didn’t know what to do about it”

“Still hung up on them then?” You sighed, looking at a pull in the cotton. Twisting it in your fingers for something to do. Anything to distract from the way you had begun to hurt at the thought of him not feeling the same way as you did.

He shook his head but you didn’t see it. His hand stroking down your arm and resting on your hand. It was the most tender he had ever been. Action a lot subtle that you had ever shared. You found yourself wanting more of it.

“No. ‘Cause when I saw you again I, uh knew… knew that I’d rather be with you than anywhere else” He said slowly. He said it awkwardly, the words strung together as if they didn’t quite fit next to each other. But he meant it. He wasn’t sure if he had ever meant anything as much before in his entire life.

You didn’t know what to say to this so you just nodded. It was the best he could have hoped for. When you weren’t teasing, it was hard to reveal how you felt. You laughed though, mentioning you didn’t even like Spike anyway. You had just wanted him to pay you more attention again.

You then muttered something about not knowing what Angel had ever seen in him. Angel gave you a look but you didn’t get it (he felt that it was because you and Spike were too similar, that’s why you didn’t get on). Thankfully, he liked you a lot better than he liked Spike though.

You smiled at each other, both of you feeling even slightly more secure. You hadn’t been able to admit that you wanted to be exclusive, but you had both now implied it. Which was the best either of you could wish. You found yourself almost wanting to be his, the way he had hissed it in your ear. You couldn’t recall feeling that way before.

There it was again. That feeling that frightened you. Hope. It had crawled into your heart and only spread the longer you spent with him. An ugly thought popped into your head. One that embarrassed you immensely.

As you watched his face turn into that small smile beside you in bed. Understanding stretching between you. A glimmering hope that still frightened you more than anything else ever had. His jealousy still a delicious taste in your mouth. The wreckage of the room surrounded you but the atmosphere was almost... soft.

It was a thought he had already had himself and started to accept. You shuddered as you thought it though. Finding that maybe you truly had found your anti-soulmate. In Angel of all people.

[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 16: Questions

A Loki fanfiction!

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Hungry. Blood. Flesh.

Hungry. Blood. Flesh.

The mantra circles in your mind as you prowl the forest, searching for your next meal. It has been days since you found something good. The creatures of the forest were now keen to your presence, so they found better spots to hide.

You stalk the forest floor, smelling the scent of flesh in the air. Nothing but carcass and dead meat until you catch the scent of a sweeter meat. You run in the direction and give way to the chase. The creature runs from you and you snarl, laughing. There are few things in this forest that can outrun you.

You pounce and look into the eyes of a doe. It lets out a gargled yelp as you snap your jaws around its throat.

Hungry. Blood. Flesh.

You awoke with a start and felt bile in the back of your throat. You tasted blood in your mouth and nearly vomited from the thought of eating flesh. Inspecting with your finger, you realized you had bitten your cheek in your sleep. You took a minute to settle back into reality while the nightmare faded away, though the stench of blood was hot in your mouth.

The bed was empty save for you, and you looked around. Your school clothes were neatly folded and ready for you at the end of the bed.

“Hello?” you said once you got clothed and felt a little more like yourself again. Fatigue still coated every one of your steps, but you stood by his desk and glanced around the room. He popped out from the closet and gave you a tight smile. He was holding a briefcase.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “I left breakfast on the nightstand there,” he said, gesturing to a plate of toast, eggs, and bacon.

“Where are you going?” you said, sliding over beside the nightstand and taking a bite of bacon.

His jaw tightened. “I must tend to some business, I shall return in a week.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What business?”

“I did not realize that I was to run every meeting in my schedule through you, Miss Eves,” he said. He looked irritated, though it seemed like a faraway sort of feeling.

Your heart hitched at his words. “I just want to know why you’re leaving when Hogwarts was attacked again, it will look suspicious.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Ah, so you think I was behind this, too. You didn’t care to mention that last night,” he said, looking away.

Anger flared up within you. Anger and embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I’m just saying that it will not help your case if you cut and run after another attack.”

He glared at you. “I do not ‘cut and run’, Miss Eves. Nor do I care what the rest of the school thinks. You may do what you wish, as will I.”

You dropped the half eaten bacon on the plate and got up. “Why can’t you just talk about things like a normal person? Did it ever occur to you that sometimes you have to earn trust than just expect it blindly?”

He was wearing the icy shield that he usually surrounded himself in. It was impenetrable, and you knew you would not get anywhere with him now.

“If you do not trust me, Miss Eves, then you are free to leave. And be sure to stay out of my way,” he said coldly.

You felt the sting of tears in your eyes but refused to show him your weakness. Anger boiled your blood, along with a maddening frustration. You stormed to the door and just before slamming it shut, said, “this is why you’re always alone.”

***

After about an hour of being a tearful mess in your room, you decided it was enough. He said things that hurt you and so you retaliated and were ashamed of what a low blow you had given him. You had not bothered to see him afterwards, in order to apologize, and by now you assumed he was off conducting his ‘business’. You sighed and went to wash your face.

This was no time to be crying or taking things personally. You knew he acted angry whenever he was hiding something or wanted to throw you off. He was a man that smiled and joked around but kept everyone more than an arm’s length away. He was not going to shake you that easily, if that’s what he thought would happen. You promised yourself that you would not let him die, and you would sooner die yourself than go back on your word.

You thought about the first vision you had of him. It seemed like a dream of a dream now. It had been weeks since you had any sort of vision. Ever since your encounter with Fenris, you were haunted. Infected. Looking in the mirror, you reached up a hand and caressed the skin on your face, observing the sallow quality it had taken on, getting used to the black half moons under your eyes.

You tied up your hair in a ponytail that was all business and went to the Great Hall for lunch. Valkyrie was there, and she jumped up and embraced you as soon as your eyes met.

“Freya!” she said, giving you a bear hug. You had never heard such intense concern in her voice before. “I knew you’d make it, but for a moment I thought...”

You pulled away and looked at her face; it was creased with anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and pulled you into a corner, away from eager ears. “It’s Thor - Professor Odinson. He’s still in the infirmary. That...thing that attacked you was a serperus. And there were more of them in the gardens. Odinson went to fight them off and was lashed by three of them before he went down.” Valkyrie ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “I should have been there with him...but those bloody leech things that popped out of the balloons.... We lost each other in the ball from all the chaos.” She sighed. “Volstagg says he’s a fighter, that he’ll make it. But there was so much venom Freya...his legs turned purple.”

You concealed a cringe that went through your body. Recalling the pain of one serperus was awful enough, but three? You would have surely died. “Professor Odinson is one of the strongest wizards I know. He’s going to recover.” You squeezed her hands.

She nodded, the sparkle of determination returning to her eyes. “Who’s doing this? First Rattowl, then the Quidditch game gets fucked up, then you find Pom’s brother mutilated in the forest, then that bloody message about some heir, and now they set off these disgusting creatures at the ball? What the fuck is going on?” Her jaw clenched in rage. “The teachers are all buffoons; a fat lot of help they’ve been!”

“That’s why we need to find who’s doing this,” you said. “ And I think I know where to start.”

With that, the both of you headed to Professor Bjorn’s hut just outside the castle. Hogwarts was now under strong guard and you had to sneak back and grab the invisibility cloak before going outside. Professor Laufeyson was the only one who could tell where you were when you were cloaked since he had the marauder’s map, though you doubted he would keep watch of anything during his trip; a fact which both relieved and irritated you.

“Why are we going to Bjorn’s? You think he’s behind this?” Valkyrie said, confused.

You scoffed. “No! But he’s the expert on magical creatures. How could someone transport that many blood slugs and serperus’ into the castle undetected?”

As you walked, Valkyrie caught you up on everything you had missed in the last couple days since the ball disaster. During the ball, at midnight, the students and teachers knew there would be some sort of prank as per annual custom, but when the first of the balloons burst, and a young second-year student screamed his lungs out and thumped to the floor, chaos ensued. Apparently, Mo had to pry a slug off of Nila’s neck and she was bleeding profusely. Pom and her date were helping others as well until a slug took her date down by the ankle and he had two feasting on him before Valkyrie came over and helped Pom pry them off.

“Goddamn, leeches bite hard. Tearing them off was a nightmare,” Valkyrie said.

You shuddered and almost preferred the fatal venom to having slimy leeches attached to you.

The infirmary was overloaded once again, and much worse this time. Students and teachers were called to volunteer and assist the infirmary staff since there were so many injured. The Ministry Blood Bank had to bring in a special order for all the students and staff suffering from major blood loss.

“The Ministry is pissed off,” she said. You thought about Odin and the image of him in Professor Laufeyson’s memories. He always looked angry, though you would imagine that his entire administration was now going to be up in arms.

The hut was cloaked in fog, with only the thin lamplight from the windows guiding you towards it. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was dangerously close to his home, and you wondered how he was comfortable with it. You and Valkyrie walked down the hill and approached the house, concealed underneath the cloak. There was a crash and bang from inside that made you both jump.

You took off the cloak and rapped on the door. The wood was cold and cracked; it stung your knuckles.

“No guests till tomorrow!” shouted Bjorn’s raspy voice. You heard another sound from inside, a mewling sort of sound that was almost like a mixture of a bird and a cat.

“Come on, Professor Bjorn, what’s goin’ on in there?” Valkyrie said, pounding her first on the door so hard that it shook.

The door swung open and slammed against the inside wall. Professor Bjorn stood there, towering over the both of you. He smelled funny, like a fish market in the summer, and his beard was singed at the tips, as if he leaned too close to a fire. “No students on the grounds! Get back to the school before I dock ya,” he said with a growl, and slammed the door. Valkyrie put her foot out just in time and shoved the door open, entering the hut.

You were always impressed with her fearlessness and lack of hesitation. You had expected Professor Bjorn to fight back, but in fact, he backed up into a corner and tried to conceal something behind him. Something that was moving.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he said, his tone dropping.

Valkyrie pulled out her wand and pointed it at him, “you bastard!”

“Wait, Valkyrie!” you said as you moved closer to see what he was hiding. Five tiny heads tilted towards you with forked tongues slipping out of scaly mouths. It was a serperus, though it was about half the size of the one you had remembered seeing before you passed out. You pulled out your want and pointed it at Professor Bjorn. How could he?

“You did this?” you said, disbelief in your words.

Professor Bjorn was terribly sweaty and distressed. He frowned as if he might cry and shook his head. “No! Please understand, they were killin’ all of them. I found this one hiding in the corner, so confused and lost. Serperus’ don’t attack people, ‘tis not in their nature!”

Valkyrie took a step forward and clenched her jaw. “What - so we’re supposed to believe you were just rescuing the monster that almost killed us? Freya nearly died! Professor Odinson is lying unconscious ‘cause of this thing! How can you sit here, protecting it?”

“It’s just an animal! It’s scared and I don’t know what dark enchantments were used to control these things, but they’re not harmful,” he paused when both you and Valkyrie scoffed at him, implying they were not dangerous. “I’m not saying they can’t be harmful, but they eat rabbits, mice and fish! Everythin’ else is a defense mechanism. These beasts are like cats.”

You and Valkyrie looked at each other. “Cats?” you said incredulously.

The small serperus slithered out of the corner, its scales glimmered with a bluish sheen from the lamplight. The barbs on its tail were red coloured, but they were not fanned out like the one in your memory, but tucked in like a feline’s claws. One head moved towards you while the others looked at Valkyrie. The creature slithered over to you, and when you took a step back, its tail twitched and Valkyrie was about to shoot a spell at it. You raised your hand and silently stopped her. The creature slithered across the floorboards and moved through your legs, like some sort of monstrous cat.

“It likes you,” Bjorn said with a smile.

You sighed, your palpitations decreasing now that you knew you would not be stung. Glancing at Valkyrie with a pleading look, she reluctantly lowered her wand. Since the entire room released tension, Professor Bjorn pulled out two chairs and put on a kettle of tea.

Once you were all situated around the table with a cup of tea, you spoke. “Professor, how could someone control these creatures? And the blood slugs, how was someone able to get them into the school?”

Valkyrie wrinkled her nose at the smell of raw fish that sat in the bucket beside Professor Bjorn. He reached inside with an ungloved hand and pulled out fish guts, feeding it to the serperus, who happily slopped up its food with each of its five mouths. He then stroked his beard with the fish stained hand. “That’s the question, ain’t it? The only curse that can control a beast to that extent is one of the forbidden curses.”

“The imperius curse,” Valkyrie said.

Bjorn nodded. “That’s the one. As for the blood slugs,” he said, scratching at his head. “I have no clue how those would have been brought into Hogwarts without us knowin’. We got charms here, you know, all sorts of protection spells.”

“How does someone even get blood slugs? I can’t imagine this person spent a week hunting and collecting hundreds of them in the forest,” you said.

Bjorn shook his head. “Nah, Freya, blood slugs live in the swamp, not the forest. But you got a point. There are...certain folks who are in the market of selling strange and exotic creatures.”

You straightened in your chair. “Can you find out who it was?”

The serperus mewled, and Bjorn took another handful of fish huts and held out his hand for it to eat. “I-I don’t know anybody like that. I’m completely above board, kids,” he said, looking down at the fish bucket.

Valkyrie raised a brow. “Oh please, save us the lies. You know someone in the market, and you’re going to find out who was exporting blood slugs and to whom.” She glanced at the serperus. “Or else we’ll have to tell the teachers about your...pet.”

You raised your brows at Valkyrie, impressed. Exploitation was not something you enjoyed, but this was important.

Bjorn balked. “Don’t tell them, please! They’re goin’ to kill ‘im!”

You folded your hands on the table. “Then help us, please, sir. People are getting hurt,” you said earnestly. He looked at you and sighed.

“Alright, I’ll call my old buddies and see wha’ I can get.”

Once you returned to the castle, you snuck Valkyrie into your room and stuffed the cloak under your bed. She jumped onto the bed of your estranged roommate and stared at the ceiling. “I smell like fish guts,” she said.

Perhaps it was the fatigue or the despair. Regardless, you both immediately burst out laughing to the point of tears. You slid down the bed and onto the floor, holding onto your stomach and trying to contain yourself. It was partial hysteria, but once you settled down you appreciated the moment of levity.

“I’m going to use your shower,” she said, staggering up and wiping tears off her face.

“Want to stay the night? I’ll grab some food from the kitchen,” you said.

Valkyrie smiled at you and nodded. It had been a while since you two had time to catch up. You also didn’t want to be alone. There was too much happening and in all truth, it frightened you. So you headed out of the common room and ventured out to find some grub.

The halls were strangely vacant as you headed towards the kitchen. You saw Skurge mopping up the stairs from across the hall and recalled that time in the library when you first saw Professor Laufeyson. He was having sex with Professor Sif, trying to get information out of her. You thought that you would be jealous, but in fact the memory reignited your desire for him. What if it had been you in Sif’s place? You shivered at the thought of his length inside you. Your imagination transformed your memory and now it was you splayed on the table, with him pounding into you. You bit your lip and shook your head. A sigh escaped your lips as you crossed your arms and tried not to think about him.

“Freya!” a small voice called from behind. It was Pom. She stuck her head out from a set of doors.

You had not realized that you passed the library and walked in to see Pom. “How are you?” you said.

She widened her eyes and blinked several times. “I don’t know, Freya. I was one of the lucky ones. But I need to show you something!” She pulled you by the hand to the area she was working in. Piles of books sat atop the tables labeled as “The Era of the Dark One”.

Pom pulled out one labelled Volume IX and opened it. “Okay, so remember when we were freaking out about that message on the wall? Everybody wondered who was the heir and of what? And before the ball, I started reading about the magical war and history about the Dark One. There is so much to read through, it was going to take me nearly a week! Then the ball happened…” she collected herself, then continued, “so I came back here since I had nothing better to do. And I found something.”

You leaned closer to her. “Found what?”

She smiled, proud of herself. “The Dark One,” she said, lowering her voice. “He had a child.”

Your stomach sank, wondering if she would unveil that Professor Laufeyson was the mastermind. “Everybody knows that Professor Laufeyson was the Dark One’s son, but it can’t be him…”

Pom shook her head. “No! He had another child…”

You felt a headache settling in, right between your eyes. “What do you mean? The one that died with him in battle?”

She nodded. “Yes! And no! There’s almost no information about his second child, as if it’s been wiped from all records. But...I think I may find something in one of these books!”

“How’s a dead wizard going to help us?”

Pom’s face fell a little. She scrunched her nose. “I know there’s something more here. I have a hunch. I’ll let you know when I find something!”

You nodded and left her to keep scouring through the old texts. The thought crossed your mind to write in the magical notebook you had found and ask Leah if she knew anything. Though you could no longer recall where you kept the book. Unless it had switched away from you, which would be unfortunate.

The headache split your head in two as you flinched from the pain. He would have something useful, a draught or pill that would make the pain go away. Your heart yearned for him, not just for the use of his potions skills. It was going to be a long week until he returned and you prayed that nothing else got destroyed along the way.

[tf2-hellhole]

You know, I’ve seen quite a lot of love for curvy people (which is amazing, never stop) but I haven’t seen much for the sticks in this world. How would the mercs react to having a tall gangly S/O with self-image issues?

Scout:

He assures you that your body is absolutely perfect. He probably says something along the lines of “I mean, look at me. I’m a stick too! Other than the sexy muscles, I guess.”

He’s not the best at providing encouragement or comfort since it’s hard for him to get himself out of the macho mindset, but he certainly tries his best.

Whenever you say something degrading about your body or express doubt in your looks, he just quiets you with a big smooch and tells you that you look amazing.

Solly:

Honestly thinks that you being tall is kinda hot, and he’s not afraid to say it.

When he learns of how you feel about your body, he is determined as hell to show you how gorgeous he knows you are. He’s highly that type that looks at you like you’re a goddess and rarely sees any flaws in you or your actions; and he certainly doesn’t see your build or height as a flaw.

Provides as much support and love as he can to show how much he cares, even though he has some strange methods of going about it.

Pyro:

They are so sweet about trying to make you feel better about your body. The first time you tell them, they throw their arms around you and tell you how perfect you are, and you know they’re serious because they’re looking up at you in awe like a lovestruck puppy.

They love showing their appreciation of your body by always pulling you into those tight hugs and smothering you in kisses. They also love affectionately running their hands over your arms, shoulders, and sides when you two cuddle. They never mean to do it in a nasty way, though; it’s just their way of showing their appreciation.

Demo:

When you tell him how you feel about your body, he smiles and calmly assures you that he thinks you’re gorgeous, then pulls you close for a big kiss to show you that he’s serious.

He thinks it’s better for him to not make a big deal out of it, but that doesn’t stop him from showing his support and adoration for you. He always tells you that you look great, especially if you’re in a new and/or fancy outfit and always accompanies his compliments with a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek, forehead, or lips. He also tends to give you lots of soft touches.

Heavy:

He honestly thinks you being in a relationship with him is kinda funny; here’s this huge, muscular, 6’3”, 400-something man with his skinnier partner who’s MUCH smaller than him.

When you tell him how you’re feeling, he holds you gently and assures you that you are perfect as is, and probably makes a point about how unrealistic body standards are because he’s struggled with them himself.

He shows most of his support verbally or through soft touches cause honestly he’s afraid of hurting you with a big bear hug.

Engie:

He feels so bad when you tell him about your self-image. He stands you in front of a mirror and tells you how absolutely gorgeous you are, cuddling you closely while he describes what he loves about you.

Makes a joke along the lines of “At least you’re not short and fat,” which probably leads to you having a conversation with him about his own self-image.

He loooves pampering you/giving you affection to prove what he thinks of your body. He mainly shows it through physical affection; he loves gently putting his hands on your hips, waist, or arms when cuddling.

Medic:

He insists that every body is different; some are long and thin, some are short and thick, and some are a bunch of other things, so you shouldn’t feel bad about yours. Besides, in his opinion, its a very perfect body. You can’t help but laugh as he talks to you; he has a way of saying the sweetest things but sounding like an asshole when he says it since he has such a hard time being sincere.

He honestly adores your body and he makes sure he shows it. The main way he does it is by bringing you all sorts of cute clothing, and is good at guessing what fits on you well.

Sniper:

Sniper is obviously the same way; he has a very tall, lanky body. He often makes jokes about it. But he has a funny way of thinking that his body type makes him look ugly and awkward, but he thinks you, with a similar body type, are perfect.

It ends up with both of you trying to help the other feel better about your bodies. It does make you both feel better to know that the other understands exactly how they feel.

When you two cuddle, you definitely wrap your limbs around each other,  and Sniper absolutely loves it.

Spy:

Spy isn’t particularly tall, but he knows he has skinny limbs and he is a little self-conscious about it, but he will literally never tell you that.

Like Medic, he’s the type to buy you all sorts of nice clothing, but what Spy buys you will be much more expensive. He always makes sure the clothes show off your body type and are often custom-tailored to fit you perfectly.

Don’t tell anyone, but like Soldier, he has a thing for taller people, so he doesn’t complain about your height at all, even if you’re actually taller than him.

[fallingoverharrypotter]

Torn a New One

This is based on the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).

The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one. 

Thanks for reading <3 <3

Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.

He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.

All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.

They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.

“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.

Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.

“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”

Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.

Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”

Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.

Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.

 ***

Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.

“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.

Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”

“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.

“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’

“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.

Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.

“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.

Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.

This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.

They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.

“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.

“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”

“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”

“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”

Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”

“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.

Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”

“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.  

Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.

“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.

“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”

Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”

“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.

“Uh-”

Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”

“It’s better for your-”

“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”

Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.

Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?

“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”

Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.

“Wait-” he starts.

Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”

“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.

“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.

Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”

Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.

“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.

This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.

He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.

Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.

“You hate my job.”

Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.

Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.

“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”

He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.

Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.

“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.

“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”

“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.

Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”

Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”

Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”

“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”

“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.

“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”

Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.

Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”

Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.

“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”  

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.

“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”

Harry swallows hard.

“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”

“That’s not-”

“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”

Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.

Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”

“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”

Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.

Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”

Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”

“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”

“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.

He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.

“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”

Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”

“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”

Draco concedes.

Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”

“A coward.”

“Draco.”

“…sorry.”

“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You should have said that then.”

Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Oh well, as long as you know.”

“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”

“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)

Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”

“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”

Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.

Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”

Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt.  Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.

“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”

Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.

Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.

“PhD.”

Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”

Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”

“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”

A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”

Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”

Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.

Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.

Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.

“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”

“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”

“Sure, Draco.”

Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”

Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.

Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.

His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.

[agentrouka-blog]

When people say Sansa being tied to power will be miserable for her , they mean she will live her life in a cottage far away from her home and not be a threat to other characters. The game Sansa is wary of is the Littlefinger style of "Game of Thrones" which is based on lies and treachery. Even Ned disliked playing the game and power was suddenly thrusted upon him when all his life he was groomed to follow. At the end, Ned does a decent job and by ADWD, it's his legacy that is shining . Most of these arguments about Sansa not ending up in a position of power , are coupled with the idea of "she will never go north and will meet their favourite pedo and live with him for eternity ".

I don’t even know. I don’t care what motivates them. It’s simply wrong.

The thing is, the lemon cake quote the anon used actually proves the opposite of what they wanted to say, when used in context. Sansa IS interested in this stuff.

Ned is holding court as Hand of the King and notices her up on the gallery watching - and is pissed!

From his vantage point atop the throne, he could see men slipping out the door at the far end of the hall. Hares going to ground, he supposed … or rats off to nibble the queen’s cheese. He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not have known that today’s court would be anything but the usual tedious business of hearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the placement of boundary stones. 

(AGOT, Eddard XI)

Followed by Sansa III, which is all about Sansa telling Jeyne what went on in the throne room in great detail and with much enthusiasm. Because - even if it is still colored by her idealised notions of chivalry - she cares about this sort of stuff.

“He wouldn’t send Ser Loras,” Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. “I think it was because of his leg.”

Lord Eddard had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alyn, Harwin, and Vayon Poole, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordane had complained of sore feet after standing in the gallery all day. Arya was supposed to join them, but she was late coming back from her dancing lesson.

“His leg?” Jeyne said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansa’s own age. “Did Ser Loras hurt his leg?”

“Not his leg,” Sansa said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. “Father’s leg, silly. It hurts him ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I’m certain he would have sent Ser Loras.”

Her father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father’s decisions.

(AGOT, Sansa III)

She went there on purpose to watch, not knowing it would get exciting, she stayed there ALL DAY and then she thought about his various decisions and spent the evening telling Jeyne about them.

Yeah, she hates the intricacies of ruling. Not.

Arya has different priorities. Both in how she spends her time (”dancing”), and in what kind of interaction she prefers:

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface."

(AGOT, Arya II)

Arya prefers a more equal connection, an immersion in the people of the household. She wants to know them all and she gets into their business, the setting she prefers is semi-private and personal, related to practical details and bonding, not the formal exercise of power involving thoughtful political decision-making on a much larger scale.

So when Jeyne keeps interrupting Sansa, it is irritating because Sansa cares and the only thing that can mitigate it is the cause of the interruption: friggin’ lemon cakes. Alayne Stone bankrupted the entire Vale of lemons for a lemon cake. That’s the scale of how much they mean to her.

Jeyne yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?” Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya. The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men.

She still makes sure to follow up the proceedings of the court day by watching Beric ride off before dawn even though she stayed up late.

Are her thoughts about what goes on still immature? Yes, she is a 12-year-old girl. But she IS interested, she had the patience to listen to this stuff for hours and recalled the details with enough enthusiasm and clarity to nerd off about it to Jeyne, who clearly could not have given less of a flying horse shoe. That boring crap even Jeyne can’t bear to listen to? Sansa lives for it.

The idea that Sansa would be, specifically, miserable in this setting is simply fiction. The idea that Arya wouldn’t be is also a stretch.

Can and should they learn from each other? Yessss. Sansa would definitely benefit from more contact with the smallfolk. Arya’s strength there is something Sansa needs to emulate.

Does that mean their personal inclination for what they enjoy would change? No. In a formal courtly rulership position, Sansa is likely to thrive.

[salvejoon]

Ferris Dink | jhs

⇒ Summary: Your boyfriend has a bucket list of places he wants to do the nasty and next up is a Ferris Wheel.

⇒ Pairing: Hoseok x female reader

⇒ Genre: Smut. It’s filth, actually, just pure filth.

⇒ Rating: 18+

⇒ Word count: 1.9k

⇒ Warnings: public sex, quickie on a Ferris Wheel, sir kink, dom/sub undertones, unprotected sex, creampie. 

⇒ A/N: Hello everyone! I missed you! I hope all of you are well! This is my contribution to @jamaisjoons​ summer collab The Summer Bucketlist: Bangtan Edition! Please make sure to read the other author’s works as well as every one of us has worked hard on these. Shout out to @sombreboy​ for coming up with a title.

Jung Hoseok was many things. He was an extraordinary dancer, for starters, and he was talented enough to have his own dancing studio and live off of it. He was a great teacher and his students loved him. He was very patient and kind. He was a very bright person that could easily cheer anyone up with a single laugh. He was funny. He was smart and insightful. He was a family man. 

Jung Hoseok also had many things. He had an amazing smile, one that was contagious. He had so pretty and expressive eyes that one could easily drown in them. He had the cutest dimples. He had the softest skin. He had a body that was sculpted by Gods. 

Jung Hoseok was also a man on a mission.

The second the doors behind him closed, you felt the change immediately. The air grew heavy between the two of you, the tension rose, his demeanor changed and you already knew you were in some sort of trouble. 

All you knew that it already had your body buzzing with excitement. Not that you would let him know that. You ignored how his eyes felt heavy on your person and moved to sit down as the ferris wheel began moving slowly. 

It had been such a great day. The weather had been perfect for a date to the yearly carnival in the middle of town. Not too cold nor too warm. You had put on one of your cute summer dresses and put your hair up in a cute bun. Hoseok looked gorgeous in his brown shorts, white t-shirt and matching sneakers. His hair was parted and the inky black tresses looked soft. He had that little twirl of hair that you loved so much, dangling in front of his eye. 

But you loved it even more when his sunglasses were pushed back and it pulled his hair away from his handsome face. 

The two of you had enjoyed a simple lunch, had some cotton candy, shot darts at balloons and Hoseok had gifted you a teddy bear. You had strolled through the carnival, hand in hand, still as in love as you had been in the beginning of your relationship, simply enjoying each other’s presence and company. 

Until he spotted the ferris wheel. Then he’d grown adamant on riding it and while you didn’t care much for heights, you agreed because it was such a simple request. 

Now you doubted that it was simply he wanted to ride it. 

“Aren’t you going to sit down? You might fall over.” You patted the space next to you and smiled sweetly at Hoseok. 

“It’s not moving that fast, babe.” He reasoned and you shrugged, turning to look out the window. You knew he was about to pounce you any second. It wasn’t as if he was trying to hide the growing tent in his shorts. 

“The view is amazing from the top, I think. Already now I can see half of the city!” You exclaimed, looking out on the carnival below, to the river that ran through the city and the skyscrapers in the distance as the sun was slowly setting behind them, “It’s so beautiful with the colors, don’t you think?” 

“Not as beautiful as you.” You couldn’t help but smile at the sweet compliment and you didn’t flinch when you felt his fingers grace your chin gently to make you look up at him. 

“Flatterer.” You mumbled before his thumb glided across your bottom lip, “You’re really not going to sit down and enjoy the view with me?” 

“I already am enjoying the view.” His grip on your chin tightened slightly as he stared into your eyes. 

You smiled once more, noticing how his eyes darkened as his gaze travelled further down your body, taking in how your cute but flimsy summer dress hugged you in all the right places. 

“This dress, Y/N, has been provoking me the entire day.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” His eyes snapped back to yours at your nonchalant tone and he raised a brow, “But you already know, don’t you?” He leaned down, his nose bumping yours gently, “Because you’re a fucking tease.” 

Your smile turned into a grin and it only widened when Hoseok growled and pulled you up from the seat and slammed you against the side of the cabin, the plexiglass groaning slightly from the force. 

His hands moved to your ass immediately, grasping the globes roughly, lifting up your dress and he buried his face in the junction of your shoulder and neck, nipping at the skin. You spread your legs automatically when you felt his right leg trying to pry them open. You sighed deeply when you felt him lick a fat stripe from your neck to your collarbone, moving his hands from your ass to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down, then moving to the front of your dress to pull the upper part down, revealing your breasts to him. 

“No bra either? You really are a fucking tease, baby.” He growled as his hands moved to cup them, “But you’re mine.” 

“Hobi, we don't have enough time to-” Your sentence ended with a whine as his lips enveloped your nipple, licking it and gently nipping it, causing it to harden and stiffen. 

He released your nipple with a pop and straightened back up, nuzzling your nose with his, “It’ll be quick, baby, don’t worry.”

“Please don’t leave me hanging.” You teased and he smirked as his hands moved to your ass again, his right leg pushing up against your center. 

“Since when have I ever left you behind, hmm?” He asked, winking at you before kissing you briefly. 

The gentleness disappeared as he ended the kiss way too quickly and whirled you around, placing a hand between your shoulder blades, pressing you against the plexiglass. Then you felt his breath whisk past your ear as he whispered, “I asked you a question, baby girl, and I want an answer.” 

There was a smack to your right asscheek which caused you to yelp and you shook your head, “Never.” 

“Never what?” 

“Never sir. You never leave me unsatisfied.” You heard him hum behind you before there was a smack to your other cheek and you bit your lip to contain a whimper. Excitement bubbled in your stomach as the clinking sound of buckle opening reached your ears. 

You and Hoseok were definitely adventurous but this was very different from fucking in a bathroom stall at a club or in a parking lot. Here, inside the cabin which had windows on all sides, you could easily get spotted by the other people on the ferris wheel. 

The thought of getting railed by your boyfriend while being watched caused a moan to escape you and Hoseok chuckled darkly as he zipped down his shorts. 

“Eager, Y/N?” 

“Please.” You whined and pushed back against him. 

“Begging already? That was fast, baby girl.” He leaned forward and placed a peck on the back of your neck, one of his hands travelling between your thighs, his long fingers pressing against your already ruined panties, “And I can feel why. You’re so wet.” His index finger pressed against your clit which caused your hips to buck and you let out a small cry. He hushed you and pulled your panties down to your thighs. Sounds of fabric shuffling made your spine tingle in anticipation and that feeling only grew stronger when you felt the bulbous head of his cock glide through your wet folds. You keened and whispered out a soft ‘please’ to which Hoseok responded by placing a kiss to your lower back as he rammed his cock into your soaking cunt. 

A soft gasp escaped you as you felt the air being punched out of your lungs. The stretch burned but it only added fuel to the fire that was slowly spreading from your abdomen to the rest of your body. You steadied yourself against the plexiglass with both of your hands as your boyfriend pulled back, only to ram back in, setting a punishing pace that rattled your bones. 

“Shit.” You heard Hoseok curse as his hands grabbed your hips hard, nails digging into your skin, “Y/N, you’re going to be the death of me.” 

“F-fuh-Fuck,” You panted, reaching back with a hand to grasp at his arm, “I’m already close.” You managed to say, craning your neck to look back at your boyfriend. His skin glittered with sweat and as the ferris wheel rose every higher, the rays of the setting sun hit him, coating him in an amber glow that had your heart constricting in your chest. 

“You’re so, ah, fucking pretty, Hobi.” You strained a smile forth as he let out a breathless chuckle, his pacing never faltering, “It’s unfair.”

“Y-You always say the randomest shit, baby, fuck, I love you.” He groaned, tilting forward, caging you in as he braced a hand on the plexiglass, next to yours. The slight change in position made his cock hit deeper and you stuttered out curses as he kept hitting a spot that had you seeing stars. Every nerve-ending was buzzing and the coil in your abdomen tightened so much that you were left breathless. 

Hoseok felt you approaching the edge fast and he moved his hand from the glass to your bun, his fingers grabbing a hold on your hair, making you cry out. He felt the cabin being to sway gently as his thrusts grew harder, deeper and more punishing. 

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growled, tugging at your hair, making you bend your back as you huffed out a reply, “Louder.” 

“I’m yours, sir. Only yours!” You cried, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. 

“Good girl.” He praised before his other hand snaked between your legs and easily found your clit, “Now cum.” He commanded as he began applying a gentle pressure to the nub. You trembled before tensing up, breath hitching in your throat and you could only let the tears roll from your eyes as you came. Hoseok cursed lowly as you clenched around his cock, your cunt gushing with your cum, giving him an easier slide. His cock rammed you again and again, sending you into overstimulation and you wailed as he chased his own high. 

“I’m going to fill you up, baby girl.” 

“Please, sir.” You managed to croak out. Your sweet plea was just what he needed to hear because he slammed into you one last time before letting out a long whine as his cum coated your  walls. You heard his soft praises for you, a happy but exhausted smile on your lips. You winced as he pulled out and put his shorts back on, his cum slowly starting trickle out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” Hoseok asked as he put your panties back in place and adjusted the bottom of your dress before moving you to the seat, gently sitting you down, “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” 

“Hobi, you know I fucking love it when you’re rough.” You half-sighed, half-chuckled as you pulled your straps back up and pulled your hair back into a low ponytail, “It was great and I am perfectly fine.” 

He smiled and pecked your lips and then he sat down next to you as the ride came to an end. He waved to the guy controlling the ferris wheel and the guy nodded before starting the ride once more. 

Hoseok drew you into his arms, kissed your forehead as the two of you simply enjoyed the view this time. 

“I can now check off ‘Ferris Wheel’ on my list.” He murmured. 

“You have a list?” You turned to him with a raised brow.

“I do. Next up is a photobooth.” You already knew by his smirk that he had probably already spotted one somewhere at the carnival, “You game for another round?” 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 3) The Main Character

Feels. If opportunities were broad sides of barges, the Devs couldn’t hit them.

I’m enjoying the heck out of this, and its not even hard to write.

Enjoy!

“MC!” Caesar’s voice startled you, even though you were awake. How could you sleep when your emotions were in such roiling turmoil?

You had just woken up in a strange place where people exploded everything that was inside themselves and doused the flames in showers of liquor. They poured it on each other, hugged, touched, screamed! If you grew up in the polar north, this was the tropics with its searing heat and blazing sun. You were calm about it, but like a sunburn, as you lay in the dark and closed your eyes the images of flashing lights and heaving bodies was turning into a strange red mark on your brain that you couldn’t ignore.

So you quickly get out of bed and open the closet.  It was Caesar. His expression was serious.

"Ten minutes, dress yourselves up, the store manager wants to see you." Caesar was once again dressed in full costume. He wasn’t wearing the same tight-fitting suit. It was replaced by a see-through silver shirt, tied a rhinestone neck scarf. The back of his tight pants wrapped his buttocks so that the muscle was visible.

“Why?” You ask, as you’re drawn out of the closet in confusion. The other boys were also dressed.

“While you were resting, we went into our interview. The Whale doesn’t want to make a decision without seeing you first.”

Your mind briefly flashes back to the Whale in Siberia. “Whale?”

Chu Zihang spoke. "Japan is surrounded by the sea on all sides, so the Japanese worship the ocean. In the sea, the whale is the most powerful animal, and whale meat is also an aphrodisiac food, so the man with the title of ‘Whale’ should be said to be the most powerful of men." 

“Here, get dressed.” Caesar had produced yet another outfit.

This Cheongsam was different, black. The chest was still covered, but your skin shined through lace roses on your chest. The skirt only barely covered the front and the back. The slits in both sides of the skirt rose all the way to the curve of your butt.

Mingfei peeked through his fingers. “Boss…”

“No time to worry about anything. You have to nail this.” Caesar said.

“Yes.” You held out your leg so he could help you into your fish nets, his fingers gently sliding up your calves and thighs.. “What do I have to do?”

“The Whale interview isn’t difficult, but it’s pass or fail. You have to open your heart to him and be as honest as you can. You can’t hold back or lie, because he’ll see through it. If he likes what he sees, he’ll let you stay.”

He stands behind you and removes the comb from your bun. The hair falls over your shoulder and he starts running a brush through it, pulling through the tangles roughly in his hurry.

“What is he going to ask?” You’re not minding his yanking. In fact, it felt nice to have your hair pulled like this. It gave you a tingly feeling in your scalp.

“I don’t know. If you do your best though, I think, you’ll be fine. But you’re very closed up. You can’t be that way in front of him. So just prepare yourself to be open.”

“Okay…” 

He turns you around. “Lu, get me the make up case.”

“Yes, boss.” 

He’s crouched in front of you, eyes sharp. His eyes search your face. “Your skin is good at least.”

You smile, but you feel nervous. He was right. Being open wasn’t your strong suit.

Lu Mingfei returns with the make up case and Caesar paints your eyes, sweeps a brush through your eyelashes and paints your lips. “I think simple is best in this situation.”

“Little sister… if you don’t feel comfortable. I understand…” Mingfei mumbled.

“I cannot do anything else, right now. If we’re thrown out, it’s over! So please just believe in me.” 

You glance up at him. Mingfei’s cheeks turn a little red. “I… Okay.”

As the four of you rise through the elevator, Caesar continues to explain to you. “The first floor is a stage and dance floor, a place for grand performances and female guests to drink and dance; the second floor is a spa and beauty salon; the third floor is a kaiseki restaurant called "Barnacles" and a tea house. The retired performers have their own suites on the third floor. We can only live in the basement as interns.  Well, it’s more accurate to say that we live in that bathroom.”

“No wonder you’re always bathing.” Your heart is leaping in your chest, but you stay calm on the outside, ever humorous.

“The fourth floor is off limits. Only those invited by the store manager can set foot here. They call it The Sea.”

You step out of the elevator. Fourth Floor.

Doors painted with blue acacia flowers opened one after another and, by each door stood tall, sturdy, black-clad bodyguards. You clasp your hands in front of you, just like you did for the man in the striped suit. Just like the high school student in the manga, you keep your eyelashes low, and your back straight. Only now there was no breeze to lift your skirt or hair.

Of course, the giant whale should live in The Sea, so this whole floor is the residence of the store manager. The main color of the whole floor is sea blue -- sea blue walls, sea blue carpets, sea blue curtains, even the table porcelain are sea blue. The bodyguards have turtles, starfish, and sea crabs tattooed on their bald heads.

In front of the last aquamarine door, a man, tall with a body overflowing with mounds of fat, stood. If this was the sea, and you were going to meet a whale, this man was truly like a male seal. The Baikal Seals live in Russia, in the great lake. They could reach five feet and length and weigh 290 pounds. But this man was far bigger than even the biggest seal you’d ever seen. You look up at him, jaw dropping. This man would probably rule the beaches of Baikal as a seal!

He looked down at you. “The only way to impress the store manager is to show your true self.” He rumbled. “I have never seen a woman do this before. So who knows what might happen? But it will be a clash of heart upon heart. If your woman’s heart can reach him then…”

The Seal Man trailed off into silence and stepped to one side.

The last door slowly swung in. The fresh scent of seaweed comes to your nose, and your ears are full of the sound of water, as if you were facing the undulating sea. 

Behind the door was a rotunda, with a huge ring-shaped transparent fish tank as the wall. Clusters of soft coral grew on the rocks. Sea grass swayed in the artificial waves. Sea turtles slowly floated up, to just touch their noses to the surface. The two-meter long tiger shark has swam around the hall. 

The ocean… again. You think bitterly. The Arctic Sea, then the Deep Sea of Japan, and now this? Most people were overwhelmed by the sight of such a magnificent office. After all, the amount of money to maintain something like this had to exceed the yearly salary of an ordinary person every month! But your eyes grow cold and your frown with annoyance. You’re sick of the ocean.

The hall was very open, with two rows of bookshelves behind an oversized desk. In the light sat a stout man that reminded you of a giant bear. His whole body bathed in aquamarine - from his aquamarine satin suit to his aquamarine leather shoes, with a huge aquamarine ring on his ring finger and a red coral brooch on his chest. He sat on an aquamarine velvet sofa, smoking a thick Churchill cigar, gently stroking a famous breed of Himalayan cat, and shaking a cup of golden alcohol on the rocks, which reflected a splendid light. 

True to his name, the store manager Whale is even more dominant when he appears in private marine settings. He wore huge sunglasses. The top of his head shined like bright tile. Were it not for the blue whale tattooed on the side of his head, you would have thought that he too was part of the yakuza. But seeing it took away from the seriousness of it all.

He looks at you and quirks a single eyebrow. He eyes you up and down once and then nods, looking over to Caesar, Zihang, and Mingfei. “It looks like you weren’t kidding me about her.”

What did Caesar say? You wonder and glance over your shoulder, but the three men were already moving to the aquamarine sofas near the glass walls.

This was it. You take a deep breath. Whatever the question, you would answer with your truth. No matter how difficult, no matter how dark, no matter how cold. If he didn’t like it? Tough. Such rich and privileged men could rarely handle a truth, especially a woman’s truth. Such was reality. You doubted this sort of tactic would let you win, but you had to trust Caesar.

And yourself.

The Whale picked up a brush and dipped it in ink. Instead of writing he froze, looking up at you once again. His eyes behind the tint met your cold challenging ones. He slowly lifted the brush, looked down at a small parchment.

He wrote in quick elegant calligraphy, two characters which he held up for all to see. “Lost Love.”

“Ms. MC. The question I am asking you is about lost love.”

You inhale sharply through your nose and your eyes widen. You’d opened your heart and now, it was like he had taken a long sword and run you through with it! Your ears tingle. Your eyes burn. Your hands, still clasped in front of you, jerk tighter to dig your nails in, a reflex to stem the emotional pain.

“In this line of work, we deal with many women who have no love or have never experienced it. Caesar says you have never experienced the love of a man. So tell me. What can you say about Lost Love?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. The memories spiral up from your heart and through your mind like a long sleeping geyser that had finally erupted, flooding your body and rendering you speechless.

The darkness of the winter solstice comes again, but it’s midday in the arctic. So the pale blush of the reminder of sun was just starting to appear on the low horizon. The sky is full of stars. The green aurora dances over head like a parade. The lighthouse in the distance peals its church-like bell, slowly rotating its sword of light though the thick night air. A flock of white snow geese pass by, in V formation, calling encouragement to each other on the journey.

Renata is sitting alone on stones swept free from the fallen dry snow. Her blond hair is tucked up in her fur lined hood and her body is covered head to toe in the thick coat that was patched over and over in many colors. 

Your breath fogs in front of your face as you sigh and make your way up.

A whale always passed by here this time of day on Christmas. It was a secret you shared only with her and you came up here every year to see it. As you go to sit down next to her, the whale appears, a black shadow moving under the ice.

“Make a wish.” She whispers.

Normally, people wished on stars. But the stars were frozen and inert in the sky, stuck here, just like you. The whale, however, was free to roam as it liked. It had the power to make dreams come true.

After a moment, Renata looked up at you, her pale blue eyes sparkling. Her skin was good, her lips bright and her cheeks flushed against the winter frost. “What did you wish for?”

“The same thing I wish for every year.” You reply warmly.  “I want to be just like the whale. To be free and live in the ocean."

Renata grins and giggles. "If that day ever comes, I hope that I'll be standing right next to you. I'm very happy to have you... by my side.”

Your breath suddenly flies from your lungs and your eyes rise again to the sea of blue around you. The fish, the shark, the coral and the tortoises. It is just like you were once again miles under the sea. 

Your hand goes over your mouth.

You’re speaking with a whale.

“Renata…” Your voice squeaks and your knees shake.

Whale doesn’t understand your words and his confused look brings you back to earth. But you can’t school your expression. You feel like you’re bleeding out and you can’t stop it. Your mind is in a daze of joy and pain. Even though your eyes are swimming with tears, the joy stretches your face into a rapturous smile!

You were swimming free, like the whale in the ocean. You’ve been to the big city. And even though you could no longer hear her voice, you can feel her with you, like a shadow that held the warmth of her hand in yours. Never had it been so strong as now.

“Lost Love?” You look him with this blaze of emotions pouring from your cold dark eyes. “Oh, Whale… there’s no such thing!”

The Whale’s jaw drops. His hand goes limp. The ink brush drops from his hand and falls to the carpet, spraying the ink on his aquamarine shoes.

For a moment, there is silence. And then a wail, like a roar of an injured beast!

The fat man who had greeted you is weeping openly, one arm over his eyes. He’s moaning out something in Japanese that you don’t understand.

Lu Mingfei quietly translates. “That guy's name is Fujiwara Kanousuke. Before he went to The Sea to become a male performer he was a Daiguan-level sumo wrestling star, just shy of rising to the top 'Yokozuna'. His previous girlfriends were all Japanese drama stars, and he was considered a hot and beautiful man in Japan. But then a female fan heard the news that he was getting engaged and desperately jumped to her death. This is the first time he understands how she felt." 

His eyes lower and he falls into silence while the man sobs.

Chu Zihang stands up and wanders away from the group, raising his eyes to watch the sea turtles swimming by.

Whale slammed his fist on the desk and everyone jumped. The cat hisses and flies off his lap in a blur to hide behind the bookcases. “This… this…” He croaked, shaking. Beads of sweat were rolling down his bald head. They moistened his nose and his glasses slipped down his face. “This power… I thought I’d never see it.”

Power…? Your emotions are almost calm but the effort of control has left crescent moon bruises in your aching hands.

“The power to move a man’s heart to action, to reach out and to embrace another woman’s heart, uncontrollably! Yes! YES!”

He leans on the desk, glaring at Caesar, “BasaraKing… I want to keep her here but I cannot accept your offer to make her do something as crass as bidding up fish. I want her to be a challenge to my precious performers! To pour out their love on her to the superlative degree!”

Your eyes widen and you freeze in place. What did that mean?!

Lu Mingfei was equally appalled but as soon as he opened his mouth, Caesar’s hand slapped over it to silence him. “Yes, sir. I’m glad her answer pleased you.”

“I cannot give you an Ikemen persona… you are not Ikemen… no… the opposite. You…”

He pointed a shaking ringed finger at you. “You! Are!”

He swept out his hands and raised his eyes to the ceiling, shouting like an evangelical preacher. “YOU ARE THE MAIN CHARACTER!”

[cuddlecave]

is xiphoid

oh I love gord gets abandoned at the base and benr has to trek them back to some sort of civilization.

like imagine gord has been healed by benr and maybe has talked to him about a plan? but then suddenly something happens and everything goes to shit and somehow gord is left behind in a now-defunct and *powerless* base, and everything is getting very cold, very fast.

benr, who got separated and turned around in the whirlwind, maybe temporarily driven off by fire that has now died, is now wandering through the empty base trying to figure out 'what now?' and then he hears teeth chattering.

he finds gord curled up in the storage area under as many blankets as he could find. supplies were scattered everywhere--it was clear he'd been looking for something to start a fire but had realized that everything that could had already been used to fight benr and when the others escaped the base. his tears are frozen to his face and he's pretty much resigned to dying, just kinda hoping it won't hurt too much to freeze to death.

benr, in a somewhat dog-like form but bigger, much much bigger, and with front paws that are almost hand-shaped with thumbs, approaches gord making a low, soft sound, causing gord to look up at the Clearly-the-Thing. his face falls. he's no use to this creature if he can't help it leave or escape--guess he's not gonna freeze, he's gonna be assimilated. He ducks his head and closes his eyes and hopes it won't hurt.

benr worries at seeing gord flinch from him, clearly scared but resigned. he gets closer and and settles curled around him, trying to trap what little warmth there is further. he lets his fur get thicker and fluffier, his overlong tail wrapping around them both.

it's not killing him. it's not even touched his skin, just curled around him securely over the blankets. that's...huh. well, it's not like he's got much to lose at this point. 'are you going to kill me?'

benr whines and hugs tighter, and there's a few moments of strange noise as benr shifts a not-quite human face able to talk. 'what? no. we're friends, best friends. won't hurt you.' he sings out some friendly green to emphasize his point.

'oh. that's nice, I guess.' he sighs, and it hurts to breathe with how cold it is. 'but I guess it wouldn't matter if you did. colds going to kill me anyway.'

'...I could keep you warm.'

gord snorts, and fuck, that hurt his face. well, in the parts of it he could still feel, anyway. 'even if you could, we'll run out of food. and there's no way we could make it back to *anywhere* on foot and survive. well, maybe you could, but I'd freeze faster than I am now.'

they sit in silence for a few minutes. gords shivering is dying down, and they both know that that's not good.

benr speaks, again. 'i could get us back. both of us.'

'*how*?'

'could, uh. store you inside me. could keep the warmth that way, could travel out in the cold.'

'...are you saying you want to *eat* me?'

'not for keeps. would be safe. wouldn't put you where the food goes.' he pauses. 'come on. let best friend benr help.'

gord considers. that honestly sounds horrifying, but right now the other options he has are 1)freeze to death, 2)cuddle benr and starve to death, or 3) try to travel and freeze to death. not great options. of course, benr might just kill him, but he already saved him once, so maybe...?

'alright.'

'alright? uh, yes? space heater benr time?'

'yeah, let's do it.'

'pog.' and he shifts his face to be more dog-like, matching his body more, and moves in front of gord. gord shivers at the loss of heat. he takes his paw-hands and unwraps the blankets, leaving a shuddering gord half curled on himself, trying to retain heat. benr tugs at the bulky jacket, and gord gets the idea and takes it off with shaking limbs, and pulls his boots off, as well. he looks up at benr.

benr tilts his head. /ready?/

gord nods.

benr settles, and brings his paws around gord, gently lifting him up to be level with his face. he opens his jaws far too wide to be natural, and settles his muzzle around gords head and shoulders. despite himself, gord relaxes into it.

it's so warm.

benr carefully guides the unresisting human down his throat and into the not-stomach he made, and lays still as gord gets his bearings and curls up to be as comfy as he can, squirming a little in the pouch. benr lets out a pleased rumble. he softy taps at gords form and makes an inquiring noise.

'yeah, I'm ok.' he sounds tired. he's going to fall asleep soon, but before then...'theres-theres maps. in the control room. you can find the nearest place there...' he trails off as benr makes a confirmation sound around him. 'alright. gonna sleep now.'

benr feels him drift off. if he's going to travel with gord, he needs to adjust his form some. he grows another pair of limbs for support, then thickens the layers of fat surrounding the pouch. he makes the skin a little stiffer and more supportive, and thickens his fur more, and lastly widens his paws to be easier to move on snow.

he gets up carefully, as to not wake gord, and looks at the maps.

that's a long way to travel. he'd better get started.

GOOD VERY GOOD. and reminds me of the "whole team noms" idea i'd had before (but never planned on doing anything with it). p sure i've talked about it on here before, but basically it's post-mesa and benb redemption and for one reason or another the whole team is needing to go to some town in a real cold/snowy place. their transportation crashes and they're all out cold (figuratively and literally) except for benb, who realizes that the rest of the team is gonna freeze to death if he doesn't do something, especially since a big storm is coming in quick. he shape-shifts into a critter covered in thick insulating fur and that's big enough to carry the other four (five if potion man is there) inside of him. then he goes to find a place to wait out the worst part of the storm, and will get back to heading to their destination once that's over. and of course at one point the team all wake up and freak out a lil oops. thankfully not enough to like, do some serious damage to benb's insides, though :B

[bittywitches]

A random Dialogue I came up with in my head while trying to fall asleep the night before. // G.D

Been having trouble writing lately and ended up just daydreaming (night dreaming?) abt Grayson one night, so I thought I’d try and just get it out and write something. Enjoy :)

You’re sitting in your bedroom, laying on your back with your laptop sitting on your stomach. You’re cuddled up with your jumbo-oversized teddy bear, your head resting on it’s furry stomach and your elbows lazily resting against it’s fat squishy legs. A google doc is opened on your screen, and you’re trying to half-assedly write a response for your final project on why Duke Orsino actually was gay in Twelfth Night, along with many of the other supporting characters, despite what most old white bardolators may tell you. 

You feel a vibration near your leg, and you tilt your head to the side to see someone calling your phone. You pick it up, and your eyes widen when you see that it's a facetime call from Grayson Dolan. This was, of course, a shock, considering you and Grayson weren’t even that close friends, you only occasionally texted each other anymore, barely ever called, and literally NEVER facetimed. You guys had barely spoken to each other since quarantine had started, so it was definitely a surprise. 

Your eyes flicker to your laptop screen, seeing that it’s around 9pm. Not too late that it’s sketchy or anything, but still pretty late for it to be strange.

You place your laptop down beside you and situp, leaning back against your headboard, quickly tying your hair up into a quick messy bun to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You slide the green phone icon across your screen.

Grayson’s face appears on your phone. He’s wearing a cute oversized fuzzy hoodie. His short hair is a bit frizzy, and it still takes you by surprise because you’re so used to seeing his long flowy locks.

“Heyy,” Grayson says, smiling at you. From behind his screen, Grayson sets himself down onto the living room couch, laying back on the arm.

“Hey.” You respond.

“What’re you up to?”

“Uhh, not much. Just working on final assignments and whatnot.”

“Oh, yea, school’s almost over for you, right?”

“Yep, just a few more weeks.”

“Bet you’re excited to finally get time off.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, tired of being stressed all the time.”

“Makes sense.”

An awkward silence fills both your rooms.

“Soo…” Grayson lays his head on the side of his couch.

“What’s up? Why’d you call?” You ask him.

“Oh, no reason. Just bored and felt like talking to someone.”

“Ethan not home?”

“Nah, he went out skateboarding with some friends.”

“This late?”

“It’s not that late. Just went to the park nearby.”

“Sounds fun. You know, I’ve always wanted to learn how to skateboard.”

“Yea?”

“Mhm. Maybe E can teach me sometime.”

“Hey, I know how to skateboard too. And I’d definitely be a much better teacher.”

You laugh. “Alright, next time we meet up you can teach me how to skateboard.”

“It’s a date.”

You both give a lighthearted chuckle, but then things turn quiet again.

“Erm, hold on.” You place your phone down on your bed. 

“Where’re you goin’?”

“Gonna put my phone on a pillow so I don’t have to keep holding it,” You say, grabbing your nearest one and doing your best to balance your phone on top of it.

“Is that a giant teddy bear?” From the angle of your phone, Grayson can see your big stuffed animal sitting behind you. 

“Haha, yea.” You lean back down on it briefly to give him a better idea of the size. “He’s my cuddle buddy.”

“That’s cute.”

“Our relationship has gotten a lot stronger since quarantine started.” You peck the bear on the nose. Grayson laughs.

“I’m happy for you guys.” You giggle, sitting back up. 

“Why thank you.” You turn your attention back to your laptop quickly, and Grayson follows your line of vision.

“So what subject is this final for?”

“English.” You sigh. “Which sucks, because I’m shit at it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh but it is. I always do incredibly bad, I’m literally the worst.”

“Well you’re definitely not the worst, because I exist.”

“Well yeah but it’s not your fault that you can’t read.”

“Hey, I can read!”

“Sorry, It’s not your fault that you’re ass at reading. It is however my fault that I can’t write for shit.” 

He laughs. “Fine, sure.”

You giggle. “Sorry. Just a bit stressed.”

“No big deal.”

Silence again. Usually now would be the time you’d make some excuse and cut the call. But for some reason unknown to you, you didn’t want to do that. You want to fill it.

“Oh, I watched your guys’ last video.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Tell me you guys weren’t just trying to look like douchebags with your literal 100 grand.”

“Aughhh,” He groans, rubbing his face with the hand not holding his phone. “I swear we really weren’t.”

“Uhuh.”

“I realize that it may not look like that,”

“Oh really?”

“Considering we actually had wads of cash,”

“Mhmmm.”

“But we weren't, I swear. We just thought it’d be funny for a stupid little video.” 

“Okay then.”

“Hey!”

“Not judging.” 

“Since when do you watch our videos anyways?”

You gave him a side-look. “What do you mean? You think I don’t?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Just assumed…”

“You’re my friend. ‘Course I do.”

He smiles.

“Plus they are pretty fun. Like to have them on in the background when I work sometimes..”

“No way, really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I mean, all the ones since quarantine we’ve had to be pretty creative with. Since we’re stuck at home and all.”

“You guys don’t give yourselves enough credit. I love what you come up with. It’s cool to just listen to you both ramble about stuff.”

“...Are you saying you also listen to the podcast?”

Your eyes shoot back to him. He was actually joking, but seeing your guilty expression lead to the smug sort of look on his face.

“You guys have very satisfying voices, okay?”

“Uhuh.”

“Shut the fuck up!” You laugh, and he does as well.

“Either way, thanks. It means a lot that you do. I never really know if people we’re friends with like our stuff, so it’s good to know that at least someone does.”

You smile, and he returns it. 

You suddenly hear a ding coming from his side.

“Oh shit almost forgot about my toast-” You see Grayson’s phone wobble as he gets up to head for the kitchen.

“Avocado?”

“You know it.” “Dang, I don’t think I’ve had avocado toast since…” You pause. “Huh. I guess since I accidentally ran into you at that one restaurant and we happened to get food together.”

“What-” He rights the phone so it’s facing him again. “That was ages ago!”

“Yea, I know.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“You may think so.”

“Alright, so after I teach you how to skateboard, I’m gonna have to take you out for food.”

You laugh. “Is that a set in stone thing?”

“Oh definitely.”

He sets his food down on a table, and you watch as he tries to balance his phone up against something. He sits down, then takes a bit before looking back up at you.

“So when’s this due?”

“Uhh, tomorrow night.”

“You almost done?”

“Er..” You look at your half written page. “...sort of.”

“So no,” he chuckles, and you do too. 

“I’ll finish it, don’t worry.”

“Didn’t say I was.”

“Well that’s ru-”

“Because I know you’ll finish it,” He interrupts you, and you roll your eyes. “You always do.”

You sigh, setting your elbow down on your knee and resting your face on your hand. You watch him silently for a bit, and he takes a few more bites before realizing your eyes on him. 

“What?” He says, food still in his mouth.

“Nothin’,”

“Yea?”

“Yea, just… kinda just miss you.” You finally blurt out.

He stops chewing suddenly, and looks at his phone with a very intent look. He expects you to say more, but you don’t, looking back at your laptop screen.

He swallows, then sets his toast down. “Kinda just miss you too.”

You smile, trying to hide it by squishing the palm of your hand into your face, not taking your eyes off of the illuminated laptop.

“Why don’t we hang out anymore?”

“Because we’re legally not allowed to.” You finally look back at your phone, grabbing it from it’s pillow stand and then flopping down onto your bear’s belly.

He rolls his eyes. “No, smartass. Before that.”

You shrug. “Dunno. We never really did to begin with.”

“Sure we did, there was the restaurant, and…” He trails off, looking far away at some corner of the room.

“I mean we hung out with other friends. And we talked sometimes.” You shrug again. “Not really much else though.”

He runs a hand through his short hair. “Why not?”

You laugh. “Bro, I don’t know! You never asked!”

“Well I fuckin wanted to!” He rubs his face with both his hands as he chuckles. 

“Really?” Your laughter dies down now, a softer tone taking on your voice.

“Duh, of course.” He tilts his head as his soft eyes look at you. “You’re really fucking cool, and I really wanted to get to know you better, but it felt weird to just randomly come out of no where and be like ‘hey, wanna hang out?’ like that shit usually comes naturally, yknow?”

“Well, we don’t really hang out in the same circles, so I don’t know how it would.”

“Yeah, but I thought maybe…” He sighs. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know if you wanted to be friends or anything, so..”

“Well that’s frustrating.” You slump your shoulders down, relaxing more into your bed. “I really wanted to be friends. Just didn’t wanna seem fucking… annoying or anything.”

“Oh my god why are we like this.”

“I don’t fucking know!!” You both burst out laughing, and you momentarily drop your phone to rub the tears out of your eyes.

“Okay, it’s settled then.” You hear his voice and pick your phone up off your stomach to face it towards your face again, now sitting up. 

“What is?”

“After quarantine and everything is over I’m definitely taking you out for food and skateboarding.”

You grin. “Okay. Sounds amazing.”

“Great.” There’s quiet again, but it’s not awkward anymore, both of your gleeful grins speak volumes over it.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

You giggle. “Okay, I should go. Should probably actually try and get this thing done.”

“Right. I’ll… call you tomorrow?”

You bite your tongue. “Yeah.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

You cut the call, and let your arms fall down to your sides as you fall back on your bed and grin up at the ceiling. You squeeze your eyes shut, just breathing in and out to calm yourself down from the little rush. Though the buzz of your phone once again catches your attention. 

You get up and look at it, seeing it’s a text from Grayson. 

Grayson D.: Just realized you probably don’t have a skateboard…

You bit your lip, and flopped down onto your belly now, your legs up in the air as you text him back.

Y/N: You’d be right 😅

Your eyes eagerly watch the three dots bouncing on the screen.

Grayson D.: Would you wanna borrow one of mine?

Y/N: I’m totally good with getting my own, but idk where

Grayson D.: Well there’s this shop near my house…

Assignment long forgotten, you and Grayson end up talking well into the night.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Sorry you’ve had to wait a few more days. i had a much needed few days holiday in Devon. And I realised it was the first time since February that I’d travelled more than 20 miles from home!

Anyway, we’re on to chapter 7. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

Previous

AO3

Chapter 7: From Feedback to The Force

I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. A converted barn, situated at the end of a leafy country lane, surrounded by fields full of cows and maybe a horse or two. Jamie’s office will be at one end— all exposed beams with classic mahogany and leather furniture. Perhaps chickens will be roaming around outside as tractors pull up to deliver vegetables straight from the neighbouring fields.

This image begins to fade as I follow my Sat nav instructions and take the next junction off the motorway. Country lanes look to be few and far between in this urban sprawl. Signposts along the tarmacked road point to a series of industrial estates. At the fourth such sign, I’m instructed to turn left and in three hundred yards will have reached my destination.

Having parked up, I make my way towards the large, uninspiring building which resembles some sort of aircraft hangar. Its grey concrete and corrugated iron walls match the overcast sky and the roughly surfaced car park. The only colour in this landscape is provided by the bright orange FraserFood logo emblazoned above the loading bays.

There’s a single door to the right with an intercom. I press it and wait a few seconds.

“Hello, there.” A cheery voice greets me. “Can I help ye?”

“Yes. Hello, I’ve an appointment with Ja— Mr. Fraser, Jamie. It’s Claire Beauchamp.”

“Aye, come on through. Jamie is expecting ye. Down the passage and third door on the left.”

I step into a long corridor, painted an unoriginal white. Fluorescent strip lights hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh brightness. The floor is covered with grey carpet tiles.—the same as in thousands of other working offices across the country.

What sets it apart and brings character to the otherwise anonymous environment is the artwork. Colourful photographs line the walls — a bowl of strawberries, their red glossiness accentuated by the white porcelain; a perfect corn on the cob, rivulets of melted butter flowing around the kernels; a plate of steaming tagliatelle, the parmesan shavings falling gently onto the pasta. Then, as I move further towards the office, the photographs change to a series of images that I instantly recognise, La Boqueria, one of the food markets in Barcelona.

I pause for a moment in front of a picture of one of the stalls selling spices. Strings of different chillies cascade down from the metal frame of the stall. The vibrancy of that market was intoxicating, the noise, the colours, the aromas. I remember wandering from stall to stall snacking on fat, juicy olives, slices of spiced ham and wedges of refreshing melon, just soaking up that atmosphere.

My stomach automatically rumbles at the memory just as Jamie steps into the corridor.

He laughs at this unconventional greeting. “And good day tae ye too. Ye found us alright then?”

“No problem. Sat nav brought me straight here. It’s—“ I stop myself before I say any more, but, as usual, my glass face gives me away.

“C’mon. What is it? It’s no’ what ye were expecting, is it?”

“No— yes—no. It’s fine. It’s just, well, I was expecting something more, er, rural… rustic, you know.”

He sighs, but I can tell that he’s not offended. “What, ye mean like on a farm? Wi’ chickens running around? And tractors bringing the vegetables straight from the fields?”

I nod, feeling not a little bit foolish.

“And down a wee winding country lane, that yer lumbering great vans and lorries have tae drive along? Wi’ no easy transport links fer all the deliveries? And having tae deal wi’ all the food hygiene standards in some great old barn?” He laughs. “Trust me, it may no’ be photogenic but it’s the best place fer the business.”

He takes my arm. “Let’s go intae ma office and I’ll make ye a cup of coffee.”

My stomach rumbles once more. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of those lovely Spanish biscuits too, have you?”

*********

The display of colourful photographs continues in Jamie’s office. I don’t recognise the scenes, but, I’m guessing these are more local— fields of corn bordered by old drystone walls, hedgerows bursting with dark jewel-like brambles. I pause at a picture of an ancient stone mill, the calm water of the mill pond reflecting the rundown building perfectly.

“That’s a bonny picture, is it no’?” Jamie’s voice is low in my ear.

I turn around. He is standing behind me, gazing intently at the picture.

“It is. Where is it? I’m guessing it’s somewhere here in Scotland.”

“Aye, it’s the old mill at Lallybroch.”

“Where you grew up?”

He nods. “Generations of ma family used that mill tae grind flour fer them and their tenants. It’s empty inside now. The wheel has long since rotted away. Jenny and I would escape there whenever chores were tae be done. She took the photo, weel, most of the photos here actually.”

I study the photograph more closely. “She’s very talented as a photographer. Is that her job?”

“She’d love tae have done that, but once she married Ian and the bairns started appearing, she hasna got the time. Mebbe one day.”

He moves past me towards his desk and I catch a hint of his musky cologne. I find myself comparing it to the slightly synthetic cologne that Frank always favoured. I decide that Jamie’s is preferable. It’s more real, somehow, earthy and, well, more masculine.

“... does that sound ok?”  

I realise that whilst I was considering male scents, Jamie had been asking me a question. “Er, sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“Am I really that boring tae ye?” He laughs. “I said I would make ye a coffee and invite Rupert tae come in and join us. He’s our Head of Product Development. Will ye no’ take a seat?”

I sit down on one of the chairs arranged around a circular meeting table and take a good look at the office while Jamie makes a phone call. The walls and ceiling are the same uninspiring white, livened up by all the photographs. There’s a couple of framed photographs near Jamie’s chair that seem to be more personal. I’m too far away to be able to see clearly, but they look like children... his nephew and niece perhaps?

Jamie’s ‘L’ shaped desk is made of grey wood, as is a tall bookcase and this meeting table. Simple, but clearly a considered purchase, no haphazard grouping of random furniture. The desk itself is remarkably free from clutter— just a laptop with two huge screens and a black leather document wallet. The contrast to the clutter on the desks in my office and home couldn’t be greater. Not that my clutter isn’t important to me—a collection of pots and dishes from my uncle’s archaeological digs plus a paperweight and letter opener that I remember, as a young child, at my parents’ house. Then I realise, looking at the family portraits surrounding Jamie’s desk, that he doesn’t need to gather mementoes from the past. He has a living, breathing close knit family creating memories all the time.

I’m well aware that most of my friends have more of a family than I have, or have ever had, and generally I’m fine with that. But every now and again it hits me right in the gut—this pang of...not loneliness, but more of being disconnected, rootless.

Before I can dwell on this,  there’s a faint tap at the door. It opens immediately and a woman stands in the doorway.  She’s easily past retirement age, quite short and… is sturdy a polite descriptor? Well, short and ‘motherly’ in appearance.

She’s very smiley too. Her eyes crinkle as she grins broadly before speaking. “Jamie, lad. I’ve come tae see if ye both want a coffee. I dinna mind making it. And mebbe a few biscuits?”

Jamie steps away from his desk. “Ah, Mrs. Fitz, how d’ye always ken what I want? Coffee would be grand. And fer ye Claire?”

“Coffee, please. Lovely. White, no sugar. Thanks.”

She looks at me for a moment before Jamie makes the introduction. “ Claire, this is Mrs Fitz. She’s worked wi’ me since I started and I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out her.”

He reaches across and pats her arm gently.

“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire, a friend of mine. She’s been trying out our Spanish dinner party menu and has come tae meet wi’ Rupert tae give him her opinions.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitz.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in both of hers. “And it’s lovely tae meet ye too, Claire.”

She turns away and heads out the door.

“Right-oh. Two coffees it is then,” she says clearly, then carries on muttering under her breath as she leaves. “Friends, is it, then? A bonny lass, sure enough…”

Jamie smiles apologetically. “Mrs. Fitz can be a bit, weel...she’s been working with me a long time. She’s like a second mother tae me…”

He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I know what he’s thinking. Why can’t people understand that we’re friends, that’s all?

*******

Rupert is a complete delight, but somehow not what I was expecting. He rushes into the office just as Jamie and I are drinking our coffees. Nearly as tall as Jamie but quite a bit broader with a large beard, like an overgrown teddy bear, and clad in a sweatshirt and baggy ill-fitting jeans, he looks as if he would be more at home on a rugby pitch rather than in a development kitchen. With Jamie now standing next to him, the office suddenly feels rather small.

Jamie makes the introductions and we settle once more around the table. Rupert places his notebook and pen on the table.

“Ye dinna mind if I take a biscuit or two, do ye?” He asks, with a smile. He knows how tasty they are.

Jamie and I shake our heads and Rupert reaches out and takes two in his large, fleshy hand. He starts to eat, sprinkling crumbs all over his notebook.

“Ye canna take me anywhere,” he says as he tries to sweep the crumbs into his hand.

Jamie laughs and playfully punches Rupert’s shoulder. “Weel, ye can… but only the once, mind.”

There’s an easy camaraderie between the two of them. I’m guessing that Jamie has worked with the same people for quite a while. It’s good to see.

Rupert swallows, picks up a tissue and wipes the stray crumbs from his beard.  “Right-oh. So, Claire, thanks fer doing this—“

“No, I should be thanking you. It was a great meal.”

“Weel, glad tae hear that, but I would appreciate any improvements we could make. Is there anything we need tae change?”

I’ve been racking my brains all the way here, trying to think of something constructive to say rather than just reeling off a list of compliments, nice as that would be for Rupert and Jamie. And, honestly, I don’t know what more I can add. The food was excellent, the wine matched perfectly and the olives were a thoughtful addition.

I tell them all this and Rupert solemnly notes it all down. Sitting there, side by side, elbows almost touching, they look for all the world like two proud parents being complimented on their child’s talents. But they have every right to be proud.

“And nothing else?” Rupert persists. “Nothing we could do better?”

“Well, a couple of tiny suggestions. Maybe a few more pictures with the recipes would help. I’m not the most gifted cook.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jamie trying to suppress a smile. He’s never seen me in the kitchen, maybe he’s imagining me as some sort of culinary disaster area. I vow to prove him wrong at some point.

“And,” I continue as Rupert scribbles in his notebook. “Perhaps add a couple of suggestions to complete the Spanish night. I made sangria to start the evening. Could you add a recipe for that?”

Rupert closes his notebook with a flourish. “Right then. Thank ye sae much fer that. Glad yer friends all enjoyed the food.”

He stands up, shifting the table as he does so.

“Weel, bye then, Claire. Lovely tae meet ye. Hope tae see ye again.” He shoots a quick look across at Jamie before leaving.

“Rupert’s a lovely guy,” I comment as the door shuts behind him.

“Aye, he is that,” Jamie shifts in his seat. “Listen, I need tae ask ye a favour.”

“Another one,” I joke. “Wasn’t the dinner party enough?”

I add a sigh, purely for dramatic effect.

“Ye can say no if ye want tae,” he continues. “But I was wondering… weel... Ian, that’s Jenny’s husband, his rugby club is having a charity dinner dance a week on Saturday. Jenny’s bought two tickets fer me and a plus one. D’ye fancy it? It would help me out of a wee bit of bother with ma sister.”

Now I’m intrigued about his “wee bit of bother” with Jenny. I don’t want to end up in the middle of some sibling squabble.

“How so?” I’m not giving an answer straight away. At least not until I know what the bother is.

“Jenny bought the two tickets fer me a couple of months ago. I think she was assuming I would bring Laoghaire. But ye ken what happened there. Anyways, she asked me yesterday about it, and ever so casually suggested I might bring Kelly— that was ma date the other night.”

The pattern of Rupert’s crumbs on the table appears to suddenly be of great interest to him. He studies them intently as he talks, his ears turning slightly pink as he does so.

“And?” I prompt him.

“And, I told Jenny that after Laoghaire and I broke up, I didna want tae disappoint her about the dinner and so I’d already asked ye tae come along. As a friend,” he hastily adds the last part.

So, what do I decide? I do love the opportunity to have a bit of a dance and rugby club dos are usually a bit of a laugh, in my experience. And of course, I know Jamie is offering as a friend, so I’m not worried about that.

“Why don’t you want to ask Kelly then?” I want the full story before I give him my answer.

“She’s a nice enough lass but I didna think we had any spark. Plus she was trying too hard. Fer example she asked me what films I liked, then when I told her, she was all ‘no way, they’re ma favourites too’.”

He adds gestures at this point, to demonstrate Kelly’s actions, one hand flapping excitedly, the other resting on my sleeve, lightly stroking through the fabric of my shirt. It feels—

“Apparently we have exactly the same taste in films, music, food, drinks, television and holidays,” he continues as he sits back and folds his arms.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.” I joke. I can still feel the sensation of his hand on my arm.

He looks up at me and frowns. “I’m no’ joking. Ye would be helping me if ye came as ma plus one.”

“Ok then. I do know that I’m not on call. I can come and be your wingman, if you like. Just one question. What are your favourite films?”

“Star Wars.”

This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He doesn’t seem like a typical fan. Maybe he has a dark side that I haven’t yet seen, with a secret stash of Star Wars figures and multiple light sabres.

“I’ve never watched any of them.” It’s true. I seem to be in the minority but I just don’t get the appeal.

“And I can tell from yer face exactly what ye think of them. But they’re classics, weel most of them, anyway,” he starts to enthuse.

I shake my head. I can’t see that he will ever convince me.

“Well, Sassenach, have I got a treat in store for you!”

And, worryingly, it seems that he’s up for the challenge.