#my silly hot pot fox

[doufupuff]

a little bit of spice? 🌶️

[ladylaviniya]

A Lesson in Service

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Your evening becomes a nightmare with the Lord of Radier Manor. He is a starved fox looking to ruin your sweet bunny cunny.

Pairing: Lord!Henry Dalgliesh x Governess!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Non-Con, Blackmail, Abuse, Assault, P in V sex, Loss of Virginity, Gag. Petnames "Bunny, Rabbit."

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes: This was a doozy to write...please I beg you read the warnings. It'll be a whole until I can post another chapter from this story again unfortunately I'm behind and I have a lot of stress going on in my life.

Inspiring Song: "Sippy Cup." By Melanie Martinez

Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Monday 9th April 22:55 pm.

As your body collapsed at his feet, the pain the sky rocketed your body surged over and melted into the comforts of a soft pillow and mattress.

You were in the place between dreamland and wakeup, knowing you’re asleep but unaware of how to wake up or if you’re even meant to wake-up. You felt warm. The sound of a crackling fire was by your right side. The smell of the embers burning tickled your nose.

With all your strength your groggily opened your eyes and for a moment winced at the orange light of a fireplace. Your eyes felt impossibly slow and sore. The room blurred for a few moments before you fluttered away the awakening blindness and focused on the world around you. You couldn’t see everything in the room, many shadows loomed far in the distance.

You were laying down on a magnificent canopy bed with long draping curtains and the ceiling covered in paintings of swans and gardens and lakes. There was an every feeling creeping into you.

Your heart thudded in panic.

‘This is NOT my room.’

The beating of your heart drummed in your chest as you caught some air in your chest. Nausea penetrated your belly. With a poor attempt to sit up and use the under bed chamber pot, your body refused to move far. A sharp and stinging pain made you glance at your wrists either side of your head. You squinted at the material wrapped around your skin, digging into your flesh. Rope.

Your eyes widened.

With a better glance down, you gasped in horror. Not a single stitch of clothing was to be found on your body. Your legs had been spread wide and tied down to the mattress by your ankles and knees.

A loud whimper that broke into a quick sob escaped you.

You could feel the warm air from the fire place against the most intimate flesh of your exposed cunt. You tried to desperately shut your legs but the rope would not give in. Hot tears rushed down your face.

You tugged on your wrists and legs as hard as you could. Finally you began to scream.

From the shadows flew out a large pale hand that clambered down on your mouth and muffled your voice.

You recoiled in fright as the light of the fireplace beside the bed revealed the face of the Earl who wore a well spread grinning smile. He sat beside you on the bed and loomed above. For a split second you believed he was helping you, saving you from this strange bound arrangement that you were trapped in. Yet the hope lasted shortly as remembering what has happened in the drawing room came back to your mind.

You didn’t know how nor why but you knew with your intuition he had done this. You visualised that truth quickly.

His heated eyes matched his wide feral grin in a sinister yellow light. His soft thumb rubbed underneath your crying eyes, smoothing out the wetness along your cheeks. His curly hair was far messier than it was when the two of you had met.

You flinched and whined pitifully trying to shake his hand off your mouth.

He looked like a beast and you were a delicate feast for him to feed upon.

“Poor little girl,” he sarcastically worried, clucking his tongue he started to stroke your neck gently with his other hand, “Look at you, entirely powerlessness, tied up in a trap like a silly little country bunny abbit. You’re just a sweet innocent girl, yes?” Henry obnoxiously laughed at his own joke..

Helplessly confused, more waterworks spilled. Henry ripped out a handkerchief from his banyan pocket and forced the fabric into your mouth and fingered it down to the back of your mouth near your throat. You tried shaking your face away, but he held you down by pressing on your forehead. You gagged and coughed while the linen soaked in your spit choked and irritated your tongue by its plain taste.

It was impossible to spit out, your tongue was being pressed down by its amount and thus you couldn’t curl your tongue back and push it out.

You screamed behind the gagged helplessly.

‘This nightmare is unbearable! This cannot be real!’

Your conniving employer surveyed your flesh again and ran his hand down your naked stomach to your thighs and purposely missing what was between them. His hand felt like hot fire spreading around your sensitive skin. Your face was hot, he was looking at the parts of you that you hid with great conservativeness in your governess uniform gown.

His night gown stripped away you saw beneath was nothing, no night shirt or blouse, just a heavenly torso which god had blessed him and the world with.

For a man who supposedly sat in his study all day mulling over paperwork, his physique was moulded by gods’ angels. His skin glowed gold beneath the hue haze of the fireplaces light. And light shade of soft hairs centred his chest Ieading down his belly to his pelvis. A small thatch of hair bordered a thick red piece protruding from him. His cock.

Yoi whined loudly in terror as he climbed onto the bed and over the top of your tied up body. His thighs knelt between your knees. His movement and grace were so perfectly fluid, his protruding middle muscles with his strong hunt for your body. You begged for him to stop, but the gag did all but muffled your howling fears.

You may have been innocent of relations between men and women, but it was well aware what his lordships apparent intentions were. He was about to abuse you, rape you, take you in the ways of the laws of marriage. You were to be soiled! You were to be ruined from any hope of being a proper bride to a future husband.

Anxiety drastically rose in your chest that panted desperately.

You pleaded from your cloth stuffed mouth, “please my Lord, please, you must not do this! I am a virgin of god,” tears slid freely down your face.

 ‘Don’t hurt me, please stop sir!’

You felt faint but this time you didn’t go under the pressure of unconsciousness. Your body thrusted and tugged at all your tethers. You were losing hope quickly of your escape and so overwhelmed with shock and fear you didn’t know what else to do except sob and beg him to stop this humiliation.

You prayed, ‘what have I done to be so foully punished lord? Help me and aid my freedom quickly!!’

“Hush, hush my little girl ,” Henry placed a finger against his lips to signify the silence he requested, “My apologies for such an unexpected event. It’s just…when I first met you yesterday in my study, your cheeks were such a pretty shade and I wondered how that same colour would look on your little arse. And really, when you bowed before me like a silly chicken- I couldn’t help but imagine my cock between your quim whiskers. By God I was afraid my cock would grow right then and there."

His hands crawled like a spider down to your treasure of untouched purity. A squeal jumped from your lungs and through your gag as his fingers delved into your folds.

Leaning over and softly murmuring into your ear, Henrys warm breath tickled your sensitive skin, “Miss Y/L/N, I do find myself at a stand point where I am madly fascinated and curious of your sweet body. My desire grows with every little noise you make. I am dearly looking forward to when I get to shove my cock right up into this little cunt.”

And as he said it, his forefinger cramped its way inside of your, his first knuckle not pushing any further as Henry gasped. The lord had discovered your thin lining of skin that hailed you as pure as any infant of lust might be. Virginity was going to be his prized.

You weakly lifted your head, and you stared fearfully into his glittering soulless eyes, “Just relax, little bunny. You'll be alright, the more you squirm the more you might bleed.”

You froze as his tongue began to lick and suck at your chest and neck.

“stop it! You must stop it!!! Please! Lord Henry no!!” you squealed beneath the gag.

The vile man stopped his administrations on your neck and applied his heated lips to your face. Not being able to kiss you properly without removing the gag, Henry resorted to the softest kisses to your lips and corner of your mouth. The intimacy of being kissed in such a manner shocked you to your core, it was terribly taboo.

‘What am I saying? Everything is bloody Taboo!’

You drew in a shaky breath when he finally abandoned your mouth to lick along your jaw, and he found the vulnerable skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder. Pulling out his finger from your tiny cunt he watched your body collapse into the bed; the stress was exhausting and your tensing body gave in. His hand pawed through your soft curls above and around your bits.

You moaned and cried a little more as you witnessed Henry suck the same finger he had shoved into you. His dark eyes rolled to the back off his head while he grabbed at his stiff erection.

You felt weak by the sight. In a book about human anatomy, the males’ appendage was not that shape, length or thickness.

You squeaked in fear, hating yourself for being so weak and so scared of him. Your mind felt so heavy with any plan you could devise on how to fight him or convince him to stop. You attempted to beg for his mercy again but he just cruelly smirked.

Jerking your head up, you gave him the sweetest eyes. Tears cupped in the wells of your lashes as your nose sniffled. You shook your gag covered head, “please.”

Henry sighed pleasingly as his fingers wrapped around his cock moved up and down. He was absolutely looking forward to hurting you, to taking away your innocence and to owning you. He bit his lips with a slight smile.

‘How precious, she doesn’t even know the real reason her father’s friend had sent her to Radier Manor? Colin you cruel wicked bastard!’ Henry scoffed internally and purred to his darling damsel in distress as his hand removed itself from his cock to cradle you intimately again. His fingers spread the lips of your mound wide to reveal all the folding petals of your sweet smelling virgin flower.

“Awe now look at that, my pretty little girl , puffy and unmaimed, just so sweet.” Your eyes widened.

Henry had considered giving you a taste of pleasure by a few simple rubs but thought against it,

‘Why should I give her pleasure? This is for my enjoyment, not her. I’ll just fuck her dry.’

Your head rolled back and forth on the pillow as you pleaded, but Henrys attention was now solely centred on the soft folds between your legs. He pushed any troubling doubts to the side and grabbed hold of his eager, dripping cock, blood pounding wildly in his ears.

Henry launched his body onto of yours. You begged and wheezed out to him to release you but he would not.

Dimly aware he was panting with animalistic desire, he allowed pure the beastly lust to take control. He aligned his well crafted cock between your nether lips surrounded by a cuckoo’s nest. Spreading the shiny beads of moisture leaking from the head, the lord slid his shaft back and forth over your entrance. You squirmed and whined and fidgeted as the skin of his blunt tip rested lazily ontop of your entrance.

For one last time, you, the kind governess of the Dalgliesh children begged with tears in your eyes and mucus forming in your nose, “Mercy, please don’t hurt me!”

“Hush child,” Henry whispered with his deep voice and slowly embedded himself inside of you.

You yelled out at the invasion.

‘Pain, oh god please make it stop, make him stop!!’

He lowered his mouth to your face, breathing in your sweat as he down right raped your tied up body, thrusting into your pussy harder, trying to get deep down.

You choked and gasped and reared up beneath him as his pelvis touched your thighs, while your spine curled upright to the heavens with the agonising discomfort of his penetration. Your chest heaved up and down as your body trembled from the erupting pain. His sharp finger nails dug into your hips which he grasped, keeping you firmly still.

‘This is wrong!!’

‘Have mercy!’

You were overwhelmed by the violent assault he was taking out on you physically. Never before had you imagined this was the awful torture women would suffered beneath their husbands.

‘Had his wife endured such pain…twice for the children!?’

The raw cutting into your hole, cutting up the ruins of your maiden head was an invasion into your whole soul being. Your heaving chest let loose a gut retching wail, after holding your breath too long.

Your tear flooded eyes squinted in hatred and disgust at him. The gag around your cheeks loosened and fell down your chin. Your crying was continued as you screamed at him “I hate you! Die you monster! Stop it!”

Henry however only laughed and slapped you across the face. It was not a particularly hard slap, but it stung.

The blood rushed into your cheek that was covered in salty release of sadness. Sliding deeper with every stroke, he released your hip to grip your jaw and hiss sharply into your ear, ���You feel so bloody good whore, you’re nothing but a nice warm quim to shove my cock in,” he thrusted in deeper,

You yelled wordlessly in anger while Henry cackled with every pounding, “You’re my. Tight. Little. Rabbit.”

You were now coming to the stand point where you knew you couldn’t fight no matter how hard you wanted or tried.

‘Give up, keep still, it’ll be over soon,’ you told yourself full of sad hope.

His cock, even though causing pain found a strange area in which your body did enjoy, much to your horror.

You could not hold back, the tension within you layered and built higher until it unexpectedly exploded inside blinding pleasure spiralling throughout your entire body. Your eyes saw nothing but white for a mere few seconds. You gasped for air, shocked at the heady sensations swamping you, wondering what strange wildness had taken over your body. You knew Henry had done it somehow.

He sat up and trapped you by the waist in a bruising grip, savagely pounding into you as hard as he possibly could. You grunted and whimpered painfully when he finally release his essence inside of you with a fairly guttural grunt and a groan. His cock still inside you.

He swiped his forehead of the built up sweat when he finished, sweeping his curls hair away from his face. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. He hushed and cooed to you as you continued to cry.

The Earl moved away, and you shivered as his cock slid out from your body. The wave of disgust I’m him and in your self for not fighting harder damaged your soul.

“Say thank you, Sir,” he whispered in your ear, you shook your head at him and choked on your tears.

“Say thank you, Sir,” Henry snarled at your stubborn silence as his right hand curled over and pressed down on your throat.

“Thank you…sir,” you croaked, your voice breaking.

“You are sweeter than I could have imagined,” he told your, his voice dripping with a honey thick tone you would’ve found so charming and attractive if this had never happened. Now you could only trembled at it, find yourself afraid of it. Tears leaked down into the pillow. You turned your head away and shut your eyes tightly praying this was somehow a terrible nightmare.

“If you obey me little girl and learn not to talk out against me, you will find I can be a very kind master. Understood?”

You nodded but kept your eyes closed. You felt his lips press to your ear lobe, and he inhaled the smell of your skin again.

The Earl flipped himself onto his side, lightly stroked your cheek. You wept and shuddered under his ‘embrace’, torn between tears and anger, overloaded with conflicting emotions, wrung out from the carnal encounter.

 Unsure how to respond anymore, you only sniffled in reply. Your body trembled in shock as your mind struggled to absorb and understand what had happened this night.

‘How could this have happened? What did I do to deserve this?’

“Sleep,” he commanded and despite having been unconscious before this nightmare, your exhausted body ached. You wanted to sink into the mattress and disappear into darkness completely, just to be away from him.

A single tear escaped to roll down your cheek. You pulled at your the ropes around your wrists again.

Distantly you heard him say, “You’ll need your energy for when you wake.”

No more fight left within you, not that you could put up much one anyway; You let him gathering your bound body in his arms.

His filthy fingers scratched against your scalp as you slowly fell asleep to all the nightmares that would never scare your again due to his mistreatment tonight. You thought back to the kitchen where you should’ve just left. You wish you could go back now and find the butcher knife Chef Mikkelsen used so often, so you could ram it into the black heart beating beneath your cheek.

Radier Manor Jersey, England 1888, Tuesday 10th April. 06:05 am.

Pain, hate, fear, pleading screams, mocking laughter.

This time you knew you were awake. You knew deep down the previous hours had not been a dream. And you knew what the Earl of Jersey had done to you. When your orbs fluttered open you immediately sobbed. Your knowledge was confirmed accurate. A stingy bite came from between your crusty thighs.

Lord Henry was no where in sight.

The room was bathed in natural light from a window with the curtains drawn back. You quickly came to an understanding that the light coming from a window at your right specified it must’ve been morning.

Facing your feet was a door way. Beside the door was a dark leather arm chair facing the bed and a bookshelf.

The room was painted in light cream coloured wallpaper. There was a vanity with a full mirror to your left. You could see most of your nude body tethered to the bed in the vanity mirror. Beside it was a grand wardrobe thrice the size of the one in your room. To your right was a grand fireplace.

The wood was still red with burning embers but the fire had died.

You reached down to rub your raw body. You gasped.

Lifting your right wrist up to your face you noticed a bruising hot rope burn ringing around it.

Your right hand was free…and so were your feet!! But your left hand remained trapped. Sitting up and tugging your right hand down between your thighs you scratched all the dry flakes of old arousal away before slapping your thighs in anger.

You muffled a scream in a multitude of emotions ranging from mourning to the desire to murder.

Folding your face into the ridges of your palm, you sobbed hard until all your bones twitched from the intensity of your wails. Your toes and fingers curled until the knuckles bore a pale hue. Your chin and lip quivered as your nose twitched. Snorting back your tears, you continuously rubbed them with the bottom of your palms. Tears flowed like waterfalls over your warm cheeks.

Your pain stricken tears loomed over the room you were trapped inside. Staring at the door you thought back on your last memories...you swore the monster encased you in his arms; but now he was nowhere to be seen.

Still naked and afraid you slowly and ever so carefully turned on your bottom and slid your feet onto the floor. Your left hand still trapped by the impossibly tight knotted rope, you made it a life crisis to find some kind of item to cut through it.

Your steps were cut short by more than five steps. You knew last night the rope on your wrists wouldn’t have let you move so easily or far.

 ‘Strange, he had definitely untied the other limbs and lengthened the space for me, why?’

You glanced at the dresser. You held your breath, your five step space had been used up, and so with all your persistence you stretched your right hand out to one of the top draws next to the mirror. A click signified your success as your finger managed to pull out the draw by its ring handle and reach inside to feel a cold, hard object.

‘I must leave this place, I can’t be here! I will leave and find another option in teaching, maybe London has available opportunities; I’ll do anything to keep Odette safe! Dear God, Set me free and guide me to safety!’

Holding it steadily and firmly you lifted out your prize.

‘Scissors!’

The sharp weapon of sewing was in your grasp. you bubbled with excitement.

‘I’m going to be free!’

Your slightly shaking hand with the metal tool shot to the rope that trapped you to this scene. Your beating heart loudly pounded in your ears, your breath suddenly laboured. You were terrified, what if he hurt your again? You couldn’t let that happen; you needed to run.

‘I will go to Mr Ransome! He’ll ride me to the harbour, I’ll catch the next ship out back to the main land!’

Your hand hacked away persistently.

Snip

Snip

Snip

A finally with your last cut came undone the rope tying you to the bed.

A mixture of joy and fear harboured your soul.

‘I now need to leave through the door!’

The moment you were loose you considered running out the door, but a slight breeze halted you entirely. Your eyes flickered down. Bare to the world was not an option for you to run through the house and escape, you’d be a large sore thumb! It would be a worse humiliation to be so open in front of the household along with the possibility of little Mary and Michael catching you with their innocent eyes.

You looked to the bed with quick thinking and stripped it of its contents. After laying down the scissors you wrapped the layers around your body as best and securely as you could.

But tying your last part of your self made dress, the sound of a click and handle turning from the very door you planned to escape through made you panic and trip over your make shift skirtsfalling onto your backside.

Your hand immediately launched for the scissors still on the bed and swiped them behind your back.

The door flung open with a loud creak. As expected the handsome beast stood in the door frame. you scrambled to your feet, just as the Earl Henry entered the room with his hands behind his back and chest puffed up like a rooster. You bit your lip and looked to your feet, you didn’t realise how small and intimidated you could be made to feel again.

He was fully dressed in a common three piece suit. A pocket watch hung from a clip on his waist.

His leather shoes squeaked as long the floor.

Walking in, he pushed the door closed with his two fingers and in his other hand was a tightly held key that locked you both inside. Slipping the tool of your escape into his pocket, Henry noticed how you; his victim was in a different position that last time he’d left you.

The bastard had a smug grin on his face. His eyes set on your freed wrists and back to the bare bed then back to your covered torso. Dressed in the costume toga of a roman vestal virgin despite its ironical symbolism; it was so sweetly innocent.

He fluttered his eyes and chuckled a little, “It pleases me to know you have learnt simple etiquette; to rise with a bowed head in the presence of those superior to you.”

Your teeth sneered as your eyes glared up at him, “I’m not standing for you,” you licked your lips and sighed, “I was just…startled that’s all.”

You hid the scissors inside the folds of your make-shift skirts, pretending that you were simply smoothing the sheets you’d draped yourself in while gradually stepping further and further away from him to circle around the bed. Distancing yourself from the danger was the easiest and possibly safest strategy to run outside the door.

He shook his head and flashed a mean grin, “Well, all my girls here know when to show respect to their lord and Master.”

His footing rounded you quickly and slammed your hips into the duchess draws, the back of your head snapped back and cracked against the mirror. Tears released instantly even while you screamed at yourself to hold your composure. You made no noise, no whimper or whine, even with the spreading burning headache from the back of your head.

Just silent tears.

His large warm hand lifted up and rubbed your cheek, collecting your falling droplets. You flinched half believing he rose his hand to strike you. His fingers guided your face to the side and thumb jabbed into your jaw and chin. He moved your head side to side.

After so much silence of the earl inspecting your face, you hissed, “I am not one of your ‘girls’ and I do not belong to anyone, therefore I shall not bow or rise under the command of a pompous man with the greed of a naughty child!”

His eyes widened along with a sickly smile.

“My, you sure have a mouth on you.” He chuckled, his finger circled behind the your ear.

His eyes looked into the broken mirror, “The sooner you acknowledge that you are not merely a governess here, the better off you’ll be…little girl.”

An icy tingle spread from your neck to your feet while heat spread through your lower belly and down between your legs.

‘The way he spat, ‘Little girl’, why do I…do I enjoy such a demeaning name!?’ Your lips wobbled.

“Do not call me by that and do not touch me!” you hissed through your teeth and slapped his hand away.

Your other hand beneath the folds squeezed the handle of the scissors tightly with your dear life.

You knew that if you stabbed him, he could die and that you might hang for it.

‘He had ruined you! He had stolen your purity! your special flower!’ you internally lamented.

He shook his head happily like a silly teenager discovering the most immature joke that he found hilarious, his hand glided down your neck and to your chest. With a great boldness and savage hands he roughly groped your breasts wrapped in the sheets and sharply tugged a nipple he found.

A loud pain gasp stole out of your mouth.

Hatred and hellfire sparked in your soul. You quickly grasped Henrys wrist in your hand and threw it aside before pushing him strongly back.

“I said, don’t touch me!” you screeched and lifted up the scissors; you wanted to plunge them into his chest!

Alas, he miraculously anticipated your moves. Henry caught your weapon holding hand by the wrist and twisted it, causing you to cry out in pain and releasing the silver tool with a floor clattering thud.

He quickly wrenched your other arm behind you and clasped both of your wrists together in one hand as he pulled on one of your many ties that secured your sheet dress in place. The ‘gown’ came undone and melted off your body onto the floor.

You fought, believe me you screamed like a banshee and kicked and stomped and smacked your sore head against his rocked hard chest to possible knock the air out of him, it’s unfortunate he was unaffected by your attacks.

“Unhand me you... you... you... Pig!!” you screamed, wriggling in his arms.

Your feet attempted to stomp harshly down on his shoes. Yet it became a little game of shuffle and kick.

“Pig?” he laughed with a bark like sound, “Is that the best you could think of? Pig?! You couldn’t even manage the word arse or idiot or even bitch?” his deep laughter vibrating through his chest, pressed against you, sharing his mirth. “I know you to be naïve little one, but so innocently proper?

Oh this is just absolutely too much,” he gasped, tears of laughter in his eyes.

You scowled at him.

‘I just tried to kill you!’ you thought in horror and anger, ‘you think it’s funny I could’ve ended your life!’

“Release me at once you brute!” You shouted over your shoulder.

“Now, now, not yet,” he grunted and shoved your front into the mattress of the bed, “You seem to be unable to control yourself in the presence of a man...no, why in fact, my presence, the presence of your Master. Once you show some self-control or respect, you’ll be held down right beneath me,” he murmured in a silky voice as he held your wrists together and undid his belt.

You heard the clink and began to tremble. You bit your lip and cried silently into the fabric pressed on your face. The leather wrapped around your elbows and tightened sharply. Henry bound your arms together as he fastened the buckle of his belt. He looked over his work and nodded before running fingers down your contorted shoulder blades, causing you to jump and accidentally release the smallest hiccup. You were a troublesome innocent to him. Still a little girl.

‘Goodness!’ He thought, ‘She is old enough to be my own daughter...’ But was there a hint of guilt in his black heart? Ha! Of course not!

His lips pressed beneath your ear and purred “Tell me little bunny, what did you think of me? When we first met I mean, back in my study.”

“I thought nothing!” You lied, wriggling beneath him, you were trying so hard to turn your body over and face him, you were only able to when he ripped your shoulder over and pressed his hands down on your shoulders with his face so close to yours, your noses touched.

“Oh really, because not for one moment do I believe that. I believe you…had an attraction didn’t you?” he leered, his tongue licking his lips.

 His large hands cupped the sides of your face, pulling you against his moistened lips, his tongue pushing past your soft lips, pressing against your own.

Your eyes completely widened, pupils constricted. You were stunned by his shocking boldness. A kiss was the last thing you thought he’d do, you didn’t think such a ‘love’ used thing would be in his abilities after his rash behaviour the night before.

 However, when you felt his large tongue pushing itself past your lips like a slimy thick worm, you felt sickened. You tried to pull away but he held your face against his own, you strained against the belt except was unable to lift a limb to him.

You thought about one of his smart quotes about your mouth…‘you sure have a mouth on you’. Henry felt a lift in your lips that formed a small smile against his lips. Cheeky and brave for once, you hatched a nasty thought. You returned his affectionate attentions.

Henry grumbled to himself, he didn’t want you to relax, he wanted you to be scared of him and hate him. He wanted you to fight! It was too strange to him and felt just so wrong after initially fighting against him, you now were warming up to his touch?

Instead a second later he felt pain of raw fire- he yelped and ripped his face back while feeling his bottom lip; he was bleeding! you had bitten him! He couldn’t believe it! But in a way he could!

And despite the agonising bite mark, he loved it!

He may have wanted your submission yes, but he also wanted to see the red in your eyes. Henry wanted your loyalty and your hate. Deep down he considered he enjoyed a woman disliking him and looking at him with disgust written on your face; it awakened what he felt when he saw his wife.

He admitted to his own butler that he loved to fuck his wife as she screamed how much he repulsed her and his existence with his cock tightly shoved inside of her cunt. Something about the situation would always arouse him.

Last night he was bored with you. After all, you only cried and begged. He wanted his governess to screech and claw just how you did now.

Besides, this gave him reason to ‘dutifully punish’ you. Your biting teeth was the second time you’d assaulted him in the last ten minutes, Henry now wanted to hear you really scream.

His hand sharply slapped across your face enticing the very noise he craved.

“You’ll pay for that,” he barked as he pulled your whole torso forwards across his lap, lifting your legs onto your knees, below your chest was his lap. He raised his clean palm high above his head and whipped it down hard against your bottom.

You didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t wail and didn’t weep. You choked.

All the air had encased itself inside your chest until Henry softly rubbed your arse; a little silent choke emitted from your lips before the air escaped in terrible wailing sobs.

“Hurts doesn’t it, little rabbit, sore beneath your cotton tail?” The Earl cooed as he rubbed his governess’ bottom in a circular motion before swiftly spanking you again. You squealed from shock more than pain this time as you struggled to roll off his lap.

“Let me go! I demand you release me! How dare y-”, but your words were cut off by three successive spanks to your rear, causing you to gasp, rendering you speechless.

He goaded you, “I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t hear what you were saying, care to repeat it?” You may have been humiliated, however you were not going to cave in again!

You looked back over your shoulder at him with your meanest scowl, “I said ‘how dare you touch me!?’ You disgustin-“ but was once again rendered speechless as he pelted upon you an additional four more hits to your rear. Heaving and shaking, fight away more tears you growled at him; steam practically blew out of your nose and ears.

The Earl paused, allowing you to catch your breath.

“Tell me little bunny rabbit, have you ever been spanked before?” he rubbed your bottom again, “Probably not... your father was far too busy gambling his wealth to lay hands on his daughter.”

You perked your head and listened carefully, ‘how did he know about fathers’ money?’

“The west country are such a soft people, not to mention squirmy cowards,” he continued. “But that was just a warm up.”

You were fast losing whatever equal footing you thought you had. As you felt his spidery hand rub its way up your bare leg in between your thighs you struggled against his lap, feeling his palm increase the pressure against your spine. His hand froze and pulled away. He laughed loudly at you and patted your bottom.

“Awe little rabbit, by all means struggle! It is a tremendous show to the audience and surely you can feel me press against your rubbing chest, can’t you darling?” He asked, emphasizing the hardness within his pants by grinding up into your ribs.

You felt nausea as though you were going to cause terrible indigestion. He was true to his word as you felt the hard poking of a firm bulge against you. You froze, aware that your motion was indeed causing your tormentor increasing pleasure.

“Oh, don’t stop now bunny, that felt so good!” he taunted.

“Let me go, Henry!” you yelled, careful to remain still against him.

SMACK!

Tears sprung to your eyes, a squeal escaped you, the stinging in your cheeks were ten times worse than his others he’d administrated before.

“Do – not – ad-dress – me – by – my – name,” he grunted, spanking your with each word, seven hard spanks in all, echoing around the room.

You focused all your energy on keeping silent, not acknowledging his power over you. Your pride meant everything if you were to continue to fight and escape, you couldn’t give in, not even in the face of such torment.

“You shall address me as befitting your stature – and let me emphasize, dear little girl, that you may be the governess of my children and I may be your employer, but we are in no way equals,” He stated, as he ran the palm of his hand over your, feeling the heat radiating off your buns.

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked.

You remained silent, you wouldn’t let him get the satisfactory of hearing your cry again, tears he would see but no cry, no matter how hard he hit your, you would not give up!

Clearly not impressed nor pleased by your, Henry dug his finger nails into one of your reddened cheeks, piercing the tender flesh, causing you to whimper in pain and then fall back to quick silence.

“I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” he huffed.

“Yes! Yes... you were very clear,” you gasped and repeated “We are not equals.”

Feeling him lessen the pressure on your hot arse, you hesitated before continuing.

You clenched your whole body and braced for his rage you knew would spit out when you said very smartly, “From our very first meeting Lord Dalgliesh, I discovered the evidence to prove that you are in fact…inferior to me.”

‘Inferior…uncouth slug, foul pig, son of a bastards’ whore!'

The look he shared turned you colder than a corpse in grave mud....

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[birdsinmywalls]

I’m fully in my Remus era (years late I know) but I’m so glad I saw you have a few fics for him because I love your writing! Here are my thoughts on this one:

“when he fixed both hands around your waist and scooped you like you weighed nothing.” I love that he hasn’t even said anything yet he just scoops her without speaking lol. It’s slightly dramatic but I love it

“I wouldn’t entrust anything as imperfect as magic when it comes to taking care of you. Stay there, kit. I don’t want you near the glass.” So sweet!

“Untrue,” you crowed, beaming at him from your place on the counter. “Spaghetti if you have a small pot?” Good rebuttal!

“You enjoyed reading Remus’s copies from his own curated collection. They were well-loved, to say the least. Pages were dogeared to indicate favorites; lines were drawn under treasured passages with reverent blue ink, so as not to be lost. An occasional coffee mug stain adorned a back cover, a resting place of contemplative caffeination and prose.” Beautiful paragraph

“She’d come back a while later complaining of yet more noise – the two of you really needed to figure a way to stifle the noise of the headboard against the wall.” Sounds like the land lady isn’t getting any and is bitter! A personal problem she has to work out honestly lol

“Fox,” Remus countered.” Such a cute nickname

“Oh, poor fox,” he sing-songed, mock tone laden with lilting pity, “Surely no one has suffered as you have suffered.”  Ooo the mocking thing is very hot!

“Ache?" Remus quirked a brow at you, honeyed and hopeful, playful and piteous. "And if I fucked you silly, would you pipe down?” Omg he’s suddenly so bold. LOVE IT

“For his part, Remus helped himself to your form,” girl he can help himself to any part of my form ok?

“M’gonna fuck you, foxy,” he murmured” IM DYING OVER HERE OMGGGG

“Tell me you love me,” Remus breathed, his lips so close they brushed yours lightly as he spoke.” Jesus ChriSt how could you not?!

“Euphoric, heated rush – space heater be damned.” This is something I really love about your writing: you set a detailed scene of where everything is in such a natural way and continue to reference it effortlessly so we continue to remember the details and keep us present in the story.

Also now I also need Remus figuring out reader has a thing for being man-handled 😵‍💫🌻

HAHA I am UNWELL. Why can't I just write a simple blurb? Anyway, I hope you enjoy... 

18+ only please -- thigh-riding, biting, finger sucking, throat grabbing, couch sex, my stupid ass.

something so magic about you [marauders!remus lupin x fem!reader]

word count: 4.2k (HAHA HOW) of unedited domestic bliss, nonsense, and my stupid attempts at sexy touching, my usual abuse of simile and metaphor.

If you enjoyed, please rb, thanks! 

--

Some things break. You know this. Broken glass happens. 

The noise of thin, blown glass shattering clinked and rang through your apartment, glass pieces like cracked eggshells mingling with the amber tea now spilled in splotched puddles along the faded tiled floor of yours and Remus’s tiny, shared kitchen. 

As soon as he heard the noise, Remus shot up from his resting place at the little table near the window in corner of the kitchenette. Fresh berries halfway to his mouth when he took in the sight of you standing next to a puddle of what was once tea, the green glass mug that you had found whilst thrifting now in jagged pieces scattered around your socked feet. 

Not wasting any time, or sparing any thought for his own similarly-stockinged feet, Remus strode to you – little care for the loose state of the cardigan drooping over your bare shoulder, or how one sock was sliding and bunched at your ankle – when he fixed both hands around your waist and scooped you like you weighed nothing. Settling you onto the kitchen counter and away from the mess. 

Maybe it was the shock at Remus’s sudden action; maybe it was the thrill of him lifting you so easily up and away. (Was added strength a bonus of lycanthropy? Maybe you’d needed to look into this). 

Whatever it was, the borderline-embarrassing shrieking little squeak you’d emanated upon being lifted onto the kitchen counter by your love was … well. Remus would have to tuck that one into his back pocket for later. 

For now, his hands enveloped your face, cupping your jaw and concernedly searching your eyes for any pain, be it glass or burns. 

“Are you okay, kit?” Remus asked, thumbs stroking over cheekbones as he assessed the mess. 

“Of course, Rem,” you giggled, placing a hand over his heart as he stood between your legs, unconcerned for the state of his own dampening socks. Your heart rate returning to normal in the aftermath of the shattered glass and of Remus literally sweeping you off your feet. “Though I really wish you wouldn’t call me that, Moony. We aren’t school-children anymore.” 

Remus sighed through his nose, the corner of his mouth quirking at your statement. You didn’t call him by his schooltime moniker often. He’d leave that to James and Sirius. Besides, you’d had your own names for him that were definitely reserved for the two of you alone. Sweetheart. Honey. Love… A few that were definitely more inappropriate, and he’d keep those to himself. 

But for now, you were fine. Definitely fine, if you could sass him. 

“Can’t do. Won’t do. You know you’re always my kit, my fox.” he pecked your nose quickly while turning from his most cherished place between your legs, spread on the countertop, long fingers trailing over the tops of bared thighs, as he turned to pluck the larger glass pieces from the floor and into the bin.

“You know, you literally have magic for that,” you called from your perch, watching Remus clean. You made to slide off the counter, only to be met with Remus’s eyes and a pointed finger.

“I wouldn’t entrust anything as imperfect as magic when it comes to taking care of you. Stay there, kit. I don’t want you near the glass.” The low timbre of his voice and the flash of his eyes compelled you to obey, the burn of where his fingertips had gripped your waist to lift you still at the forefront of your mind. He really could be commanding, when he’d wanted to. Or when you wanted him to. 

“Fine,” you huffed, watching Remus go. “Suppose it’s fine. The cup was an old one. And in the grand scheme of things, aren’t some things made to be broken?” You swayed your feet along with the song playing softly from the wireless in the other room. 

“Drinking glasses, my dear, are not made to be broken,” Remus amended, now mopping the sad state of what was supposed to be your morning tea from the old tiles. “Nothing is.”

“Untrue,” you crowed, beaming at him from your place on the counter. “Spaghetti if you have a small pot?”

Remus huffed; he knew you were pleased with yourself, taking in the curve of your smiling mouth, your lips full and eyes brimming with mirth. 

He could kiss your laughing mouth, every second of every day. He really could. 

“Come on then, k– my little fox,” he amended. 

Eager to test the theory percolating while he’d cleaned, he’d scooped you once more, twirling you a bit as he’d moved you from the counter to the now-clean kitchen floor. 

And there it was. 

The pleased little hum. The rush of heat blooming against your skin beneath his fingertips. The sweet catch of your breath as he’d moved your body for you. You enjoyed it. 

File that one away for later, indeed. 

—

Remus was like autumn. Steady. Evoking warm, easy shades of yellow and amber. Embodying comfort, the desire for warmth. The heat of fading summer in his touches and behind his eyes, replaced with coolness of an easy temperament and reasoning. Quiet like the falling rain outside of your window. 

And in some ways, an absolute torment. An even-keeled purgatory that made you long for an extreme. Like now, for instance. 

And it was true. Remus on this day had to be some kind of torment concocted by a higher deity (that you didn’t believe in, by the way) who sought to punish only you. For today was a day for the two of you to relax; and only one of you seemed capable of following the rules of said day. 

You sat on the leftmost cushion of the threadbare couch, space heater blasting warm, welcome air over your bare legs, clad in one of Remus’s stretched, thinning t-shirts that he had purchased from an art museum gift shop during a prior visit, the screen-print of Monet’s “Water Lilies” long-since faded, a barely-decipherable swirling blur of greens, blues and florals. 

Thumbing your way through a copy of “El Club Dumas” that belonged to your beloved, enjoying the literary mystery of an ill-fated rare book collector. Soft music still playing, a plate of half-eaten toast with tart lingonberry jam left near the corner of the coffee table. 

You enjoyed reading Remus’s copies from his own curated collection. They were well-loved, to say the least. Pages were dogeared to indicate favorites; lines were drawn under treasured passages with reverent blue ink, so as not to be lost. An occasional coffee mug stain adorned a back cover, a resting place of contemplative caffeination and prose. 

And every so often, you were delighted to discover annotations here and there in a random margin, when something had occurred within the confines of Remus’s mind, which you often likened to the rippling surface of the ocean, caught within the changing tide. Cool, steady, churning depths that belied something deeper. Sea-green moments of tinged thoughtfulness with depths that others may never see.

Said annotations were also a puzzlement of dark, oceanic depth. For one, they were basically illegible-- between Remus’s cramped, looped handwriting and the smudging away of the ink due to his thumbing through the pages time and again, you could no sooner decipher about sixty percent of the notes than you could decipher the machinations swirling behind Remus’s honey-amber eyes when he would glance up from the pages of his own novel to stare out the window.

The two of you were supposed to be relaxing; and you were holding up your end. Reading in the comfort of cozy, well-loved clothes by the warmth of your sputtering heater. (Probably a fire hazard, though you certainly weren’t about to snitch to Remus’s overbearing landlady, who you were convinced hated you). The source of an endlessly embarrassing anecdote about her coming to the door to notify Remus of noise complaints by the neighbors, and could his guest please keep her voice down? 

She’d come back a while later complaining of yet more noise – the two of you really needed to figure a way to stifle the noise of the headboard against the wall.

So, you were reading. 

Remus, on the other hand. The light of your life? He was working. Poring over notes from his editor, scribbling angrily, huffing at pages rife with red ink. 

You had been hoping, perhaps foolishly, that “relax,” when Remus had suggested it, was a euphemism for some mutually-beneficial form of relaxation. Perhaps a nice nap would follow a particular form of well-earned physical exertion. Flashes of Remus bending you over the couch, or of fucking you right on the living room floor near the space heater, permeated your mind. Your idea was clearly different from Remus’s, however. 

How dare he sit across the room from you looking so inviting -- leaned back in his chair, pen in hand and between his lips in ponderment.  His legs were spread wide, thighs creating an inviting “v” on either side of the chair. His sandy hair was slightly mussed and sticking up in funny patches, curled over his eas and indicating where he had been tugging on it in moments of the passive, absentminded frustration so frequently-suffered by deep thinkers. 

He needn’t tug, you thought. You would be so glad to do it for him, if ever he would ask. 

He wore clothes indicative of a lazy day -- an old plain t-shirt covered by a well-loved cardigan rolled to the elbows, his fine-lined and minimalist tattoos trailing down a bared forearm. Replete with a pair of grey sweatpants. Remus was a well-loved, cozy Autumn day. 

It was honestly unreasonable how good he looked while sitting across from you, paying you no mind. Inconsiderate, really. 

You could only sigh and rub your thighs together from your spot on the couch so many times before Remus was bound to get the gist. 

So you sighed one last time, cheeks warm with your frustration and the proximity to the heater, rolling your eyes and closing the Reverte novel with a gentle whump.

“Peevish of you,” Remus broke the silence, turning to gaze at you, honey eyes blinking owlishly.  “What could you possibly have to pout about today?” 

You hmm’d lightly, “Rem …”

“Fox,” Remus countered.

“This was supposed to be our day to relax. It was your idea,” you nodded at his stack of papers and his aged typewriter, dog-eared pages beneath a steaming mug of tea dwarfing the card table that comprised his workspace. “You’re not relaxing.”

Remus exhaled, drawing his hands through his hair once more, your eyes following the journey of his fingers as he carded through tresses, leaning back in his chair with a groan and tossing the pen onto his stack of papers with a mild clack. 

“Do I not look relaxed?” he rumbled, the barest hint of a dare behind his words. A dare you were confident didn't carry any depth as you watched your beloved now swipe at his own bleary eyes.

You rolled onto your stomach, burning eyes glittering and glaring up at him from your spot on the couch.

“No,” you passively rolled your eyes, “you don’t.” 

“And that annoys you, does it, little fox?” 

“Rem,” you sighed. “Don’t be irritating. You know damn well … it isn’t as relaxing for me if you’re working. Now I feel like I need to do something,” you were whining now. A tone you knew would either plague Remus until he paid attention to you, or endear you to him all the same. 

Selfishly, you hoped for the former. The thrilling tingle of want that coursed through you at the promise of your lover's exertion in times of annoyance, of how he would respond to you so well was hardly a deterrent for being, admittedly, somewhat bratty.

Your love could be downright wolfish when he wanted to be.

And truth be told, you were very flustered. Whether said fluster was the result of Remus’s maddening inability to honor your lazy day pact, or the fact that his cozy, threadbare sweater and his spread legs rendered him devastatingly, ever-moreso inviting, you weren’t quite sure. But the heat radiating across your cheeks couldn’t only be the result of your proximity to the heater. That you knew.

 Remus chuckled darkly, his honeyed eyes glinting with midnight mischief. 

“Oh, poor fox,” he sing-songed, mock tone laden with lilting pity, “Surely no one has suffered as you have suffered.”  

“Suffering is relative, then, don’t you think? Surely, there is some objective measure of ache, of pain?” 

“Ache?" Remus quirked a brow at you, honeyed and hopeful, playful and piteous. "And if I fucked you silly, would you pipe down?”

“Hmmm,” you put your book down, marking the page before rising from the couch and swaying over to where your beloved was seated. “I’m not so sure. Can you even be trusted to pay attention to me?” 

You perched yourself onto Remus’s lap, one of his thighs between yours, as you twined your arms around his neck, settling in and making sure to wiggle your hips over his thigh as you settled, teasing the building ache between your own legs as you went. 

“You’re awful, you know,” You brought a hand up to cup Remus’s jaw, fingers trailing along the bow of his upper lip on their way as you murmured into his mouth. “You’re over here working, and I’m over there suffering while you look so… devastating. Uncaring for my condition.” 

“Oh, poor fox,” he breathed, eyes traveling down to your lips, pleased at their proximity to his own. 

You struck then, pressing your lips to your beloveds, sucking his lower lip into your mouth and letting your hands rove beneath his cardigan to feel the firmness of his torso beneath your own wanting fingers. Allowing your hips to roll teasingly over the apex of his thigh once, testing Remus’s parameters for your little game. 

For his part, Remus helped himself to your form, trailing his hands up your bare thighs as you kissed, gripping your hips with one hand while the other roved up your torso. Pausing to roughly cup your breast through his faded t-shirt. Trailing up your collarbones and arriving at his destination – cupping his hand lovingly around the tender arc of your neck, pressing a long thumb into the column of your throat – delighting in the way he could feel the pleased little gasp in your throat and beneath his thumb.

You pulled back from his kiss then, his hot breath mixed with yours, your faces mere millimeters apart, breathing heavily into one another. You squeezed the hand at the base of Remus’s jaw, tipping his head back, and grazing your teeth along Remus’s jaw, biting his chin lightly. Your hips continue to buck into his thigh, chasing the something that was building. You release Remus’s chin, your teeth opting to sink in his plush lower lip, your hand continuing to squeeze his face lightly. Remus sighs contentedly as you relinquish your grip on his lip and lick your way into his mouth, soothing the sting of your bite as you go.

Remus’s grip on your waist was punishing now, encouraging the roll of your hips as you rode his thigh, breaking the kiss once more to take in your wild form, kiss-bitten lips and sparkling eyes, gasping breaths at your wriggling efforts along Remus’s lap, his erection now straining against his sweatpants. 

“The incisors, who would’ve thought,” Remus breathed. “Fucking sexy, when you bite.” 

“Yeah?” You murmured, heated honey falling from your lips and straight through Remus to settle between his thighs, he swears. “What a coincidence, Rem. I love your mouth,” you piteously sighed.

Taking your thumb and middle finger and trailing them over his lips, allowing them to press into the plush fullness of his lower lip, dragging it down and letting it settle back into place at your release, your eyes following the movement.

Remus’s lips parted just so, allowing you to slip your fingers into his mouth, where he promptly sucked on your digits. The sight and feel of him, of his warm, sinful mouth around your fingers caused you to groan, tilting your head back with fluttering lashes, bucking your hips into him with purpose.

The ache that burned through you at Remus’s words, at his mouth around your fingers, at his guiding hands along your rolling hips, at the feel of him beneath you, was coursing. It burned crimson, cloudy and acrid.

Remus gently released your fingers after a purposeful suck, kissing your fingertips before speaking to you again.

“I have to try something now, fox,” Remus pressed a plucking kiss to your lips now, chuckling at the confused wrinkle that crossed your brow as he stilled the roll of your hips. “Don’t worry, I think you’ll like it.” 

The echoed memory of your little whines and gasps when he had picked you up to and from the counter played in his ears, drowned out by the very real, very present lilted moan that escaped your lips as Remus lifted you from his lap, carrying you to drop gently along the length of the couch. 

Remus shed his cardigan and the shirt beneath it fluidly, stepping out of his sweatpants, his cock bobbing before you as he followed you onto the couch, covering your form with his own. Making to trail his hands once more along your thighs, up, up, up until he reached his goal, swiping a long finger over your clothed pussy, pleased to find the fabric of your boy-short panties damp beneath his touch. 

“Knew it,” he breathed, pressing kisses along your neck that he followed with the scrape of teeth, pleased at the little gasping moans you emitted as he went. “You love when I toss you around a bit, huh, baby?” 

His fingers continued to pluck and play with your clothed slit, the pleasant friction of your damp panties causing little, electric thrills to thrum their way through your body, rolling your hips to meet his hand, sheer delight evident in your little broken moans. 

Quick as a flash, Remus swatted your thigh, a lightning crack along your already-sparking skin. Lifting your head and shoulders from the couch with a long-fingered hand that gently looped around your throat. 

“I asked a question, fox,” his voice melted into you, an internalized rumble of far-off thunder. If the lightning swat of his hand against your thigh was anything else to go by, you knew your comparison of Remus to a stormy sea was nothing short of apt. 

“Uh-huh,” you mewled, nodding as you continued to buck your hips into Remus’s hand. “L-love it.” 

Remus gazed through hooded, caramel eyes down  at your piteous form, writhing beneath him on the couch. Loving how ready you always were for him. Rife with alacrity. 

“Well then…” Remus switched his grip, letting you fall back into the cushions of the old couch with a soft whump, gripping your hips with a hand that he knew would leave a bruise. The air was knocked from your lungs with a delightfully forceful flip of your hips by your beloved, causing you to now lie on the couch on your stomach. Instinctively arching your hips and ass up for Remus. 

You can’t help but giggle at Remus’s treatment of your body, your feelings bubbling to the surface, lightweight little champagne clouds, alight with adoration for the man above you. 

Remus could be, just, so … infuriating. Unfairly good looking. Whiskey-tea eyes and shining caramel hair. Slender, spider-like fingers, the elegant hands of a pianist. To you he’s the ultimate dichotomy: All sharp angles and simultaneous soft touches. Cotton candy sweetness, fluff and air, dissolved by dissonant volatility. He’s easy, soft-spoken until he isn’t; even when he’s teasing you, you can always find a warm glimmer in his gilded, mossy eyes. 

Wolfish indeed. 

How you find yourself consistently drowning, wrapped in the strong, warm embrace of Remus Lupin is a mystery to you. But here you are -- his arms around your waist, ripping your panties down your thighs and over one leg, leaving them to dangle on the other ankle. You feel the heat of him behind you. You, sense the grip he has on his own cock, teasing himself as he takes in your arched hips, your obviously-wet slit worked up from writhing in his lap, and from his treatment of your body, tossing you about as he pleased – his little doll. 

“M’gonna fuck you, foxy,” he murmured, knocking your knees further apart on the couch and guiding his cock along your dripping slit, cooing at the sight of you dripping for him. Of your wetness gathered along the shaft of his cock before guiding himself home into your tight heat. 

You groaned at the welcome intrusion, at the feeling of fullness your beloved rendered you with. Wriggling your hips impatiently as Remus began his game – the game you knew well – a chessmatch of slow, sensual thrusts that would build the bursting pleasure inside of you. 

You breathed gasped, punched moans into the crevice of the couch arm, Remus’s hands wandering beneath his faded t-shirt that you still wore to skate along your ribs and grasp at your tits, pinching and rolling your perked nipples as he continued to thrust into you.

You loved when your beloved toyed with you, it was true. The feel of his lean, strong thighs pressing into the backs of yours with each thrust and roll of his hips. The way he would surround you with himself, his tall form pressing you into the couch. Heated musk and Remus pressing the heat building inside of yourself to a frenzied heated pitch. 

Remus abandons your tits in favor of tilting your jaw back to allow your lips to meet his in a cloying kiss, bruised lips meeting, a strand of saliva following Remus when he breaks from you to spill heated murmurs into your mouth.

“Tell me you love me,” Remus breathed, his lips so close they brushed yours lightly as he spoke. The brush of almost. Of a paintbrush on a blank canvas, filling your heart and mind with watercolor promises. Spilling and spreading through pulpy, paper crevices. Like ink running through your bloodstream. “Tell me like a good girl.” 

Remus’s thrusts were punishing now, the long fingers of his hand pressing you, your face, by the back of your neck, into the cushions of the couch, wrists locked behind your back in the grip of his other hand – When had that happened? 

The heavy weight of him dragging inside of you with each thrust, filling you with him, with the bruising ache of your building pleasure. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “I l-love you, Rem, of c-course I do,” you hiccuped your adoration with the uneven cadence of fucked-out breaths, a particularly keening whine escaping your plush lips and muffled into the cushions of the couch. 

Remus held you the way he meant to, forceful. Like spilling like water over the sides and through the cracks of clumsily-cupped hands. 

Pleased as punch with the borderline pornographic sounds of your wetness as he continued to fuck into you, of the ever-tightening of your pussy around him. He wriggled a hand between the couch and your hips to allow you to roll yourself, your clit, into his fingers while his punishing thrusts pushed you into the couch and over an unseen edge. 

“P–please, Rem,” you gasped, “I’m s-so close. C-can you cum in me?” 

And how could he refuse? You were the picture of sin. A portrait painted for him alone – tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, heated cheeks pressed into the couch cushions, watching him above you as he fucked you with bruising purpose. His release had been building as you clenched your thighs as close as they could allow, to squeeze your pussy around him as he fucked you harder, harder into the couch. 

“Y-yeah, fox,” Remus grunted, “C’mon then,” picking of the pace of his fingers beneath you, relishing in the prolonged keen sigh and the pulse of your aching pussy that signified your cracked release, allowing himself to spill inside your walls not long after. Euphoric, heated rush – space heater be damned. He could live inside the heat of you for as long as you would let him. 

You wriggled beneath him as he withdrew from you, turning yourself by your hips to lie on your back on the couch, plopping boneless legs along his lap with the loose and easy confidence of someone who’s just come, as Remus settled himself down into a seated position, aching bones and scarred skin. Content to settle into the sated, chestnut warmth of one another. A true relaxation day. 

His amber eyes shine with adoration as they take you in -- rich, honeyed whiskey poured over glistening ice. If you indulge too long? The burn eventually fades, replaced by a smoky, whispering sensation that warms your bones. Which fades, too. Eventually. Until you’re left in a daze, with naught but the memory of how the weight of his romance made you feel, tipsiness tipping into sobering sobriety. 

“I love your eyes, Rem,” you crooned, reaching up to trail a finger along the sharp curve of his jaw. “My beautiful love.” Pleased at the fond, blissed-out smile that bloomed across his lips at your words and at your intentions.

Eternally impassioned, your Remus. Now if only you could get him to take days off more often. 

--

Thirsty Thursday: Send your Thots 💌

Tagging: @spidervee @luveline @withahappyrefrain @mrshipsmcgee @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @flightlessangelwings @peterthepark @reigndropss @blooming-violets @brucewaynefucks @lilacvine @summertimestyles @decadentpaperduck @2clones-1kamino @papaya-047 @inklore @clints-lucky-arrow @petcr3 @aphrogeneias @realspideyspice @phoenixhalliwell @abibliophobiaa @ouralcohol @levylovegood @harriedandharassed @lorosette @realspideyspice 

[1kook]

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door.  warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.  

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.  

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. ���Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?” 

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.  

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence. 

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[bokutobaes]

I loved the bad day hc it was so gooood🥺 can I get a hc (w the same boys👀) of ur first night over their house?? Bet Atsumu snores like a freight train lmao😭😭😭

first night at the inarizaki boys house :p

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- with: suna, atsumu, kita

☆- no warnings!

☆- a/n: this request was soo cute i had so much fun writing this🥺thank u for requesting i really hope you like it <33 and im so happy u enjoyed the bad day headcanons

authors: lu and sen <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- suna:

-you were in fact enjoying a nice saturday in your room, pixie lights strung, your favourite show playing and you in a warm fuzzy blanket. it was bliss

-until.. the vibration of your phone shook you from the scene you were watching, and who else would call you on a saturday at 1am

-“hello?”

-“hey”

-“uh whats up”

-“wanna come over.. to sleep”

-“suna- it’s one o clock in the morning”

-“so?”

-“so why would i-”

-“i miss you..”

-your heart just exploded from the fact he just said that

-“say no more okay i’ll be there in 10”

-“okay :)” you could hear suna’s smirk from his voice

-you’d snuck out before in your first year of high school just to hangout with some friends so you knew the basics

-you left a note to your parent(s) saying that you went to a friends house early in the morning because she had a boyfriend emergency

-the things u do for suna🙄

-the way to sunas wasn’t long, he only lived a few streets away so you packed a bag, threw on your comfiest cutest sweats and headed on down

-when you got there suna was already at the door leaning against the frame with his hands stuffed in his black hoodie

-“hi”

-“hi.” he hugged you, “come on it’s cold out” then he grabbed your wrist and with a finger on his lips telling u to tip toe and whisper you headed to his bedroom

-now, you’d definitely been to sunas bedroom before to hangout after school and study and whatnot

-but it now dawned on you that you’ve never stayed the night

-heat rushed to your cheeks

-“so where am I gonna sleep”

-“here?” he said

-“where?”

-“in my bed. you’re sleeping in my bed.”

-“suit yourself, but I kick people in my sleep”

-he scoffed, “and I’ll kick you back tf”

-you guys hopped in the bed and just immediately went on your phones

-but you were in one of those close ass positions where you could see what was on eachothers screens

-so you exchanged tik toks and tweets

-the night was filled with you both trying so hard not to laugh out loud

-you guys rambled on for a long time after seeing a post about astrology

-“i don’t get it.. your saying i’ll be in a bad mood on the 5th of next month because mercury is in gatorade.?”

-did he really just disrespect retrograde like that

-once it was getting really late your eyes started feeling heavy

-you switched your phone off and snuggled deeper into suna’s chest

-you were basically hugging eachother

-suna yawned

-“goodnight y/n”

-“goodnight rin”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- atsumu:

-you were already at atsumu’s house, you’d walked there together after school to spend the friday together

-currently you were in osamu’s room with the twins playing “winning eleven”

-why they were so obsessed with this game? you do not know

-but right now you were being betrayed by atsumu

-he told you he’d “go easy on you” since you’ve never played before

-then just abandoned that idea

-“atsumu wtf your not even going a smidge easy on me”

-“hey it’s not my fault yer skills are lacking baby”

-ur about to punch him

-“ok then here” you hand your remote to osamu and cross ur arms scooching away from atsumu

-“wait heyyy hey don’t be like that I was joking” he paused the game

-osamu was literally on his phone at this point

-he smushed your cheeks and you rolled your eyes

-“what time even is it?”

-“10:43” osamu drawled

-“omg it’s late i have to go soon”

-atsumu got up and told you to come his room so you waved to osamu and headed out

-“stay the night”

-“really?”

-“yes really please i don’t want you to leave yet”

-🥺🥺🥺

-“awww tsumu”

-“SHUTUP! are you gonna stay”

-“yes I’ll stay” <3

-he took your face in his hands and kissed you all over

-you shot your parent a text saying you were sleeping at your friends house and then sat on the bed where atsumu was already sprawled out watching something on his phone

-“i don’t have a toothbrush”

-“there’s an extra in the bathroom babe”

-“i don’t have clothes”

-he looked at you

-“i have clothes”

-“aww are you gonna give me your hoo-“

-“nvm go home now”

-LOL

-it was already almost midnight after you had watched some movies on his bed

-you guys got up and brushed ur teeth together

-“next time you’re gonna sleep at my house instead and we’re gonna do face masks”

-you though about tsumu in a panda sheet mask and laughed to yourself

-when you were done washing your face he asked if he could put the moisturizer on for you

-so you sat up on the counter and he was being so gentle🥺 just looking at you

-your cheeks starting feeling hot and atsumu noticed

-“oh embarrassed now are we?” his stupid smirk plastered on his face

-“shutup tsumu” you looked down smiling

-it was half past 12 when you guys finally got in bed and you were honestly tired since it was the end of the week

-atsumu squeezed you tightly from behind and was playing with your hair

-it knocked you out

-“g’night baby”

-“goodnignt tsum”

-(you were not prepared for the snoring that came out of him at 2am but you loved him anyways)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- kita:

-this sleepover with kita was actually planned by the two of you

-you wanted to spend time together outside of school and you thought this was a nice idea

-you came over a little before dinner and he was cooking when you got there

-“hi!” you said walking in through the kitchen door

-“hi love” he stopped stirring a pot on the stove and came over to hug you

-he kissed your forehead and asked how you are

-(like he didn’t ask you 1 hour again when you were texting)

-you ate dinner with kita and his grandma, she told stories about kita when he was younger embarrassing him but making you awww out loud

-after dinner you headed to his room, you’d put on something to watch but it ended up just being background noise in a conversation you were having

-“y/n.. did you wanna sleep in the spare bedroom? i want to make sure you’re comfortable”

-“its okay babe i don’t mind sleeping with you”

-so you both were on his bed just looking out the window together, now that it was later you’d switched from watching tv to sharing earphones and looking out the window at the stars

-a song came on, something soft and gentle playing through your ears

-“wanna dance?” kita said looking at you with a smile

-heart combusted

-“of course”

-you got up and he grabbed your hip, hand in hand you two just swayed slowly looking at eachother

-both your cheeks burned but you were so happy that you were here with him right now

-now you’d been dancing for a few minutes and your face was in the crook of his neck

-you were both starting to get a bit tired but then you remembered the face masks you’d brought in your bag

-“kita..! we should do face masks”

-“face masks?”

-“yep! i brought some. let’s go”

-leading him to the bathroom you started to put the sheet mask on him

-the fox imprint on the mask made you laugh being on kitas face

-you two looked so silly, a fox and a panda in pyjamas on a saturday night

-after taking a few photos the masks were done and you washed up for bed together

-it felt like taking a look into the future

-soo domestic

-sleep came really easy that night, you lay on kitas chest and rambled for a bit before you noticed he had fallen asleep

-poor bb probably tired from volleyball practice

-you fell asleep soon after right after kissing him on the cheek

[barney-james]

Fifteen Down in a Gown || Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader SMUT

Requested: @lollypop-lam​ How about Bucky Barnes x Reader. She’s an avenger, kicks the ass of like 15 guys while in a ball gown esque dress, Bucky picks her up and fucks her against a wall, overstimulation, choking, and fucking reader into their bed, aftercare

warnings: unprotected sex, overstimulation, choking, light spanking and hair pulling, oral (female receiving, male almost receiving)

*not my gif*

The sky is a watercolor painting, blending from violet, to baby-pink, to a pale-yellow horizon where the sun is setting. A light breeze engulfs you and your date, but you’re lucky to have such a gentleman with you. He had wrapped his long suit jacket around your shoulders to keep you a bit warmer until you reached the ballrooms.

“Remember our mission, doll?” he asks, sliding his arm around your waist.

“We went over it not even five minutes ago, Buck,” you smile. “I just wish we could’ve gone undercover as waiters, or something, instead of guests. This dress is squeezing the life out of me, and I can’t feel my feet.”

“You’re a trained assassin, hon,” he chuckles. “Heals and ball gowns aren’t exactly your everyday work attire.”

You roll your eyes at your boyfriend. “We find Valencia,” you begin, “try not to get involved, and call in special forces when we’ve got eyes on him, right?”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to go,” Bucky sighs, reaching for the door and holding it open for you, “but I have a gut feeling he won’t be going down without a fight.”

When you walk through the open door, Bucky pulls his jacket off your shoulders and back onto his own. Your heals click against the marble tile as you walk around the vast ballroom, your arm linked with Bucky’s. The two of you cruise the perimeter of the large room after reviewing the picture of Valencia in his file, observing the scene and looking out for any sign of the crook or his little protection force.

After circling the balcony on the fourth and final floor, you and Bucky find a lone table in the corner that seems to be the perfect spot to overlook the party. The wall behind the table is a floor-to-ceiling fish-tank with equally as large potted house plants on either side. You stand behind the table, pretending to observe the fish. 

Bucky’s hands slide around your waist from behind you, and he leans in closer, his hot breath fanning your ear. “I do have to say, though, baby girl,” he begins in a hushed, low voice, “you look absolutely stunning tonight.” His hands land on your hips. “Your curves on display so nicely in this tight dress, I could just rip it off you and take you right here.” His lips find your bare shoulder, and he kisses slowly up to your neck, growling in your ear when he he kisses just behind it.

You hold back a small whimper and squeeze your legs together, not wanting to provoke him any further. You turn around in his arms, gently grasping his scruffy cheeks and pulling his lips to yours in a deep, slow kiss. You feel his well-hidden metal hand fall from your hip onto your ass while the other flesh hand holds you against him by the small of your back. When you pull away from the heated kiss, you see your lipstick smeared over his lips. You swipe your thumb over his plump lips to remove the lipstick as you look up into his lust and desire darkened, perfect eyes, batting your eyelashes innocently. 

“Not on the job, Barnes,” you whisper, smiling, and you press another quick kiss on his lips.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groans as you pull away, turning back to the tank, and he heaves a heavy sigh. “Text Steve and tell him we’re here, and that there’s no sign of Valencia yet. I’m going to need some liquor to get myself through the night without touching you since it may be a while ‘til he shows.”

He places a kiss to your cheek before turning and starting towards the many stairs down to the main floor: the only one serving alcohol. 

“Hey!” you yell after him. He turns around to face you but continues walking backwards. “You shouldn’t be drinking on the job!”

“What did you say?” he shouts back, cupping his ear. “I can’t here you! You said you want one?” He winks at you before turning back and walking down the stairs. 

You turn back to the fish-tank, giggling at your silly boyfriend, and pull your phone out of your small hand purse. You unlock it and type out a message to the mission group - which consists of only Steve, Bucky, and you.

‘We’ve gotten in safely. No sign of the rat yet.’ you type, and just as you hear the shwoop of the message being sent, you also here a fox whistle come from behind you. 

You gracefully spin away from the tank and toward the source of the sound. When Bucky left to get drinks, not even a minute ago, you were alone on the top floor. You’re surprised not to see some smug guy just trying to flirt you up when you turn around, but instead you see the face you’d just seen in the case file - Valencia. He’s leaning against a  structural pillar at the edge of the balcony. Your heart begins to race, and your breath hitches, not knowing whether to stall and wait for Bucky or just get the nasty man taken away. You decide to call for Bucky instead of stall, so he’d get here sooner, the two of you could get on with the evening. 

You pretend to scratch behind your ear as you fake smile at the man who had whistled at you, but you pressed your hidden earpiece that connected you to Bucky, and clicked your tongue twice - your distress signal. 

Glass can be heard shattering from several floors below, and Valencia turns his head towards the sound, but pushes off the column and starts walking towards the table you’re still standing behind. Your palms sweat, wanting to wait for Bucky and not make any premature moves against the guy. As he reaches the table, his hands reach out, and he places his palms on the table, leaning in closer to you. 

“I know why you’re here, Ms Y/l/n,” he says under his breath, sounding as if he’s trying to still be seductive. “How’d you get invited? Did the Avengers pull a few strings?” His hands slip across the table, closer to you. Your breath gets caught in your throat, still not sure what you should do, but when he leans in closer to you, and his face becomes level with your breasts, your instincts take over.  

You bend down at the knees slightly, gripping the edge of the table and flipping it over on top of Valencia. His little array of followers start toward you. You manage to dodge, kick, and punch your way through a few of them, but you’re stopped when someone grabs you from behind and tries to control you. Another one of the crooks comes at you from the front, brandishing a knife. As he gets closer, you lean back into the man holding you and kick the knife out of his hand, but that doesn’t stop him. He lets it fly out of his hand and starts running towards you. You bend your knees with both feet out in front of you, and as soon as he’s close enough, you extend your legs into his chest. He stumbles and falls backwards with so much force, when his back hit the fish-tank, the glass shattered, spilling the water all over the floor.

The inertia of your kick already had the guy holding you stumbling back, but now add the soaked floor, he slips and hits the railing of the balcony, falling backwards over it still holding you. Once he realizes he’s going to fall four floor, he lets go of you, trying to reach out and catch himself on something. Screams echo from below.

You had barely tumbled over the railing when you feel metal grip your wrist and catch you, pulling your arm slightly. Wincing, you look up to see Bucky leaning over and catching you, his face stricken with what seems to be a mix of anger and worry.

“So much for not getting involved,” he half-laughs, half-sighs, pulling you back up over the railing. 

With the amount of people running after the two of you, you deemed it unnecessary to thank him at the moment, Again, your instincts kick in with a rush of adrenaline, and your body takes down several men from muscle memory - you didn’t even have to think about it. Time seems to have sped up, and you’re only aware of the sounds of the guns firing around you as you wing around, kicking, punching, tackling even, as you fight the crooks and protect Bucky and yourself.

You don’t know how much time had passed since this fight started, but when you come back to your senses, you find yourself standing among thugs laying on the ground, many of them unconscious, others struggling to get to their feet. Your breath his heavy as you try to catch it, and you’re standing crooked due t your heels being broken. Some strands of her hair fall in your face, having come out of your up-do. Your strapless dress is still in once piece and held up where it’s supposed to be, not so surprising since it’s so tight you could barely breath.

Just as you’re about to turn and look for Bucky, you hear gunshots and bullets hitting metal. You turn around to find the source of the ricocheting, stumbling over your broken heels and the men lying on the ground as you do so.

You find the last standing accomplice wielding a gun as Valencia drags him away and uses him as a human shield. Bucky takes long strides toward the two culprits, gaining on them faster than they can limp away and blocking the bullets with his metal hand held out in front of him. When he’s close enough, he grabs the gun out of the shields hands, crushes it with his one metal hand, and throws it to the floor. He grabs the gunman by his jacket and throws him over the balcony.

Valencia puts his hands up in surrender when he sees Bucky leading SWAT to make the arrest. As soon as the drug smuggler is safe with the SWAT, Bucky turns his attention to you.

You start towards him, doing your best not to slip on the wet floor or fall over someone unconscious. “Bucky!” you call to him. “Thank you for saving me, Buck. I know I was reckless, but I took the first window of opportunity. I’m sorry, baby. thank you.”

Bucky ends your rambling apology as soon as he’s close to you. “Shut up,” he says simply, cupping your face in his hands and smashing his lips onto yours. You’re surprised at first, but you kiss him back immediately.

When he pulls away from the kiss, he grabs your wrist and pulls you away from the scene and out of the ballroom, wiping away the smeared lipstick you left with the back of his flesh hand. 

“Bucky?” you say, confused, as you try to keep up. 

He doesn’t respond, but keeps pulling you across the parking lot toward the car. He walks you around to the passenger side of the car and pushes your back up against it. He leans in, his lips grazing against yours. He moves in like he’s going to kiss you, but then he pulls away, then does it over again, teasing your lips several times. You whine, just wanting him to kiss you already. He responds to your whine by pressing his body up against yours.

“You feel what you do to me, baby girl?” he whispers in your ear, referring to his erection that’s pressing into your hip.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He pulls away from you completely and walks around to his side of the car. “Get in,” he demands and opens his door to get in.

You’re momentarily dumbfounded by whatever just happened, but you shake the clouds from your head and get in the car. You bend over the center console to put your broken shoes in the back seat and grab your makeup wipes. As your about to sit down in your seat, you hear Bucky let out a deep groan and then you feel his hand come down on your ass, making you yelp quietly in surprise. 

“Let’s go!” he yells. “Sit down.” He starts the car and quickly pulls out of the parking lot. 

You fall back into your seat, very confused. “Bucky,” you start quietly, not wanting to aggravate him. “Baby, what’s gotten into you?” 

He groans, adjusting the tight material stretched across his bulge. “I’ll tell you what’s going to get into you when we get home,” he growls, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles get paler.

“James!” you shout, shocked by his boldness - not that you don’t like it, it’s just unexpected.

“I’m sorry, baby,” his voice softens, knowing you only use his real name when you’re serious. “I just - you took down like fifteen guys single-handed.”

“I know,” you start apologizing again. “It was reckless, I’m sorry, I should’ve -”

“No, no, no,” he laughs. “I’m not mad, doll. I know you can take care of yourself. It was just so damn sexy. It got me all worked up.”

You’re still confused as to what exactly is going on in your boyfriends head as you remove your makeup and take down what’s left of your up-do.

“It got all gooey and confident thinking about it,” he continues. “You can take down anyone you want, yet you’re so submissive to me.”

“Oh,” you blush wildly. “Uh, let’s call Steve to update him on the mission,” you quickly change the subject and pull out your phone, speed-dialing Steve.

Bucky and you inform him of the way the mission went and that you’re headed towards the compound now, but Steve insists you go home, rest, and write the reports tomorrow.

“Great,” Bucky says sternly and hangs up the phone, quickly merging into the exit lane as he speeds up towards your house.

Not knowing what else to say, you remain silent the rest of the drive home as music plays on the radio to drown out the silence.

When Bucky pulls into the driveway, the two of you get out and quickly head into the house. He aggressively pushes the door open and stomps into the kitchen after throwing the keys down onto the table. You can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself before heading to your shared bedroom to get comfortable.

Somehow, you manage to unzip and untie the dress by yourself, pushing it off your figure. You take half a moment to look at yourself in the mirror in the bedroom. Barely any scratches or bruises, and you just stand there naturally sexy in the lingerie you wore under the dress. 

The bedroom door swings open less aggressively than the front door, but still aggressive, and Bucky walks into the room with a small glass of scotch in his hand. He sees you in your lingerie standing in front of the mirror and loses it. He puts the glass down on the table and takes two whole steps to you, gripping your waist and swinging you around to face him. He wastes no time as he grabs your face and crashes his lips onto yours in a rough kiss, his tongue quickly dominating your own. 

You arms wrap around his shoulders, not being able to deny the sparks that fly every time you kiss. If Bucky wants his way with you, he can have it. If you’re being honest, you do love when Bucky dominates you and takes complete control, and the thought that you just doing your job is what got him in the mood arouses you.

Your lips move in perfect sync with his as his hands assertively roam your body, quickly sliding from your cheeks, to your ass, back up your sides, and roughly grasping your covered breasts in his large hands. After only a moment of his hands exploring your body and yours playing with his hair, he grips your thighs just bellow your butt and lifts you up, your legs effortlessly wrapping around his waist. You feel his still rock-hard cock pressing against your clothed center, and you whine, grinding your hips down onto his. 

He groans into your mouth as he backs you into the nearest wall, pressing you up against it as he grinds his own hips up to meet yours. You feel his strong, yet still gentle metal hand holding you under your ass as his flesh had slides around to between your bodies and massages your clit over your panties, making you involuntarily push yourself down onto his fingers. 

“Damn it, baby,” he moans into your neck as he attacks it with kisses and love bites, rubbing his hand over your clothed core. “I’ve already got you soaked through your panties and we’ve barely started.” He continues to press his hand against your heat. “I’d say you’re ready, baby girl,” he whispers into your ear. “You want it?”

Unable to form proper words, your vigorously nod your head.

Another sharp smack lands on your ass, and you whine. “Words, doll,” he demands.

“Yes,” you gasp as his fingers press harder onto your clit.

“Yes, what? What do you want, Y/n?” he asks, his low voice right in your ear as his hand pulls away from your covered cunt.

You whine more at the loss of contact. “Yes, Buck, please,” you beg. “I’m so ready for you, baby. I need to feel you fucking me. Fuck me, Bucky, please.”

“Good girl,” Bucky moans into your ear as he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his dress pants, pushing them down just enough to slip his throbbing cock out of his boxers. He strokes his length a few times as he rubs his tip against your soaked panties. 

“Bucky, please!” you moan out. “Fuck me already!”

His deep chuckle resonates in your ear as he pulls your panties to the side, pressing his tip into your folds. 

You groan out in anticipation, waiting. “James, touch me, please!”

With your last attempt of begging him to touch you, he pushes his hips up and pulls your hips down onto him, sliding his cock in with ease until he bottoms out. You feel his balls press against your ass, both of you moaning out at the feelings. No matter how many times the two of you have sex, he always stretches you out like he’s never been in you before. You wince and moan at the delicious pain, and he praises you for the way you wrap perfectly around his cock. 

You grind you hips against him, wordlessly urging his to move. This time he takes the hint, and he grabs one of your legs wrapped around his waist and pulls it over his shoulder as he begins to deeply thrust into you, holding you securely between him and the wall. 

“Harder, Bucky. Faster. Please,” you whine, continuing to beg him to fuck you relentlessly, and he does so, picking up the pace and force of his thrusts. 

You almost scream as you moan when he hits the perfect spot inside you. He covers your lips with his, swallowing your moans in a deep kiss before continuing down your neck and leaving his mark as his hands massage your breasts over your bra. 

You hand falls from their spot pulling at the short hairs at the base of his neck and grab his tie, pulling on it and him closer to you as he continues to hit just the right spot, a warm knot quickly tightening in you stomach. 

“Fuck, baby, let go,” he encourages you.

His few words alone send you over the edge, shaking as the knot bursts inside you. 

“Fuck, Y/n,” he moans. “Baby it feels so good the way your pussy clenches around me when you cum.”

You expect him to ride out your high, or slow down, but he doesn’t stop, and he keeps pounding up into you. You’ve barely come down from the high when he reaches between you again and starts rubbing your clit in harsh circles. Your hips buck up at the sensation. 

“Do it again, baby,” Bucky urges. “Come on. Cum around me. I need it again.”

The knot forms and bursts again so quickly you can’t stop it, you can’t warn Bucky that it’s coming as the euphoria fills your body. This time he slows, moaning into your ear some more as he rides out you high.

As you’re still shaking from your second powerful orgasm, Bucky removes your leg from over his shoulder and holds your body close to his, removing you from the wall. He carefully lays you on the bed and slowly slides his throbbing cock out of you. He groans more, and you whimper at the loss of contact and warmth from shared body heat.

Bucky kicks his shoes off and somewhere in the room, then his sock before he removes his suit jacket and vest. When he starts to loosen his tie, you get on knees in front of him on the bed and grab his tie, pulling him down to kiss you as you untie it and unbutton his dress shirt. You pull away form the kiss, slipping the shirt off his shoulders, and he pulls his wife-beater over his head. As soon as his chest is exposed to you, your lips find it, kissing down his body with you eyes looking up at him innocently through your eyelashes. Still kissing around his chest and down his chiseled abs, your hands find their way under the waistband of his pants and boxers and you push them down. You wrap you small hand around the base of his thick cock, crawling back and laying down until your face is level with his member. You open your mouth slightly and stick out your tongue to kitten-lick the tip, collecting the salty pre-cum from his slit in your mouth. You wrap your mouth around the head of his cock and suck on it harshly. He breathes in a sharp breath, lacing his fingers through your hair and pulling it to get you off of him. 

“Oh, baby,” he smirks down at you, slowly  pumping his length in his hand. “You know how much I love to see your perfect lips wrapped around me as you take my cock into your throat, but we’ve gotta save that for another time. I won’t last as long as I plan to if I let you.” He reaches around your back, easily unclasping your bra with a single hand before pushing you down onto the bed, then flipping you over so you’re face down. His fingers slide under your panties, and he quickly pulls them down your legs. Once they’re off, his hands grab your hips, pulling your ass up to press against his cock. His hand comes down on your ass again, making it sting so amazingly, and he grabs his member by the base and lightly smacks it against your folds. You moan in response and press your hips back into him. He pushes your ass away from him, smacking it one more time before lining himself up to your entrance and roughly pushing in, giving you no time to adjust before he starts pounding into you again.

Bucky reaches down in front of the two of you, and his metal fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly as he pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest, giving him the perfect new angle to pound up into that perfect spot again. The first thrust at the new angle makes the familiar knot build up quickly once more, and with a couple more, and his hand that’s not around your throat toying with your clit as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, your third orgasm rakes violently through your whole body.

Bucky lets go of your throat and his grip holding you up to him, and you fall onto the bed, shaking as your bury your face into the pillows, still moaning from the feeling. The bed around you shifts, but you don’t have the energy to lift your head. You feel Bucky leave soft, open-mouthed kisses down your back as you catch your breath and calm down. You sigh at the softness of his lips on your skin. There comes an absence of his lips on you, his weight shifts again behind you. His hand runs up the side of your body, and he flips you over onto your back. He lowers his head with his lust-filled eyes starring up into yours, his lips landing between your breasts. He kisses up the hill of your left breast until his lips land on your erect nipple. He flicks his tongue over it several times and swirls it around it before latching his lips around it, sucking it into his mouth while he teases and rolls your other nipple between his metal fingers. You arch your back, pressing your bust further into his face. He chuckles and opens his mouth wider around your breast, sucking your nipple and much of your boob into his mouth. He spends a moment there before switching sides.

When his lips finally find your right nipple, instead of playing with your left one with his fingers, the slowly slide down your body until they’ve landed just above where his attention has been centered all night. The lightly graze the skin on your pelvic bone just above your clit, and your hips push up into his hand, silently begging to be touched properly. Your fists leave the lump of sheets they were holding and slide into his hair, tugging on it as he looks up at your pleasure stricken face.

His lips fully leave your nipples and kiss down your chest, getting closer to your aching, soaking cunt. He kissed just above your clit where his fingers had previously been lightly grazing then skips to the insides of each of your thighs. 

“Bucky,” you manage to whine. “Stop teasing me, please.”

He ignores your wishes and blows air over your pussy, making you arch your back again. He runs his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness before pushing one finger into your hole and curling it up into your g-spot as he continues kissing your thighs. You let out a high-pitch whiny moan as you push yourself onto his fingers. He chuckles deeply at your reaction to him and pushes another digit into you. 

“You like the way I make you feel, baby girl?” he growls as his fingers push in and out of you. “It sure seems like you do.” A devilish smirk takes over his lips as he brings his mouth down to your clit, flicking it with his tongue several times before harshly sucking it onto his mouth completely. He pulls away for a moment. “You taste so good, doll,” he says. “I could eat you out all day.” His lips drop back to wrap around your clit, and your fingers slide into his hair, gripping it as the know forms once again. He hums a moan into your pussy from the feeling of your fingers in his hair. The vibrations of the hum sends you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm. He tongue slides between your folds, lapping up your fresh juices as he rides out this new orgasm as your scream his name. He pulls his fingers out and his mouth away from you and sits up, sliding his thighs under yours. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks some of your slick off of them, and he groans out when he pulls them away from his mouth and shoves them past your lips. You taste yourself as you suck the rest of your mess off his fingers in the most sensual way possible. 

“Fuck, Y/n,” he sighs, lowering his face into the crook of your neck and kissing there. “You look so fucking sexy sucking my fingers like that. I just want to watch those lips take my cock as I fuck your throat, but tonight I need to cum inside you. Like now. I’m going to explode, fuck, you’re so beautiful, baby.” His fingers fall out of your mouth and his lips fall onto yours, kissing you deeply in the sweetest kiss as he lifts your legs back up over his shoulders. Once your legs are in his desired position, his metal fingers wrap themselves around the column of your throat again, squeezing around it enough to make you gasp out a moan. He stokes his cock through your folds and up against your sensitive clit, almost whining at the tension in his swollen, red cock. He lines himself up and pushes into once more, starting at a slow pace, but quickly picking up speed and roughly fucking you into the mattress below you. He whines, groans, and moans, telling you how beautiful you are and how good you make him feel as his pace falters, and his cock twitches inside you. He pushes all the way into you, his hips jerking involuntarily as he spills his hot, heavy load into your pussy and strings your name into a line of profanities he whispers into your ear as he moans his heavenly voice and rides out his high, pushing you closer to your fifth. As he starts to soften, he pulls out of you, a whine coming from both of you as he drops your legs from his shoulders but keeps his hand around your throat. He leans back just enough to get a good view of his cum dripping out of you before he pushes it back in with his fingers as he thrusts them hard and fast, a wet slapping sound coming from between your legs as he pushes up into your spot. Without warning from your body, you’re taken over in a magical sensation as you scream his name and shake hard as you cum for the fifth time. Your pussy reacts on its own and pushes his fingers out of you, squirting all over his hand and thigh. 

When your eyes are able to open as your come down from the intense high, you see his mouth agape as he smirks. “Fuck!” he exclaims. “Y/n, baby, that was so fucking hot. You’ve never done that before.”

Your face heats up like it’s on fire and you cover it with your hands, hiding your embarrassment from your boyfriend.

“Shit baby,” he shouts and pulls your hands away from your face to get a good look at your beautiful, sweaty sex face and hair. “Do you think you could do that again for me, doll? That was so hot.”

“Bucky,” you sigh, a tear sneaking its way down your cheek from out of nowhere at just the thought of having another orgasm that powerful. “I’m sorry. I can’t; I’m done, baby, I’m sorry.”

He bends down, wiping and kissing your tears away. “Don’t be sorry, baby girl. You’ve done more than enough tonight. Fuck, you’re the most beautiful thing ever, I love you. I can’t believe your mine.” He looks into your eyes, his all gooey with love, and you giggle, playfully pushing his shoulder. You smile the brightest, widest smiles at each other, and he lowers his soft, kiss swollen lips down onto your in a loving, soft kiss as he cradles your face carefully in his flash hand. “I love you, so much, Y/n,” he says then pecks your lips one more time. 

Bucky pulls himself off of the bed. “I’ll be right back, baby girl,” he assures you, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers from his drawer before heading into the bathroom. 

Giggling to yourself from how happy he makes you, you slowly sit up on the edge of the bed, pushing yourself off of it. Your knees and thighs give out and squeal in surprise and slight pain as you fall to the floor. 

Bucky rushes out of the bathroom. “Y/n, what happened? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice full of worry. 

“My legs, Buck,” you laugh. “I can’t even stand.” You look up into his eyes from your spot on the floor. 

He laughs as he turns back to the dresser, grabbing some fresh panties for you. “I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes. “I got carried away, I’m so sorry.” He bends down and lifts you into his arms with ease to carry you into the bathroom, setting you down to sit on the toilet. “Why were you getting up?” he asks handing you a warm wet washcloth. “You know I always bring this to you.”

“The sheets,” you explain, “they need to be changed now.” You look down, blushing again at the thought of what happened a moment ago. 

“Ah,” he realizes. “Alright, wait here.” He grabs fresh sheets from the linen closet and goes back into the bedroom to change the sheets. You hear a drawer open and close, but you think nothing of it as you wipe yourself clean of the mix of you and Bucky that remains on your thighs. 

He returns a moment later with one of his t-shirts and helps you into your clean panties and the shirt. 

“Buck?” you say as your head pulls through the shirt and he carries you back to the bed. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Uh...” you hesitate a moment. “You remember last week when I told you I needed to stop my birth control for a little while?” you look up at him, nervous, hoping he’d connect what you told him and what just happened. 

His jaw drops as he looks at you, almost losing his legs. “Marry me,” he blurts out.

“What?!” you ask back like you were just told something you couldn’t believe, which to be fair is what happened. 

“Marry me,” he repeats. 

“Bucky,” you panic, “you don’t have to - I may not be - don’t jump because your scared.” 

“No, no, I -” he starts but stops and frantically looks for and through the pockets of his suit jacket. He pulls out a small velvet box, and you gasp, covering your mouth at tears prick at your eyes. “I’m not scared, Y/n. I mean this,” he says, coming back in front of you and getting down on one knee. “Y/full/n, I love you more than words can express, I love  you with every fiber of my being. You are the most beautiful, kind, loving, bad ass person I’ve ever met. You love me for me, all of me, and I couldn’t ask for anything better. I was going to ask you tonight at the ball, the mission just went so fast, but I want to spend an eternity with you, Y/n, so will you marry me? Please?”

“Oh, my God,” you gasp out, tears streaming down your face now as you frantically nod. “Five years, James. I thought you’d never ask.”

“So...yes?”

“More than yes, Bucky. Yes, yes, yes,” you cry.

He smiles wildly as he grabs your left hand and slips the beautiful diamond ring onto your finger. “Thank God,” he sighs, grabbing your face and kissing you with so much passion he almost knocks you over, and your small hands wrap around his wrists. “You scared me.”

You giggle, almost hysterically, as he lifts you up, swings you around and falls back onto the bed with you, praising you and holding you until you both fall asleep with smiles that leave your cheeks hurting. 

***

A/N: OMG I just pulled that ending out of my ass from nowhere but it’s cute and I like it. Sorry for bad writing and not proof-reading or editing and that it’s so long. It’s just so good I wanted to get it up as soon as I was done. Happy Nondenominational Holidays!!!!!!!!! :)))

[gorgxoxus]

Least favourite song from each episode of Glee:

@angelhummel

Season 1:

Pilot: Can’t fight this feeling

Showmance: Take a bow (omg I have like never listened to this song and it’s a snooze fest big time)

Acafellas: I wanna sex you up

Preggers: N/A

The Rhodes Not Taken: Last name

Vitamin D: Halo/ Walking on Sunshine

Throwdown: No air

Mash up: Thong song

Wheels: Defying Gravity

Ballad: (You’re) having my baby

Hairography: Bootylicious (but they’re all great)

Mattress: Smile (Finchel version)

Sectionals: You can’t always get what you want

Hell-o: Hello/ Goodbye

The Power of Madonna: What it feels like for a girl

Home: One less bell to answer/ A house is not a home

Bad reputation: Physical

Laryngitis: The Lady is a tramp

Dream on: Dream a little dream of me

Theatricality: Poker Face

Funk: Loser

Journey to Regionals: Bohemian Rhapsody

Season 2:

Audition: Billionaire

Britany/Brittany: Toxic

Grilled Cheesus: Papa, can you hear me?

Duets: With you I’m born again

Rocky Horror Picture Show: Dammit Janet

Never Been Kissed: Teenage Dream (sorry not sorry)

The Substitute: Make em Laugh

Furt: Ohio

Special Education: Don’t cry for me Argentina

A Very Glee Christmas: You’re a mean one, Mr Grinch

The Sue Sylvester shuffle: none

Silly love songs: Fat Bottomed Girls

Comeback: Baby (or all songs except for ‘Someone to Love’ because it’s an actual bop).

Blame it on the alcohol: Blame it (on the alcohol)

Sexy: Afternoon Delight

Original song: Big ass heart

Night of neglect: All my myself (but kinda none)

Born this way: Barbra Streisand

Rumours: Never going back again

Prom Queen: Jar of Hearts

Funeral: Back to Black

New York: Bella Notte

Season 3:

The Purple Piano Project: Anything goes/ Anything you can do

I Am Unicorn: Something’s Coming

Asian F: Run the World (Girls)

Pot o gold: Bein’ Green

The First Time: One hand One heart

Mash off: Hot for Teacher

I kissed a Girl: Girls just want to have fun

Hold onto sixteen: Man in the Mirror (for salty Kurt isn’t part of the boys number)

Extraordinary Merry Christmas: Christmas Wrapping

Yes/no: Wedding Bell Blues

Micheal: Scream

The Spanish teacher: A little less conversation

Heart: You’re the Top

On my way: Here’s to Us

Big brother: Fighter

‪Saturday night glee-ver: How Deep is your love? ‬

Dance with somebody: I wanna dance with (somebody who loves me)

Choke: Cry

Prom-a-saurus: Dinosaur

Props: I won’t give up

Nationals: It’s all coming back to me now

Goodbye: Forever young

Season 4:

The new Rachel: Call me Maybe

Britany 2.0: Oops... I did it again!

Makeover: Celebrity Skin

The Break Up: Teenage Dream (acoustic) (again, sorry I don’t like the song)

The role you were born to play: Juke Box Hero

Grease: Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee (Kitty version)

Dynamic duets: Superman

Thanksgiving: Gangnam Style

Swan song: Somethin’ Stupid

Glee Actually: Feliz Navidad

Sadie Hawkins: Baby Got Back

Naked: Torn (but I actually enjoy all these songs)

Diva: Nutbush City Limits

I do: I enjoy them all, every one of them

Boys (and girls) on film: You’re all the world to me

Feud: Bye Bye Bye / I want it that way

Guilty pleasures: Against all odds/ take a look at me now (in terms of performance)

Shooting star: Your Song

Sweet dreams: (You gotta) fight for your right (to party)

Lights out: Everybody Hurts

Wonder-ful: You are the sunshine of my life (unfortunately, but also I love this WHOLE episode)

All or nothing: All or Nothing

Season 5:

Love, love, love: Yesterday

Tina in the sky with diamonds: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

The Quarterback: No Surrender

A katy or a gaga: Roar

The end of twerk: Blurred Lines

Movin out: An Innocent Man

Puppet master: The Fox

Previously unaired Christmas: Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree

Frienemies: Don’t Rain on my Parade

Trio: Jumpin’ Jumpin’

City of angels: I love LA

100: Defying Gravity

New Directions: Party All the Time

New New York: You make me feel so Young

Bash: Broadway Baby

Tested: Addicted to Love

Opening night: N.Y.C

Back up plan: Piece of my Heart

Old dogs, new tricks: Take me Home Tonight

The untitled Rachel Berry Project: Glitter in the Air

Season 6:

Loser Like Me: Let it Go

Homecoming: Problem

Jagged Little Tapestry: So Far Away

The Hurt Locker: Vocal Adrenaline’s numbers

The Hurt Locker Part 2: Dalton Academy’s numbers

What The World Needs Now: Wishin’ and Hopin’

Transitioning: Same Love

A Wedding: Hey Ya!

Child Star: Friday I’m in Love

The Rise and Fall of Sue Sylvester: The Trolley Song

We Built This Glee Club: Mickey

2009: Popular

Dreams Come True: The Winner Takes it All

[zoocross0vers]

Raspberries Challenge #6: Alice in Wonderland

Raspberries Challenge #6: Alice in Wonderland

                                           Judy in Wonderland

Judy Hopps walked down one of the many clumsily drawn pathways, stopping right at the intersection where they divided. “Great,” huffed the nineteen year old rabbit as she looked down at the zig-zagged and crazy pathways branching out in multiple directions. The arrow signs around her didn’t help much either as they pointed everywhere, even in the absolute most ludicrous places -- one of them even pointed to the ground and read “grass” -- obviously.

Judy raised a brow and shook off the insanity of this strange place -- this...wonderland. “Okay, okay focus Judy. Now which way could he have gone?” the rabbit asked herself, as she searched for the mysterious old white rabbit that had run through there prior to her.

She had never met the rabbit, nor had she ever seen him before. He just suddenly popped up early this afternoon at her family’s garden during one of her and her older sister’s immensely boring study sessions -- it wasn’t necessarily boring because she hated history, it was more so because of her sister’s slow speaking and unenthusiastic manner of teaching. She might as well been receiving a history lesson from a sloth at the rate her slow talking sister was going.

Judy remembered nearly falling asleep before spotting a sharply dressed white rabbit running across the yard in the distance. She immediately told her sister about it, though her sister didn’t see him. Afterwards, all she did was dismiss Judy’s curious nature, stating that perhaps it was one of their father’s business associates. A fact which Judy found impossible to believe as she was very familiar with all of her family’s close friends and business acquaintances -- and she had never once seen that rabbit before. Curious, the bunny found her chance to sneak away from her sister’s lesson and headed off to investigate. In her chase for the white rabbit, she found it odd that he kept blabbering about being late to somewhere. But where? If he wasn’t conducting business with her father or any of her relatives, then what was he doing in their estate in the first place? And just what exactly was he late to?

Allowing her curiosity to get the best of her, Judy followed him all the way to a mysterious rabbit hole that she had never seen before and fell in -- landing in the very bizarre world she now finds herself trekking in. Though at this point the young rabbit was condemning herself internally for following that old rabbit. She had originally hoped for some excitement in solving the mystery of the strange white rabbit, but the sheer insanity of this place was really starting to annoy her.

“Now let’s see, I came from that way so maybe--hmm? I wonder which way I ought to go…?” Thought the bunny out loud as a very cheery combination of laughter and singing echoed all around her. The bunny looked around curiously in an attempt to spot the source of the eerie singing. “What is that? And where’s it--” asked the bunny as she tried to look behind a tree.

“Lose something?” asked a curious and unknown voice.

Judy gasped, turning around to spot a wide floating grin over a tree branch. “Wh-Who? What are you?” she asked in shock.

“Oh, silly me,” chuckled the mysterious grin, “Just give me a moment to collect myself.” Two eyeballs fell into place as a chubby spotted cheetah, clad in a striped purple suit, suddenly warped above the branch. “Is that better?”

“Clawhauser?” Judy asked with wide surprised eyes, swearing that the mystery cheetah looked just like her friend, Benjamin Clawhauser, who worked as a stable boy back home at her family's estate.

“Actually, my name's the Cheshire Cheetah,” answered the mysterious and smiley round cheetah. “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else, you cute little bunny rabbit you.”

“Oh, umm” Judy spoke, sounding a bit taken aback. “If you’re not Clawhauser, then you probably don’t know this, but a bunny can call another bunny cute. But when other animals do it. It’s a little…”

“Really? You find that offensive?” questioned the cheetah. “I always thought calling a bunny cute was the biggest compliment you can give a bunny. At least that’s what the March Hare told me.”

“The March Hare?” asked the bunny.

“Yes, even the White Rabbit never seems to mind whenever I call him that,” the cheetah added.

“The White Rabbit?!” Judy squeaked in excitement.

“Who?” questioned the chubby cheetah.

“The White Rabbit!” Judy repeated happily.

“What rabbit? You?” responded the cheetah, as if completely unaware of the white rabbit's existence.

Judy groaned in annoyance with a paw to her face, “The White Rabbit I’ve been talking to you about!”

“Oh! Well I'm afraid I don't know any white rabbits,” answered the cheetah so matter of factly.

Judy's jaw gaped exasperatedly, “But didn't you just say--”

“However,” interrupted the cheetah, “You could ask the Mad Hatter. He knows everyone!”

Judy blinked in surprise at the name. “The Mad Hatter?”

“Oh yes. He’s really fond of cute bunnies like you,” purred the cheetah, resting his chubby cheeks on his knuckles.

“I don't know,” Judy hesitated, “I really don't want to speak with mad mammals.”

“Well, you could try asking the March Hare…”

“Okay good,” Judy replied in relief, “I think I'll ask him instead.”

“Of course…” continued the cheetah, “He’s mad too. And he’s not very fond of cute bunnies like you.”

“But I told you, I don't want to speak with mad mammals.”

“Well my dear, I’m afraid you don't have much of a choice. Practically every one is mad around here,” chuckled the cheetah. “You may have noticed...I’m not all there myself.” The cheetah spun his eyes around his sockets and slowly began to vanish, leaving behind only his spots and his striped purple suit. Though they soon followed suit in vanishing as the Cheshire Cheetah laughed hauntingly and disappeared entirely.

Judy shivered, “When he puts it like that, I guess I should avoid getting on anyone's bad side around here.” Judy turned to leave, following the sign leading to the Mad Hatter.

.

Judy reached a white cottage with a hay covered roof. From the chimney hung two metal bars, reminiscent in appearance to rabbit ears. Judy's ears perked as she could hear chipper whistling emanating from the hedge enclosed backyard. “I wonder what all that whistling is about?”

The gray bunny headed to the backyard. There, she spotted the source of the whistling -- several dozen animated tea kettles -- all of them piping hot and steaming, producing a cloud of evaporated water over a long tea table.

Gathered at a corner of the table, were a red fox with emerald green eyes, clad in a green suit, bowtie, and top hat with a white card on the band of the hat labeled ‘10/6’ and beside him sat a striped gray hare with pale blue eyes, clad in a red suit and orange bowtie. The two mammals danced in their seats with raised tea cups.

Judy watched them curiously as they sang a very cheerful little tune…

A very merry unbirthday

A very merry unbirthday

A very merry unbirthday to us!

Judy quietly approached a large pink chair at one end of the table. She took a seat, trying to get a better view of the mammals from below the smoke line. It was strange, much like before with the cheetah, she was almost certain she recognized the mammals.

She squinted her eyes as they continued to dance in place. “Nick? Jack?” she whispered under her breath.

The hare held on to a note, continuing the song as both he and the fox took turns singing.

A….

Very merry unbirthday!

To me!

The fox jumped in:

To who?

The hare replied:

To me!

The fox:

Oh, you!

The hare:

A very merry unbirthday to you!

Sang the hare, turning the lyrics around. The fox responded with a paw to his chest, acknowledging himself.

Who me?

The hare replied:

Yes you!

The fox responded with a playful and modest wave of his paw

Oh, me!

The two exchanged tea cups as the hare finished the song.

Let's all congratulate us

With another cup of tea!

A very merry unbirthday…

The hare lifted the lid off of one of the tea pots and pulled out a shrew that wore a black suit and was seated in a brown swivel chair that almost seemed stuck to him.

Tooooo……….

The fox lifted his large green top hat, displaying a shorter top hat underneath it. The striped hare lifted the smaller hat off the fox’s head as he sang the high note. Beneath that hat, was an even smaller hat, that the shrew in the hare’s paw lifted with little enthusiasm.

Yoooooouuuuuuuu…………!

Judy clapped, having enjoyed the song. The two somewhat familiar mammals immediately turned their attention to her. The hare released the shrew as both he and the fox ran toward her. “No, no! No room! No room!” They shouted to her, waving their paws dismissively.

The bunny watched them wide eyed and confused. She looked around at the empty chairs, “But I thought there was plenty of room?”

The fox had his back turned to Judy, while the hare spoke directly to her, “Ah, yes. But it is very rude to sit down uninvited.”

“I’ll say it’s rude,” replied the fox. “It’s very, very ru--” the fox halted his tongue as he finally took a good look at the bunny in question. His jaw dropped, mesmerized by her beauty. “Although, seeing how we are in the presence of a lady, I suppose we can make an exception.”

“What? Are you mad?” asked the hare, outraged.

“Why yes. I am the Mad Hatter after all,” the fox replied with a casual smirk. “Please forgive my friend, my dear Carrots. The March Hare can be a real dumb bunny sometimes.”

“The Mar--? So you two are the March Hare and Mad Hatter?!” Judy asked in surprise.

“Indeed we are,” replied the fox with the same confident half lidded smirk. “And does the pretty bunny have a name? Or should we just call you Carrots?”

“Oh! Sorry about that,” Judy chuckled a bit embarrassed at her lack of manners. “For a second I thought you would both already know who I was.”

“Now why would we both know who you are?” asked the hare.  

“Well,” answered the bunny, “You two look exactly like some mammals I know back home. You look like my neighbor named Jack Savage,” she told the hare, “And you look like one of my family’s stable boys named Nick Wilde,” she told the fox, “Come to think of it, he also has a tendency to call me Carrots...or Fluff.”

“Well, I can’t blame him for calling you that. You really do look like a Carrots or a Fluff,” the fox replied casually just as Judy frowned in annoyance. The Mad Hatter chuckled, “Did he or anyone else ever tell you how cute you look with that huffy face?” The fox grinned playfully at her as she scoffed with her paws balled up into fists.

“You know you should never call a bunny cute, right?” the bunny retorted, offended.

“Au contraire my cute little bunny. I know full well that calling a bunny cute is the greatest compliment you can give a bunny. Isn’t that right March Hare?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve known no greater honor than when another mammal calls me cute,” replied the hare without a shroud of doubt in his words. “Especially my lovely Eyks,” The March Hare pulled out a wallet from his back pocket and stared longingly at a black and white photograph of a vixen. “Whenever she calls me cute, it feels like my heart leaps and I get so, so…” the March Hare began to lightly pant and drool, lusting after the photograph when he noticed the strange looks Judy and the Mad Hatter were giving him. “Ahem…” he cleared his throat awkwardly and reclaimed his posh stance and mannerisms. “But yes, to answer your question we hares and rabbits do consider the term cute a high honor. Most especially when referred to that way by another species.” He gave Judy a glance of his wife’s picture, letting her see that his wife was not a hare like himself, but a vixen.

“And if there is one bunny truly deserving of that compliment, it’s one as beautiful as you my Carrots,” the fox bowed politely to her and gently took her paw in his own and placed a soft kiss on it. Judy couldn’t help but blush at his ‘compliment’, for as much as the real Nick Wilde from back home would annoy her to no end, she still couldn’t resist his charm. And it seemed this Mad Hatter was no exception.

“O-oh,” stammered the bunny, still trying to wrap her mind around what they just said, “Well, in that case...thank you?”

“Although,” the hare continued, “Since you don’t appear to be from around here, I should warn you that you should never call another bunny -- be they hare or rabbit -- cute. Among our own kind, it is a terrible insult.”

“It is?” Judy asked with a lifted brow, “Why?”

“Please, surely you don’t find your own kind attractive or appealing. It’s very rare around here to become involved with one’s own species. Disgusting!” the hare scoffed as he took another cup of tea to clean the foul taste from his mouth.

“Such a strange place,” Judy uttered in awe.

“Don’t you marry outside of your species where you come from Carrots?” The Mad Hatter asked curiously yet flirtingly.

“Not usually, no,” she replied, “Most mammals look down on interspecies marriage where I come from.”

“What kind of a topsy turvy place do you come from, Carrots?” scoffed the hat wearing fox as he dipped a tea saucer in his tea as one would a donut. He took a bite out of it like it was nothing.

“Uh…” the bunny uttered, completely baffled by the act.

“Agreed,” said the hare before Judy could say any more, “I wouldn’t wish to live in such a backwards world. Honestly, rabbits and hares calling each other ‘cute’. What kind of a mad world do you come from?” asked the hare to Judy as he literally sliced a tea cup in half, “I’ll take half a cup, if you don’t mind.” He directed his cup toward the Mad Hatter and the fox poured tea in his half cup.

Judy’s eyes widened, unable to believe that the tea was able to remain in the cup without spilling. “Care for a cup of tea my Carrots?” asked the hat wearing fox as he offered Judy a cup of tea.

“Thank you,” she took the cup.

“So what brings you to our neck of the woods, my lovely bunny?” asked the fox curiously.

“Were you by chance trying to escape that mad world you come from?” asked the hare.

“No, actually I was following someone,” she responded, “But then I heard your singing and I really enjoyed it, so I--”

“You enjoyed our singing?” the hare asked excitedly.

“Yes, of course!” she said with a friendly smile, “I’ve never heard such a unique birthday song before.” Judy raised her tea cup to take a sip when the hare suddenly jerked her cup away from her.

“Birthday?!” spat the hare in outrage, “My dear rabbit, this is not a birthday party!”

“That’s right! This is an unbirthday party,” corrected the hat wearing fox.

“Unbirthday party?” asked the confused bunny. “What’s that?”

“It’s quite simple really,” replied the hare, “See, thirty days have Sept--no! Um let’s see,” The hare scratched his head with a one of his tall ears, “An unbirthday if you will is...when you have abitrthda--um…haha,” the hare laughed mockingly. “Do you hear that Mad Hatter? She doesn’t know what an unbirthday is.”

“How cute of you not to know my lovely Carrots. Let me explain…”

The March Hare began leading the various whistling teapots in a melody with a spoon serving as his composition stick.

“Now statistics prove that you have one birthday,” said the fox.

“Imagine just one birthday every year!” added the hare.

“Ah, but there are 364 unbirthdays!” declared the fox.

“Precisely why we’ve gathered here to cheer!” the hare said with a hop.

“If that’s the case, then today is my unbirthday too!” added the bunny gleefully.

“It is?!” the hare asked happily.

“What a small world this is!” the fox cheered.

“In that case,” the hare and fox gathered paws and circled around Judy in celebration. The hare led them in song:

A very merry unbirthday

“To me?” asked the bunny in song.

“To you!” replied the fox in song as he revealed a tall pink cake hidden beneath his hat. Judy’s eyes shined in admiration of it. The hare sang again after:

A very merry unbirthday

“For me?” Judy sang, touched.

For you

Replied the hare in song.

The foxy Mad Hatter knelt on one knee and offered the cake to Judy, who took it graciously into her paws. The fox sang to her:

Now blow the candle out my dear Carrots

And make your wish come true!

Nick swiped a finger on the cake to have a taste as Judy happily obeyed blew out the candle. The cake trembled immediately right after and flew to the sky, blowing up like fireworks! The Da Hatter and March Hare culminated the song with one last:

A very merry unbirthday…

To you!

It was a lovely display of bright colors that had Judy opening up her mouth in awe. A few seconds later, the stern looking shrew from before hovered down from the sky with an umbrella over him and his swivel chair still somehow attached beneath him. He sang a soft yet somewhat bored sounding rendition of ‘twinkle, twinkle little star’ -- though with the lyrics noticeably changed.

Twinkle, twinkle

Little bat

How I wonder what you’re at

Up above the world you fly

Like a gateway in the sky

The shrew landed softly within one of the tea pots. The Mad Hatter placed the lid over, sealing him in there.

Judy clapped, amazed at the performance as they all took their seats. “That was beautiful.”

“And now my darlin’,” said the fox, “You said you were following someone?

The hare offered the bunny a new tea cup. She politely took as she answered the fox’s question. “Yes, I was looking for a--”

“Clean cup! Clean cup!” yelled the fox, the second he saw that his cup was empty. “Move down!” The fox set Judy’s cup down and took her paw, escorting her down the long table and forcing her to leave her teacup behind.

“But-But, I haven’t even used my cup,” she argued as the hare moved down behind them, tossing about every cup and kettle he came across.

The hare sang as they moved down:

Clean cup, clean cup,

Move down, move down,

Clean cup, clean cup,

Move down!

They finally stopped a few seats down. The Mad Hatter took a large teapot with three spouts and simultaneously poured tea into three cups. “Would you care for more tea, my dear Carrots?” he asked politely.

“Well I haven’t had any yet,” Judy replied as she struggled to pour tea from a somehow empty yet full teapot. “So I can’t actually have more--”

The hare noticed and took the teapot from her paw. “Ah you mean you can’t very well take less,” he said as he cracked open the teapot like an egg and allowed the tea to pour into her cup.

Judy watched the scene with a hanging jaw. This place just never seemed to seize to amaze her.

“True, you can never take more than nothing,” said the hat wearing fox as he poured a mountain of sugar on her tea cup.

Judy took the cup, not noticing until the sugar hit her lips, “But I only meant that--”

“Clean cup! Clean cup! Move down, move down, move down!” the fox shouted again as he threw his full cup away.

“But I haven’t--We just moved!” Judy argued in outrage as the fox pulled her from her seat.

“Move down, move down, move down, move down, mooove down!” chanted the hare as he shooed the rabbit forward.  

They took new seats as the fox poured tea inside a tower of teacups. Despite him having poured into the top one, he took the bottom one and drank from that one instead, “Now my dear Carrots, you were saying that you were looking for something? Why don’t you tell us all about it?”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed the hare as he took a sip of tea, “Won’t you start from the beginning dear girl?”

“Well, it all started when I was taking my studies with my sister and I spotted a mysterious white rabbit--”

The young hat wearing fox appeared to choke on his tea and spat it all out in shock, “A white rabbit?!!” he shrieked with a mortified expression.

“Yes!” Judy smiled, believing she might finally get the answers she’s been looking for, “Do you know him? I’ve been trying to find him for a while now and--”

“Why? Is he your cute bunny boyfriend or something?” the fox asked with jealousy.

“No!” the bunny replied, “I don’t even know who he is! I’m just trying to--”

“Honestly girl, have you no shame? Chasing after strangers of the same species,” the hare shook his head with a tsk. “Despicable!”

“What? No, I don’t think you under--” she tried to explain.

“Ah, but that’s the thing. If you don’t think then you shouldn’t talk,” replied the hare. “I don’t know why you seem infatuated with her Hatter, she’s stark raving mad, this one.”

“What?!” Judy replied offended, “Excuse me, but how am I mad when all I’ve been trying to do is get straight answers and you two actually mad mammals have been doing nothing but wasting my time!”

“The time?!” echoed the hare, “The time! Who has the time?” he called out loud.

Just then, the White Rabbit made his way to the tea party, “No, no, no! No time! No time! No time! Hello! Goodbye! I’m late! I’m late!” called out the nervous old rabbit.

“The White Rabbit!” Judy chirped with a wide grin.

The White Rabbit ran across the tea table, keeping a close eye on his large pocket watch, “Oh I’m so late! I’m so very, very late!”

The Mad Hatter grabbed the White Rabbit’s pocket watch and pulled the small rabbit to him. The fox released his watch and grabbed him by his ruff. The taller fox stared at the small light colored rabbit with a jealous glare, “So this is your Prince Charming, Carrots?”

“Prince Charming? Wha? Huh?” asked the poor, confused white rabbit.

“I really don’t see what you see in him,” continued the fox, “He’s kind of old and pudgey if you ask me,” he whispered to her.

Judy scoffed in frustration, “I already told you he’s nothing to me! I just wanted to know what he’s late to!”

“Late?!” the White Rabbit shrieked in the fox’s paws, “Oh dear, oh dear!” he looked at his watch, “I’m late, I’m late!”

The now relaxed fox grabbed his watch to look at it, “Well, no wonder you’re late. This watch is exactly two days slow.”

“Two days slow?!” uttered the White Rabbit in a panic.

“Of course you’re late,” the fox smirked confidently as he dipped the watch into a large pot of tea. He then slammed it open on the table. “We’re gonna have to look into this.” The hat wearing fox placed a salt shaker on his eye as if it were a monocular and poured salt all over the watch. “Aha! I see what’s wrong with this!” he declared confidently. “This watch is full of wheels! We’re gonna have to remove some,” he said as he literally plucked off the wheels and sprockets with a fork.

“Oh my poor watch!” exclaimed the White Rabbit as the parts of his watch flew over him, “Oh my wheels! My springs!” he shouted as he attempted to reach all the pieces flying overhead. “But, but, but--” stammered the light rabbit in an attempt to stop the fox.

“Butter!” chirped the fox with a grin, “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that! Butter!” he shouted to his hare associate.

“Butter!” repeated the hare into the White Rabbit’s ear as he handed a stick of butter to the fox.

“Bu-bu-butter?” squeaked the White Rabbit. The Mad Hatter smeared butter all over the watch as the White Rabbit tried to stop him, “No! No! No! You’ll get crumbs in it!”

“What’re you talking about? This is the best butter!” the fox replied without a care and slamming the unused butter right smack into the White Rabbit’s face -- something that made him secretly happy despite Judy clarifying that she wasn’t involved with the older rabbit.

“Tea?” offered the March Hare.

“Tea, of course! Good thinking!” the Mad Hatter poured the tea.

“No! Not tea!” yelled the panicking White Rabbit as the March Hare kept him from interfering.

“Sugar?” offered the hare.

“Sugar! Two spoons please.” Rather than giving him two spoonfuls of sugar, the hare handed the fox two literal spoons, which the fox graciously accepted. “Thank you!” the fox smashed the spoons in.

“Be careful!” shouted the White Rabbit as he tried to charge the fox in a panic. As he ran, the March Hare snuck a jar of jam in his paws, which the Mad Hatter took from him.

“Jam, thank you.”

“No, not jam!” cried the rabbit.

In all this time, Judy just watched them in complete and utter confusion. They couldn’t possibly think that they were actually fixing his watch. Could they?

The fox smeared the jam as the hare offered him something new, “Mustard?”

“Musta--Mustard?! Don’t be crazy March Hare. Now a pinch of lemon that’s different.” The Mad Hatter poured the drop of lemon and sealed the watch shut. Removing the excess food from the sides and declaring it fixed. “That should do it! All fixed!”

A second later, the watch started to ring and rattle in a very wild manner! It popped opened and began squirting out all of the food items added to it as well as some loose sprockets. “Uh oh,” uttered the fox.

“It’s going mad!” shouted the hare in a panic.

“Sweet cheese and crackers!” uttered Judy.

“Oh dear,” squeaked the White Rabbit sheepishly.

“Mad watch! Mad watch! Mad watch!” the hare continued to shout in a panic. “There’s only one way to stop a mad watch!” declared the March Hare, quickly grabbing his mallet and SMASHING the watch into pieces!

“Uh...hehe,” The Mad Hatter chuckled nervously, pushing the broken watch back to its owner. “Two days slow. That’s what it is.”

The poor White Rabbit cried over the loss of his beloved watch, “Oh my watch! It was my most cherished unbirthday present.”

“In that case!” cheered the hare as both he and the Mad Hatter grabbed the White Rabbit by an arm each.

A very merry unbirthday

Toooooooooo

You!!

The fox and hare swayed him back and forth until finally tossing him clean out of their garden.

“Oh! Mr. Rabbit!” Judy called chasing after him.

“Hold on Carrots!” the Mad Hatter called to her before she could leave.

“What is it now?” Judy asked a bit exasperated.

The hat wearing fox, gently grabbed her soft cheeks, causing her frown to fade. “Before you go, I just wanted to tell you that if things don’t work out with that old White Rabbit…”

Judy sighed frustratedly, “Mr. Hatter, I’ve already told you--” he silenced her with a soft paw to her lips.

“Not another word. Just know that I’ll always be waiting here for you to come back. Know why?”

“Why?” she asked curiously and somehow entranced by him.

He moved his muzzle close to her ear, “Because somehow I know that no matter where you are or where you go. You are mine. You are my Carrots.” Judy smiled bashfully with a small shudder of secret ecstasy. It was the same effect that stupid fox back home would give her. Why he had that effect on her, she’ll never know. Even more surprising was why did this mad and crazy fox also have that same effect? It was pure madness!

The fox moved away from her with a wink as he returned back to his mad tea party.

Judy left the garden and sighed as she took one last look at the hat wearing fox and hare in the distance, “This may have been the stupidest tea party I’ve ever been to. But...at least the Mad Hatter was nice and...cute...in his own mad way.” Judy smiled and headed back on her venture to find the White Rabbit.

[missvifdor]

When I arrive in Middle-earth [Part 1]

Warning: Hi ! It's just to warn that English is not my mother tongue. I apologize if you encounter errors in your reading. Part two is being written. In any case, I hope you enjoy :) Enjoy reading !

I also draw the introductory image :)

Well... Well, well, well... I must not panic. Everything is fine.

After all, I'm just surrounded by a dark forest in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

-But what am I saying ? Obviously I'm panicking ! I cried, raising my arms to the sky.

The high sound of my voice in icy silence frightened some birds that flew away, panicked! I want to burst into tears...

I'm going to die in a dark forest and my corpse will be devoured by foxes and squirrels.

-My consolation prize will be that they will not have much to eat, I thought, in a random sense.

Indeed, I am one of those people with the body of an asparagus. An asparagus with glasses and the size of an underfed house elf.

I jump ! An owl hoot somewhere !

-Highness of volatile...

I sigh and squint in the hope of seeing more clearly. It does not work at all.

                                                           [...]

I want to go around in circles for hours and yet I have no idea what time it is ! Or how long am I here !

However, I had time to hit my foot against a lonely pebble to make a very friendly hug on the ground, ride a stream of nettles and land in a calm cove. My life is magic !

I look so silly with my little red summer dress stuck to my skin, my tangled hair and my uncontrollable cold !

-I hate nature ! I hate this forest ! And I hate myself even more for Bugger all ! I cried, furious.

But I think the worst part of all this is that I have to be lobster red. I could not resist the urge to scratch myself because of nettle bites.

                                                          [...]

Do you want to know one thing ? Well, I do not have shoes anymore.

They started giving me blisters and cramps. So, I left them on the side of the road without any regret.

And the day begins to rise too, but I'm not too sure. My eyes are swollen with fatigue and I am dehydrated. I may have hallucinations.

-Hehe ... Hehehe.

And there I laugh alone, now ! I really need help here.

The birds start to sing and it makes me even more eager to take a nap on the floor. My body is so heavy ! And my glasses are still dirty...

I yawned for a long time.

I'm so tired, but I have to keep moving !

Suddenly, I stop and clean my glasses on my dress which, do not hide it, had seen better days !

I put my glasses on my nose and...

-The exit !

I run like crazy ! I'm so happy and relieved to be finally out of this tangle of trees that... I fall into the apples and put the cheek first on the wet grass under the morning dew...

                                                          [...]

I'm fine, there! It's warm and cozy !

-I must be in bed, I thought, holding back a happy little smile, eyes still closed. What an idea to dream of being lost in a forest !

I change position under the sheets and push my face even more in the soft pillow. I think I could sigh with happiness !

I even want to go back to sleep. But I know I can not do it... too bad.

I get up, appear in a sitting position and stretch like a cat. I put my hand in my hair to put it away from my face, then looked for my glasses on the bedside table.

Being short-sighted and astigmatic, a real pleasure...

-Oh, you're awake ! Here I am relieved, miss !

I give my three neurons time to connect correctly and quickly put back my glasses.

I now see a complete stranger holding a tray of food in the doorway of my room which is not my room !

I take a moment to lift the blanket !

-Merlin thank you, I still have my clothes ! I sighed with relief. -Miss? -Hmm ? I look up at him. Oh ! Hmm ... Excuse me, but ... Where am I ?

The stranger advanced to the bed and put the meal tray on my lap with a reassuring smile.

-Do not worry, you're at home, replied the stranger, still smiling. I found you a little further behind my house. You were completely cold! And do not worry, I did not touch your stuff in your bag, I would never allow myself such a thing, especially with a lady !

The poor man seemed panicked at the idea that I imagine him searching my things. I laugh, amused and a little moved by his behavior.

-Do not worry, I believe you and I thank you for taking care of me, I said a little timidly but warmly. Hey, but I do not have any...

My eyes fell on a shoulder bag that I knew very well. Oh yes, I had a bag !

-I introduce myself, my name is Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins ! -Nice to meet you, Mr. Baggins, my name is Isabelle, I introduced myself by extending my hand to shake him.

Bilbo smiled at me and gently squeezed my hand.

-I am delighted, he said. I'm really happy to see you're fine ! Rest as much as you want and eat, you seem to be hungry! If you need me, call and I will come. -Okay, thank you, I said. Could you give me my bag, please? I have to take my medicine before eating. -Of course !

He moves quickly and passed my bag amiably.

I give him back his smile and watch him leave the room. I take this opportunity to examine when he turns to leave the room and my eyes are on his huge bare feet and hairy !

My eyes widen and the memory comes back to me !

-Heheh... Hahahahah !

I laugh nervously. But how could I be so stupid !

This guy is the spitting image of Martin Freeman, the actor of Bilbo, the actor of John ! But I'm stupid ! I am stupid !

-I am in Middle-earth, at Bilbo the Hobbit ! Perfect !

I feel my nerves and my anxiety galloping and frantically searching for my medicine in my bag !

It's a blow to make me even more worried than in life in general !

Seriously, what happened ?! I crossed an invisible space-time portal ?!! I died while boarding a bus and my soul transported me to another universe ?!! I had a cardiac arrest because of all my braids ?!!

I quickly grab the glass of water on the tray and I swallow all of a sudden !

Then I take the time to breathe well, because they recommended me and I feel calm again.

I calm down for another two or three minutes and then I try to see the positive side...

I have always dreamed of meeting my favorite characters and having an adventure with them !

-But I can not even defend myself with my little fists and I burst into tears at the sight of a wounded animal ! I mumbled darkly.

It would be cool to learn new things, to eat new dishes and to make friends !

-I am extremely introverted, shy, I get sick easily and I have phobias of wasps and bees ! I continued to myself.

I could find love, who knows...!

-Be realistic, who would want a burden and a stuck girl like me...? I finished sadly.

Bitterness, I grabbed the sandwich that Bilbo had so kindly prepared and I started chewing.

-It is delicious...

I finish fast enough to eat. Bilbo really cooks like a chef. I have never eaten so well.

I smiled slightly, spread the blankets, then put my sore feet on the soft carpet at the foot of the bed.

I hiss with pain as I get up slowly. Wherever I could lean on my feet, it was on a swollen and painful bulb !

But I decide to keep my comments painful for myself and get out of the room, the meal tray in hand.

Every step deserves a burning insult in my head!

Slowly, I arrive in the vestibule and soon after, I find the kitchen. I wash the dishes that I dirty.

-Oh, you are standing !

I jump and turn, a hand on my leaping heart ! But I find my calm when I see that it's Bilbo.

-Yes, I did the dishes, I said, pointing to the plate I was drying. -Oh, you did not have to, you know, Bilbo frowning. -I took it, it's the least of things !

The Hobbit's eyebrows furrowed a little more. Now that I was standing next to him, I could see him fall on my shoulder !

It was weird to see an adult being smaller than me ! I have already seen grannies do my size, but it was new !

Suddenly, Bilbo put his fists on his hips.

-Have you seen the condition of your legs ? You should rest ! -Mr. Baggins, I'm fine, I lied to reassure him. -And you lie very badly my daughter ! Go ! Go to bed in the living room !

I do what he says to me with surprise !

Well... This is the first time anyone notices that I'm lying about my condition...

I hardly come to the salon, my feet still hurt! I almost collapsed in the nearest chair !

Bilbo does not take long to join me, a kit and small pots in the hands.

He takes a little ottoman to sit down and grabbed one of my legs not without blushing a little. I guess for him it was a pretty intimate gesture.

-I think I've had enough for your wounds, but if you're in doubt, tell me what happened to you, he asked, examining the redness, bruises, and scratches. -I wandered all night in the forest, I came across a rock that made me kiss for the first time, I continued my momentum by going in a field of nettles and finally, I landed in a stream...

The Hobbit looked at me speechless.

-I've had some unlucky and awkward Hobbits, but I think you're in first place ! Bilbo said with a small, mocking smile.

-Eh ! In my defense, I really did not see anything !

I hear him trying to suppress his laughter so I take a slightly sulky look that looks like a child.

It's hard to believe for me that I'm so hostile to be so comfortable with someone I've met !

-I think I have everything I need. But it is best to apply an ointment on clean skin. I think Bag End is always full of my mother's old dresses from when she was young, wait, I'll pick them up.

Bilbo smiled at me and got up and went out of the living room.

                                                             [...]

Half asleep in a deliciously hot and scented water, I massaged my aching areas by humming a song that made no sense.

I even allowed myself the luxury of washing my hair.

Once I'm clean, I put the right cream on my redness and bruises before putting bandages on my scratches.

-I would say that I fought with a bear ! I commented, looking at myself in the mirror of the bathroom.

Then I pulled on the outfit that Bilbo had given me.

I went back to the living room where Bilbo was waiting for me reading a book. He had also taken the opportunity to light the fireplace. I had not noticed it until now, but it was late in the day, the sun was just beginning to fall.

When he hears me coming back, he looks up from the page he's reading and gestures me to sit on the chair next to him.

-This dress looks great on you, I'm relieved that it does not stay in an old dust chest, smiles the Hobbit. -Thank you Mr. Baggins.

I sit next to him.

-Well. Now that you seem to be in a better state than where I found you, I would like to know what happened to you so that you would find yourself wandering in a forest in the middle of the night, wearing only a much too light dress for you. the season.

Bilbo seemed very serious.

I sigh, sinking a little deeper into the cushions of the chair.

It seems like a very serious discussion was about to begin...

- Honestly, I do not remember... I have no memory of how I landed there. All I know is that I woke up in this forest... I was completely disoriented and scared ! -I want to believe you, Bilbo admitted. The woods are not safe when you get too far from Hobbiton, there are wolves running.

I feel my throat tighten ! Shit ! I was much more likely to be eaten by wolves than by foxes and squirrels !

Seeing that the news had shaken me, Bilbo grabbed my left hand and patted me softly.

-Do not worry anymore, you're safe now, the Hobbit said with a reassuring voice. Do you want a hot drink? -With pleasure if you do not mind, Mr. Baggins, I said with a slight smile.

Bilbo smiles at me and gets up.

-I'm coming back, he announces.

I hear him go to the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later with tea, milk, sugar and biscuits.

-This is hawthorn tea, you will see that it will be good for your nerves. I noticed that you were an extremely stressed person. -Thank you so much.

And so, I explain to him more or less generally that I am absolutely not from Middle-earth and that I have nowhere to go.

-I noticed you had a very beautiful accent, Bilbo said. Where are you from ? -From France, this is the country where I was born and where I live... Finally inhabited. And thank you but for my part, I find my accent horrible ! It seems strange when I speak ! -In any case, I appreciate your company and you can stay here as much as you want !

I blush a little, embarrassed.

-Do not give yourself this trouble, Mr. Baggins ! You have already cared for me, fed and dressed ! I would not like to enjoy your kindness ! I exclaimed, red peony. I do not want to disturb you more than necessary ! -But you do not bother me absolutely, Bilbo assured warmly. I find instead that you are a wonderful, polite and kind guest ! And then it is me who proposes it to you, so there is not to discuss ! I am normally someone who does not like to receive a lot, but I do not know, with you I feel at ease and your presence could make me feel less alone. -But...! -No "but" ! You are free to live in Bag End all the time you need until you find a stable situation to live in the area or to return home !

I remain silent for a moment, stunned and moved by this little Hobbit so nice !

-Mr. Baggins... -Yes ? He asked curiously. -You are sure not to be an angel descended from heaven to watch over me ? I asked with a sincere little smile.

Bilbo turns red, and I burst out laughing at his embarrassment as he smiled shyly, mumbling thanks.

                                                            [...]

It's been a year since we live together, Bilbo and me.

The beginnings were not easy, for example, it was necessary to create a schedule for the bathroom or buy a women's business that Bilbo did not have.

But we got used to each other's presence and I started to feel really comfortable in Bag And.

The neighborhood hobbits also knew me very well now.

I even created my small business !

The old Belladonna dresses that Bilbo had given me were beautiful, certainly, but they did not fit my style. So I learned to sew and I started to change these dresses.

When I came to Hobbiton with my modified dresses, hobbits women started to want the same style and I soon realized that I could make money helping these young women with dresses they did not wear anymore and that they wanted to actualize.

The ambience of Hobbiton also helped me with my stress and anxiety for everything and anything. Here, I could live at my own pace and enjoy the sweet life of Hobbit.

I even think that I was a Hobbit in a previous life. Or at least, I had to be a distant cousin of Bilbo because we were on the same wavelength for just about everything !

Today was extremely calm, I visited a customer and went to the Bree market to buy new items.

And since I had work to do, I did not want to embarrass myself with a dress, that's why I was wearing this outfit:

On the way back, it was getting darker and cooler than it was a few hours ago.

A few Hobbits trailing in front of them greeted me, but I felt that it was not as usual. They knew something that I did not know...

So I hurried and I did not make a mistake !

There seemed to be far too much excitement in Bag End, not to mention the strange sign engraved on the freshly repainted door of last week !

-Oh no... Trouble starts... I thought, squeezing my wicker basket against my right hip.

Without waiting a minute longer, I push the door of Bag End and enter the entrance. I take the time to put my wicker basket before looking at the extent of the damage.

-....

The floor was in ruins ! This same floor where I spent so much time cleaning it to shine like new! What do I say so that we can see ourselves as in a mirror !

I waxed this floor ! I was on all fours at this floor !

That's when my eyes land on a shape on the floor that should not be there !

-Bilbo !

My poor Hobbit is lying on the carpet, fainting !

I squatted next to him and tried to make him regain consciousness by masterfully ignoring the crowd of Dwarves and the magician who watch me do in silence !

Bilbo still has not opened his eyes and I panic slightly.

-Hey ! Do not stand there watching and help me move it into the living room ! You see that with my nonexistent muscles I can not do it alone ! I cried angrily.

As if he was coming out of a trance, I see the dwarf that I suspect is Bofur helping me lift Bilbo to lie on the living room couch.

The advantage of living with a Hobbit with the taste of sarcasm and the Took side is that I totally lost my shy side and that I have much more confidence in myself.

The dwarf with the funny hat mumbles things that look like excuses. He seems to feel really guilty with his beaten dog look...

Yeah... I do not have time for her feelings, the important thing is to wake up my roommate Hobbit !

-I'm really sorry, I did not think Mr. Baggins would react this way, stammered Bofur, his cheeks turning pink. -Hmm, I growl. Since you seem to feel so worried, would you be so kind as to prepare tea, sir...? -Bofur ! At your service, miss...? -Isabelle.

The dwarf smiled at me timidly and headed for the kitchen. From the corner of my eye, I see others watching me with curiosity and murmurings.

I roll my eyes and after a few more attempts, Bilbo regains consciousness.

Bofur returns sometime later with a cup of tea. I thank him and pour Wiscky into the tea.

Bilbo does it only when he's really exhausted, and I think he was in those moments.

The Hobbit seems to be comforting to see me and I smiled tenderly as I ran my hand through his honey-colored curls to calm him down.

-So Honey, did you have a fun night ? I asked with a smirk. -They emptied the whole pantry! Nothing is left ! And I'm terribly sorry for the floor, Isabelle... I know you spent a lot of time...

I frown.

-I do not care about the floor. And you ? You ate ?

Bilbo shook his head from side to side, sheepishly. I'm still sighing.

-You are lucky, I crossed the Bree market today ! I will prepare something for you !

I lean over and kiss his temple. Then I went to get my wicker basket, still superbly ignoring the looks that followed me at every step.

But hey... They're "guests", so...

-I hope you enjoy the reception of Bag End ? I say with a sarcastic smile. However, I will ask you to be kind enough to clean up your mess when you finish your little meeting. As you have probably already seen, my dear friend Bilbo was "slightly" shaken.

... But I always blame them for disgusting our house, for moving all the items and for having conscientiously eaten all the food, including the remains of my chocolate fondant !

It is now the turn of the dwarves to look sheepish.

-Excuse us, ma'am, we did not think Mr. Baggins had a wife, apologized a Dwarf with a white beard and a special accent. -You know if Bilbo to a woman or not, it does not matter. When you arrive at someone's place, you take off your shoes to avoid getting dirty, you ask before using it without any embarrassment, you do not wipe your boots full of mud on the family objects of the host and we avoid especially to scare him ! All I just mentioned are etiquette rules, but that, I guess you already know ?

An icy silence falls in the audience.

I use my most stern look against them and go to the kitchen to prepare a dinner for Bilbo who did not have a chance to swallow his.

                                                              [...]

The dwarfs all sleep in the living room and the other rooms (and they have everything tidy and clean as promised).

I had the opportunity to get to know Gandalf. He seemed very amused, I think he wants me to join the company... And I know I do not have a choice.

From the first hour tomorrow morning, Bilbo will start to catch up and leave for Erebor... I do not want to let him go alone.

Oh, I know he'll be able to cope, that's not the problem.

But I will not stop worrying to ask myself every day if he is well, if he is cold, if he is hungry, if the company treats him well !

So I made the decision to come with him, like it or not !

Anyway, I knew that day would come, so I secretly practiced defending and healing.

I also met Thorin. How to say...?

He is taller than me (I can barely reach his shoulder !). And he tried to intimidate me with his great deep voice and his striking blue eyes. But I showed him that I was not at all impressed (inside, I panicked like never before !).

I also remember making the other dwarves nervous, mainly by my stern look as I tried to look confident.

But brief. Now everyone sleeps, Bilbo sleeps, I'll be able to prepare our things so that we do not forget anything tomorrow morning.

I first went to a trusted neighbor to give him the Bag End replacement key and to make sure that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins withdrew and did not touch our stuff.

I prepared extra bags with a clean alternative, my savings, a care kit and creams for bites. I even took our umbrellas !

I go to bed late that night and hope to get up on time.

                                                         [...]

The next day, silence reigns in Bag End. It's hard for me to get out of sleep, but I always try to push my blankets over and put on my dressing gown without taking the time to tie it up.

My lazy feet are hanging out in the living room.

They are always there, I am well on time.

I then look in the kitchen.

-Hmm... I'll have to go to the bakery... I mumbled.

I sigh, I tie my dressing gown, I put on shoes and I go quickly to the bakery.

I am the first customer of the day.

-Do you really need all this ? Ask the baker, incredulous.

I smile at him.

- I'm afraid, yes. Sir, have a nice day. -Good day to you too !

When I return to Bag End, some dwarves have also immersed themselves, including Bifur, Balin and Dori. They made tea for everyone.

-I brought back enough to give energy to everyone before departure ! I announced, looking more friendly than last night.

The three dwarves seem surprised by my new attitude and obviously do not seem to know how to react.

I roll my eyes.

-You behaved like pigs last night, but I do not blame you anymore, you cleaned up everything and that's what counts. Eat while it's still hot, everything I bring comes out of the oven.

The three dwarves smile at me, a little warmer to the touch. I return it to them and see Bilbo in his room.

It is out of the question that I start running behind ponies to catch up with dwarves and a magician !

                                                           [...]

I avoided the disaster !

Bilbo was going to ask to turn around to get his precious handkerchief and I put the cloth under his nose before he could open his mouth.

-Thank you Isabelle ! You really think of everything ! Bilbo said gratefully. -We're a team, Honey, do not ever forget it, I said, winking at him.

We continue our journey for a while, until I smile, amused by the discomfort of my little Hobbit on his pony.

-Relax, Bilbo, He will not eat you. -This is the first time I ride a pony... he admits. -I noticed, I said. Relax your shoulders, you're much too tense and stop pulling too hard on the reins, you'll hurt your horse.

He follows my advice and then looks at my posture.

-You look so comfortable ! You never told me you knew how to ride ! -It really goes back a very long time in my childhood, when I went on trips discovered with my classmates. -Really ?! Did your parents let you travel alone with other children ?! -Oh, I was not alone! I reassured him. We were accompanied by our teacher and three parents to monitor us during the activities of the trip. It was very fun and we learned a lot. We even went to the sea ! -You really saw the ocean ?!

I turn around and see Ori, who blushes with embarrassment but his eyes sparkle with curiosity. I give him a reassuring smile.

-Yes, I really went there. Often even. I went with my family most of the time! And you, Ori ? Have you ever seen the sea ?

The young dwarf blushed and answered shyly.

-No, never, he replies. You know, we dwarves are not made for this kind of place, we live in montages. But I really want to go at least once and draw that kind of landscape ! -And I wish you, Ori. The sea is very pleasant in hot weather, so you can swim and play in my waves!

The young dwarf takes a dreamy look, surely imagining his feet in the sand with the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea.

Subsequently we continue to get to know each other.

                                                            [...]

I look at the sky.

-Hum, Bilbo takes this. Quick.

I pass Bilbo his heavy coat, his waterproof travel cape and his umbrella. He puts them quickly without arguing, but I can still see he wonders "why?".

-Ori ! I called the young dwarf. Comes quickly ! Come next to me !

Curious, the young scribe brings his pony next to mine and I just have time to put my heavy warm coat, to put my waterproof cape on Ori and to unfold my umbrella on our head, it starts to rain as if I had rarely seen !

All the others are surprised by the rain and begin to moan insults at Khuzdul (at least, it looked like insults).

And so the road continues, full of insults in Khuzdul and desperate attempts by Fili and Kili to come and take shelter under our umbrellas.

-M. Gandalf, can not you do anything against this deluge? Ask one of the dwarves after a moment. -It's raining, Master Dori. And it will continue to rain until the rain stops. If you want to change your time, you will need another magician !

                                                        [...]

Here we are in a city I have never visited, in an inn for the night. I must say that we are all exhausted !

It was awful for hours, so most of the company members were soaked and chilled. If we except Bilbo, Ori and me.

Apart from below the knees, we were dry and warm in our clothes !

-It is not fair ! Kili complains, shivering sadly. Why are you alone in having dry clothes ?! -Because I thought it might rain during the trip and we do not take a walk in the sun under a bright sun, I pointed out. -Besides, I thank you, Miss Isabelle, for keeping my little brother warm ! Dori said gratefully. -You're welcome.

We were allocated rooms. Each dwarf member was grouped by family, Gandalf took a room for himself and I sleep in a room with Bilbo in separate beds.

Everyone took the opportunity to change and we all came out of the rooms to eat together.

We ordered a lot of food and drinks (almost all alcoholic).

-You do not want a pint of beer, Miss Isabelle ? Bofur smiles widely. -I avoid drinking alcohol, I can cause trouble. -And what kind, huh? Dwalin laughs with mockery. -Well ... I could go to the bar and dance an Irish jig, be a little too affectionate with the customers, pay a tour to everyone saying "it's good, we only have one life !" Except that I only have one life and small savings. I could also burst into tears while lamenting the sad fate of my favorite literary characters. And all that, in French, my mother tongue ! -You can believe me, I have already seen it done ! Bilbo said, remembering the first time it happened. -And I thank you again for preventing me from undressing in front of strangers because I wanted to prove to everyone that I had abs, I added with gratitude to Bilbo.

All look at me with shock.

-But you swallowed how much glass of alcohol to finish in this state ?! -...Half of my first and only glass of beer...

This is the end of this first part, I hope you have appreciated ! Thanks for reading ! :)

[djinn-and-djuice]

Continuing in the Valentine’s exchange, I wrote two fics! This one is for Fox, @ST_RFOX on twitter, for the prompt “baking sweets together”. it was an absolute joy to write. (ao3 link)

[set post-canon]

rise and shine

~*~

It was pitch black out when Fjord felt the mattress shift beside him and the brief cold breeze snaking under the blanket that signified Caleb getting out of bed. He rolled over and blearily reached an arm out, catching Caleb’s wrist in loose fingers before he could fully climb out of bed. Even after all these years he still had trouble sleeping, and in the time they’d been sharing a bed Fjord had gotten used to Caleb getting up in the small hours of the night to get some fresh air. All the same, he didn’t want Caleb to vanish without checking in first.

“Everything alright?” Fjord asked blearily, rubbing the thin skin of Caleb’s wrist with his thumb.

“Ja, just couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare?” Before, he would have talked around it, tried to indirectly coax the details out of Caleb, fearful of making him anxious again, or pulling him back into the memories. Now, he looked at his husband and knew he could ask without worry.

“No, I just woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I’m going to go downstairs and bake something for breakfast, you get some more rest.”

Caleb pressed a kiss to his forehead and stood up all the way, stretching his arms over his head and making his quiet way out of the room. Fjord briefly enjoyed the view, before pulling the blankets up and trying to settle back down.

Sleep came quickly after that, and Fjord let it wash over him.

 ---

 Whatever it was that had woken Caleb up, it was catching. Fjord briefly dozed off after Caleb went downstairs, but now he was awake. Awake with a vengeance. The cold space in the bed where Caleb would normally be certainly didn’t help matters.

It wasn’t quite dawn, but the first weak rays of light were starting to color the sky. With a resigned sigh, Fjord sat up and got out of bed. Still in pajamas, he made his way downstairs to find Caleb.

The kitchen was silent and empty when Fjord poked his head in. The kitchen fire was built up a bit, and the kettle had recently been used. There were dishes in the washbasin, and the remnants of flour dusting the counter, but neither Caleb nor his breakfast project were present

He made his way to the living room, where he found Caleb curled on the end of the couch with a book on his knees and a blanket wrapped over him. Fjord stood behind him and tapped the top of Caleb’s head.

“What happened to baking?”

Caleb looked up, bemused. Fjord framed Caleb’s face in his hands, and leaned down for a kiss. Caleb huffed a laugh against his lips.

“The dough has to rise for a while first. What happened to sleep?”

Fjord shrugged, sitting down on the couch next to Caleb. Obligingly, Caleb closed his book and stretched his legs out so Fjord could lay his head on Caleb’s lap. Caleb’s hands rested on his chest and in his hair, respectively, and Fjord closed his eyes with a smile.

“Got lonely. Awful cold up there without you.”

“I see,” Caleb said. “So, missing your hot water bottle, you came down here to sleep on my lap? I hate to break it to you, but I’m going to have to get up in a little bit.”

Fjord shifted onto his side, snaking his arms around Caleb’s waist. “You’ll have to drag me into the kitchen if you want to get me off your lap.”

Caleb laughed truly then, and Fjord hugged him a bit tighter, hiding his own smile under his arm.

“Well then, I guess we won’t be having sticky buns after all.”

“Low blow, Widogast, I was just getting comfortable. But if you’re going to play that card,” he sighed heavily, like it was a huge imposition, “I suppose I can oblige you.”

“So gracious, thank you very much, oh kind sir.”

“Made your whole day, didn’t I?”

Caleb just hummed and opened his book back up, and they sat like that for a little while longer. Absently, Caleb’s free hand came down and started stroking the shorn fuzz on the side of Fjord’s head. Fjord lay there, content, listening to Caleb’s breathing and watching the light get brighter in the room.

Whatever internal clock ran in Caleb’s head went off, and he patted Fjord’s temple. “Come on, time to get up.”

“Alright, if you say so,” he said, reluctantly sitting up and rolling his shoulders. “You want any help?”

“That would be lovely, actually,” Caleb said, and they both went into the kitchen.

The space wasn’t overly large, just big enough for the two of them to work in it together without tripping over each other. “Homey as shit”, Beau had called it on one of her visits, and while she was being a little bit snarky, she was right.

“If you don’t mind starting on the filling, I’m going to ready the dough.”

Frumpkin was stretched out in front of the oven, warming himself against the stone. Thankfully, Caleb had figured out how to summon Frumpkin in such a way that he didn’t send Fjord into an allergic fit, so the cat had become a steady presence in the home. For a fey creature he was very fond of mundane physical comforts, and he scarcely raised his head as the two of them started working.

Caleb very carefully stood in front of him and reached up to the space beside the chimney, pulling down a cloth-covered bowl.

“I don’t mind at all, tell me what to do.”

Caleb pointed him to where he’d placed the ingredients, and Fjord set to mixing while Caleb rolled his sleeves past his elbows and dusted the spare space of the counter with flour.

“Watch where you get that,” Fjord teased, and a wicked smirk crossed Caleb’s face. It was a familiar expression, albeit more commonly seen on Jester’s face; it invariably meant trouble for whoever was nearest, and right now Fjord was in the blast zone.

“Don’t you dare—“ He started to say, but it was already too late; Caleb stuck his fingers in the flour bowl and flicked a healthy pinch of it at the side of Fjord’s head.

The cloud slowly settled, and Fjord shook his head hard to get as much off as he could. His hair flopped into his face, and he blew the locks back as he reached for the flour himself.

“Oh it’s on now,” he said, and made a quick swipe at Caleb’s hair.

Caleb squawked, and at the sound of alarm Frumpkin sprung up and beat a hasty retreat, fearing for the sanctity of his fur in the ensuing skirmish. A wise course of action, because even though the fight only lasted a few seconds, there was flour on every surface within five feet of them. Caleb opened the door and stood outside on the stoop to shake the flour out of his hair, tying it back with a bit of leather cord from around his wrist. He looked back at Fjord and smiled impishly, the dawn light painting him like an idol in rose and gold. Smiles were much more common on Caleb’s face now, and Fjord was struck by how much they had both changed over the years, for the better.

His heart suddenly felt very full and without another word, Fjord crossed the floor to the threshold and pulled Caleb into a tight hug, pressing kisses to his cheek. Caleb freed his arms and wrapped them around Fjord in turn, holding him just as close.

“Love you,” he muttered into Caleb’s hair.

“I love you too,” Caleb replied, his voice muffled.

It was something they said fairly often, but Fjord never stopped feeling that swoop in his stomach. Caleb gave him one last little squeeze and loosed his arms, leaning back to look Fjord in the face.

“We should actually start with the baking now, I suppose.”

“Yeah, for real this time.”

They stepped apart and got back to where they were each working. The recipe was one they had made dozens of times, and while they still had the small card with Caleb’s precise writing on it, they scarcely needed it now. Caleb uncovered the bowl of dough and turned it out onto the counter. The dough looked silky smooth and overstuffed, full of air until Caleb pounded it down to the counter and began working it flat. Fjord watched for a bit as he kneaded it down and rolled it out, watched the movement of Caleb’s shoulders under his shirt and the steady, practiced flex of his hands.

Caleb must have felt his gaze, because he looked over his shoulder to meet Fjord’s eyes and a blush dusted the top of his cheeks. Caught out, Fjord felt his own face warm up.

“Go on then,” Caleb said, trying to sound chiding but coming up short in his fluster. “You’re not going to make me do all the work, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Fjord stuttered, getting back to the mix. It was quick enough that he was done with the sugar and spices and had softened the butter by the time Caleb had completely rolled out the dough.

Fjord spread the butter out in a thin layer and scattered the sandy sugar over top. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but the sauce the rolls would be baked in was so much that they didn’t need a lot in the middle. Caleb rolled up the dough and cut the log into buns, setting them on the tray to rise a second time.

“Now we wait,” Caleb said, wiping down the counter. “Although I suppose it would be prudent to make the sauce now, so it’s ready by the time we need to bake.”

Together they gathered the other ingredients, measuring and pouring them into the little copper saucepan on the stove. Caleb slowly stirred the mixture and watched it like a hawk.

Fjord stood behind and rested his hands on Caleb’s hips, hooking his chin over his husband’s shoulder, watching the sauce melt down.

“I’m glad you decided to join me,” Caleb said, leaning back ever so slightly against Fjord’s chest.

“Me too,” Fjord said.

“It feels a little silly; we spend all day together, but there’s something precious about stealing a bit of extra time like this.” He craned his neck, pressing a kiss to Fjord’s lips. “Feels a bit like we’ve snuck away from the world. It’s a little bit like the old days.”

Caleb tossed the chopped nuts in and gave the mix one final swirl, turning gently in Fjord’s hands to grab a trivet and put the pot on the counter.

“I agree,” Fjord said, following Caleb step for step as he moved, like a dance. “Part of me expects someone to come in and tell us to stop being gross and just cook breakfast.”

Caleb turned to face Fjord, laughing softly at the memory. “I’m amazed we ever lived that down,” he said.

“Did we?” He asked, smiling broadly. “I figured we just got enough ammo on the rest of them they decided to a ceasefire.”

“Maybe so,” Caleb conceded. “Come on, I’ve got a book to finish.”

This time Caleb shooed Fjord into sitting on the couch, and lay down with his head in Fjord’s lap. Fjord settled one hand on Caleb’s sternum and rested his chin on the other, watching his husband unerringly open to the page he’d left off on and start reading again with his book held above his head.

“Awful cruel of you to hide that pretty face,” Fjord said, tapping the spine of the book.

Caleb lowered the book just enough to look up at him and roll his eyes. “It would be rather difficult to read if I held it anywhere else, charmer.”

“Must be good if you’re willing to cloister yourself away with it. What are you reading?” Caleb had struck up a friendship with the bookseller in the next town over who seemed to have a knack for finding the most obscure and interesting books, and it felt like Caleb was always reading something new.

“A fiction about the founding of Ank’Harel, the capitol of Marquet. Apparently the founder of the city is the subject of no small amount of speculation, to the point of books being written making guesses about their life.”

“Sounds interesting.” Fjord had been to Marquet a couple times, sailing on the Tide’s Breath, but Ank’Harel was far inland so he had never seen the city or gotten to know much about it. “Would you mind reading it aloud?”

“Not at all, let me start at the beginning of the chapter.”

Caleb’s voice when he read was smooth and even, his Zemnian accent getting stronger the deeper he got into the story. His voice resonated in his chest, humming under Fjord’s hand as he described sweeping dunes and vast skies, of the hero-king making their way through trials and hardship to secure their kingdom.

Fjord was fully invested in the story when Caleb reached the end of a chapter and closed the book.  “Time to put the rolls in the oven,” He said, sitting up.

Fjord pressed on Caleb’s chest, trying to keep him reclined. “You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I’m not. I wouldn’t be stopping unless I absolutely had to, trust me.” He sat up and patted Fjord’s thigh. “Won’t be five minutes, hang tight.”

True to his word, he was back very quickly, with a warm smell of cinnamon and bread following behind him. He lay back down on Fjord’s lap, reaching a hand up to stroke his cheek.

“I don’t know if we have enough time to read another chapter, but we can laze about for a bit.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They passed the rest of the time in silence and idle conversation in turns, and occasionally Fjord leaned down to kiss Caleb’s forehead, cheek, lips. He stole one last kiss when Caleb told him the rolls were done. Caleb hooked his hand around the back of Fjord’s neck and held him there, drawing the kiss out into something warm and lazy that stoked a fire in his belly.

“I love you,” Caleb said, patting Fjord’s hand where it rested on his heart.

Fjord leaned down, kissing him softly. “Love you too.”

“Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

[yoolee]

Saizo and goose just for you sweet Lee!

WHO DID THIS WHO WAS IT WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS OH MY GOD

Honestly.

You fed one supervillainan Absolute Victory Bowl and suddenly every news outlet in Japan wascalling your restaurant a hotspot for heroic activity. Which on one hand, was great for business, because everyonewith any access to transportation and a passing interest in superheroes waselbowing for a spot at your table and a taste of your cooking. But on the other—youdove for cover as a redheaded hero (well, “hero”, he sort of blurredthe line sometimes) with a devil’s horns  crossed fists with a tall man in a tiger mask.The resulting wave sent your pots tumbling off their hooks.

Oh no. You couldnot afford your insurance to go up. Again.You surged to your feet, squeaking as a rippling streak of energy took out oneof your centerpieces. “ENOUGH!” Neither man looked over. You climbedon your counter, trying to get closer to the ceiling where they hovered,“Cut it out! Take it outside!” Neitherone seemed to hear, and the ground rumbled.  Precariously balanced at best, you shriekedand tumbled, looking down in horror as the floor of your restaurant crackedopen. Oh no, oh—

The shadows warped, and you found yourself outside, secure in the arms of a man in a half-mask. The smirk on his lips matched the mischiefof the fox ears perched in silver hair. In rapid succession, your blood went cold and searing hot.

Cold, becauseanyone who was anyone knew that mask belonged to the Lord Assassin.

Hot because thiswas not the first time you’d been in his arms after being in need of rescue,and last time…

“Silly little goose, aren’t we?” He murmured,lilting whisper a shadow of sound, as he set  you back on your feet.

[portersnotebook]

I Have a Son

It bothers me more that I cannot remember when I forgot my son's name than that I have forgotten it at all. I guess sometimes, screaming out into the house: Isaac. Benjamin. William. Edward. Aloysius. Aloysius.

Who names their child Aloysius?

Perhaps I did. I could have. I could have named him anything. Any word that I do not remember could be his name and I think of the many words that I cannot remember, but as each one springs to mind I know it cannot be right, because there remains a nameless, son-shaped shadow in my mind.

No matter how often I call out for him he does not come to me or answer. And what child would? What son would come to a father who can only bellow out "boy" or "son" or "you there?" What sensible child would answer a man screaming out into an empty house, "Is anybody there?"

Of course somebody is there. My son is there. And the house is not empty. It can’t be empty.

*

We arrived in my beat-up, wheezing two-door on a cold, clear night in early Spring and even my breath had sharp edges. I lifted him from the back seat where he’d fallen asleep and carried him up the hill toward the three-story farm house of red brick and old windows laid in by hand. The house had stood on this hill for more than two hundred years, had seen all its land parceled away to farmers with means. Halfway up the hill my son woke and I set him down so that we climbed hand in hand, my steps matching his sleepy ones. All of the windows in the house were dark, and I was not sure if the lights would work or if there would be heat. On the drive I told him stories about building a real fire and as we walked up the hill I said that perhaps we will sleep in front of one tonight, like settlers I said, like pioneers.

"Are we home, Daddy?"

"We're home, son."

"That's good."

"Hey, can you tell me your name?"

He laughed. "You're silly, Daddy."

I look down at him, but his face is hidden by his hat and I am about to tilt his chin up so that I might see him when…

...I am dragged from the dream as if I sleep in tar, the tangled sheets clutching around me like fingers and vines and tentacles. Something woke me up other than the dream, some sound and it may have been footsteps in the hallway beyond the door. Small ones wearing, I think, sneakers. Maybe that pair of Vans I got him, a link between his childhood and mine. Before we got to the house he liked to ask me what shoes I was wearing, hoping that he could put his on and we could match.

"I'm a skater, daddy."

"As soon as you're old enough we're getting you a board."

And you're right, kiddo, daddy is silly. Very silly. Daddy is so silly he can remember what sneakers you wear but he can't remember your name, not even when he's dreaming. I get out of bed and dress, my leather jacket as cold as the window I lay my hand against to the check the temperature. It is early and the lawn and fields behind the house, the pasture of the cattle farm next door are blue with early spring frost and dawn-filtered light.

"Are you there?" I call out as I walk down the spiraling back stairs toward the kitchen and the back door. "Hello? Son?"

Was that laughter or were those cars driving past? Were those steps or was it birdsong? Did he answer me or was that a cow lowing from the far pasture?

The fields behind the house and to either side are fallow now. Corn one year, soybeans another but I have contributed to growing neither. I sit in the house now, looking out the window, a man whose family bought a castle on land that belongs to other men. I walk toward the sunrise on a dirt and gravel road with empty fields to both sides and a bit of red flashes against a stand of trees, a fox after a mouse perhaps.

I saw a fox once when I was a boy. Dead though. Walking here with my father and a farmer with a black Chevy pickup had just killed one nearby, said it was after his chickens. I saw the fox, its tongue extended and very dead, its shit soiling the bed of the truck.

"Where's your farm?" My father had asked.

"Nearby."

"That so? Don’t remember any chicken farms nearby."

The farm puffed up his chest and leaned toward my father.

"Ya'll live in that house down yonder?"

"That's right."

"City folk, huh?" He said and swaggered back to his truck, the slender rifle he'd used to kill the fox slung over a shoulder. The exchange had the feeling of a contest that my father had lost somehow. Hunter, my father, the fox had lost, dead in the back of a pickup truck without even a little prey’s blood around his muzzle to show for it.

Standing on this gravel road now, I decide to walk to the tree line but when I step onto the field a sheet of black rushes up from the grass, a thunder of sound and shrieking blots out the sky and the dawn and the forest behind. It blots out the fox and the memory and it blots out me, it blots out my son with his forgotten name. The shadow swallow the moon and any moment, wave-like, it will fall upon me where I stand, gap-mouthed in the early dawn. But as it shrieks and rises, it separates and I can see that the is sun still rising between its wings.

Wings. Birds.

Starlings. Hundreds nesting in the tallish grass of the field. Starlings. Only starlings.

I watch and listen as they fly around and shout at me. You're city folk, ain't ya? Yes. I am. No. We are. We are city folk. My son and I, we live in the house.

Am I speaking to the starlings? What sort of man talks to birds?

The sort who can't remember his son's name, I guess.

*

At home I find a bowl of oatmeal gone cold and crusted hard on the kitchen table, a clean spoon beside it. I push my fingers against the oatmeal now rough like sandstone. It must have been sitting here for some time, months or a year. I am sure it was not on the table when I'd gone for my walk just now. In the sink under the running faucet I stab at it with the spoon and spark up chips of dried oatmeal. I leave it to soak in the cold water.

Cold water. I try the hot water tap. Nothing.

I had put on the boiler. I remember going into the basement when my son and I arrived and turning it on, and the thundering chug and whoosh of flame as it stuttered to life after months of inactivity. The last time I'd been here was September and now it was March.

We.

We'd not been here since September.

Us.

There had been an early fall snap to the air, but I was reluctant to turn on the heat for just one night.

"Let’s sleep in front of the fire." I told him. "Go get all the sheets off your bed.

"Mom says that dangerous."

"It'll be fine. You'll see. But maybe don't tell her about this."

He'd laughed. "Daddy's gonna get in trouble."

"Not if you don't tell her. Want to hear a story?"

I read him stories all night until he fell asleep and just before I dropped off myself, I made sure the safety cage was tight and in place. The flames made his face look peaceful, burnished like something adorning a plaza in the wake of a victory or a liberation.

*

It's a beautiful morning with a slight chill when the car pulls up the driveway and stops beside mine. A woman gets out and walks toward the back door where I sip my coffee looking out through the screen. She says my name as she approaches, and she looks relieved. I wave because it’s the polite thing to do, but I don't know who she is.

"You have to come home." She tells me, standing on the other side of the screen.

"Would you like to come in?"

"No, I would not like to come in. You have to come home."

"But I am home. I mean, we are home. My son and I."

"You can’t be… Look, just please come home. I'll drive you."

I shook my head. "We have to stay here."

"But I love you, you can't stay here. Can't…"

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? Please don't do this to us."

"What's his name?"

"What did you just say?"

"What is my son's name? Do you know us? If you know us you must know my son's name."

She stares a me for several seconds and then her jaw drops wide and there is black in the back of her throat, black like hundreds of rising starlings, black like the shape in my head where my son's name should be. She screams it at me, but her impossibly wide mouth is just a shape of silence while the chords stand out in her neck. There is force in this shout and I can even feel the wind from her lungs, the wind of that name screamed around my head, but I can hear nothing.

Still she screams…

…and again I am ripped from sleep, battling sheets damp with sweat. I can hear the sound of plastic wheels on a hallway floor. I can hear a little boy's voice.

Vroom. Vroom.

He is playing truck.

She said that I have to come home, but I am home. We are home. My son and I are home.

Vroom. Vroom.

It is very dark.

"Son? Why aren't you in bed?" I walk out of the bedroom to sharp pain in my right foot and I stumble up against the wall. My toe is bleeding, cut on the grill of a large yellow toy truck sitting in the middle of the hallway. I pick it up and put it on a shelf downstairs. It was his favorite truck, this is something that I know, that I remember.

I know that his favorite truck is called a Tonka. I know its name, but I do not know his.

*

If he insists on walking around the house at night, I wish he'd learn to pick up his toys. Three mornings in a row now I have tripped over that yellow truck, but no matter how many times I put it away it is in the hallway for my toes to find in the morning.

"Son? Aren't you hungry? Don't you want some breakfast?"

I tap the bowl of oatmeal on the table with the spoon next to it like he is a cat, but he doesn't answer. I don't even hear the rumble of his footsteps.

"Son? Breakfast?"

The oatmeal will stay on the table then, it is already cold. I even sprinkled cinnamon onto it, his favorite. I turn toward the stove to clean out the pot I prepared his breakfast in, but it's not there and the stove is cold. I must have turned it off right after the oatmeal had finished cooking. Throwing on my jacket I go for a walk in the field behind the house. The foxes and starlings are not there. He just needs his space, then he'll come down to breakfast. He wants to be alone and that's okay, a boy needs time for his own thoughts. If you knew his name, I thought, he might come to breakfast.

What sort of father cannot even remember his own son's name to call him to breakfast?

It's no wonder his oatmeal has grown cold.

*

I take his yellow truck to bed with me, throwing my arm around it while I sleep so that there's no way it can be in the hallway for me to trip over tomorrow. He'll just have to find something else to play with. A small hope flutters within me that he will come into my room to ask for it back and then we can play together, rolling it up and down the hallways.

Vroom. Vroom.

Maybe he can help me remember some of the words that I have forgotten and maybe one of those words will be his name.

Vroom Vroom.

In the morning I still have the truck and "Tonka" is embossed into the soft skin of my inner arm like I have been branded. I carry the truck downstairs and set it on the table next to the bowl of oatmeal.

"Son. Breakfast." I call into the empty house. No. Not empty. The house is not empty. We are here. We are here and his breakfast is getting cold on the table.

Vroom. Vroom.

It comes from the basement, this sound. He must have another truck because I can hear its little plastic wheels on the stone floor. I open the door and am met with black, black like a sheet of starling rising from a field, black like the inside of that screaming woman's mouth, black like shapes of all the words that I cannot remember.

"Son? Are you there? Come on up and eat your breakfast."

Vroom Vroom.

I can hear the wheels of the truck, I can hear him playing. "Do you want me to turn on the light?"

Vroom Vroom.

My fingers hover by the switch, brush the white plastic that I can barely make out by the daylight coming in the kitchen windows.

"Son?"

Maybe he likes it down there, maybe he's left the lights off on purpose. I drop my hand from the switch and raise it again, drop and raise, drop and raise.

"Son, I'm coming down. It's not safe for you to play in the dark like this." I flip the switch and light floods the basement and I can see the stone floor around the boiler and the stairs leading down into the second level of the basement where the root cellar is. I walk down the stairs listening for the sound of the trucks wheels.

"Son?"

I try the storm doors in case he slipped out there but they are too heavy for a small boy to open, and anyway they are chained from the outside. I look into the root cellar, scanning its stacked shale walls and packed dirt floor. Now I hear footsteps on the stairs, small and fast and heading up toward the kitchen and the trickle of his laughter as he reaches the top.

I race around the corner and up the stairs, calling out. "Son!"

I burst into the kitchen and see the door to the living room slam and I barge through to hear his feet upon the stairs to the second floor. I chase him around the house, these sounds of him audible just over the pounding of my heart and my gasping lungs. Through the house I chase footsteps, laughter, slamming doors.

"Slow down, dammit. Where are you?" Why is he always running? This isn't a game. He hasn't eaten in days, I know because I've prepared his oatmeal every morning and every morning it's grown cold on the table. A growing boy needs breakfast. I hear the wheels of his truck again, this time from the kitchen. The wheels don't slide as well across the linoleum. A long wood hallway is better to push a toy truck. If he would stop I would show him this. Heaving for air I lean against the wall and gasp, a little snot drips from my nose and I wipe it on my sleeve.

"Dad?"

It's so soft I almost don't believe it, just a whisper from the kitchen and the sound of the truck wheels has stopped. I can see him there, sitting and bored with it and the game of chase we just had, and maybe… maybe a little scared so that he wants his father.

"Son?"

"Dad!"

I race down the hall to the back kitchen stairs that spiral down. I'll open the door in full view of the stove and the table where his oatmeal is getting cold. I am sure that I'll see him there with his truck looking up at me and I'll remember his name and I'll make his breakfast again because…

I am falling.

My foot must have hit that first step wrong and I tumble down, the wooden stairs biting into my knees and spine as I careen off the walls. There is a blinding pain in my leg as I burst through the door and fall past the last two stairs. My leg is twisted, something with the knee and I am sick on the kitchen floor. Each heave of my gut twists my leg further and there is so much pain. I look at my hands and wonder why there is so much dirt beneath my nails. What a thing to wonder at now. I push myself toward the wall so that I can lean against it, each inch brings a fresh dry heave as the wrongness of my leg becomes clearer.

Broken. Something is broken. Something is wrong. My leg is twisted. I dry heave and a little bile splashes out onto my chest.

I look around the kitchen for my son, to reassure him that his dad's alright, but he is not there and neither is his truck. His truck is back on the shelf upstairs, of course, just like his oatmeal is getting cold on the table. I can see the dust on the bowl.

These old houses are dusty, nothing left out escapes it. No. That is not the reason.

"Son?"

The croak of my own voice scares me, but I call out again and hear nothing. He does not answer but I do hear something from the basement, faint but audible.

Vroom Vroom.

Vroom Vroom.

[rhetoricandlogic]

The Dragonslayer of Merebarton

— by K.J. PARKER —

AUDIO VERSION

I was mending my chamber pot when they came to tell me about the dragon.

Mending a pot is one of those jobs you think is easy, because tinkers do it, and tinkers are no good or they’d be doing something else. Actually, it’s not easy at all. You have to drill a series of very small holes in the broken pieces, then thread short lengths of wire through the holes, then twist the ends of the wires together really tight, so as to draw the bits together firmly enough to make the pot watertight. In order to do the job you need a very hard, sharp, thin drill bit, a good eye, loads of patience, and at least three pairs of rock-steady hands. The tinker had quoted me a turner and a quarter; get lost, I told him, I’ll do it myself. It was beginning to dawn on me that some sorts of work are properly reserved for specialists.

Ah, the irony.

Stupid of me to break it in the first place. I’m not usually that clumsy. Stumbling about in the dark, was how I explained it. You should’ve lit a lamp, then, shouldn’t you, she said. I pointed out that you don’t need a lamp in the long summer evenings. She smirked at me. I don’t think she quite understands how finely balanced our financial position is. We’re not hard up, nothing like that. There’s absolutely no question of having to sell off any of the land, or take out mortgages. It’s just that, if we carry on wasting money unnecessarily on lamp-oil and tinkers and like frivolities, there’ll come a time when the current slight reduction in our income will start to be a mild nuisance. Only temporary, of course. The hard times will pass, and soon we’ll all be just fine.

Like I said, the irony.

“Ebba’s here to see you,” she said.

She could see I was busy. “He’ll have to come back,” I snapped. I had three little bits of wire gripped between my lips, which considerably reduced my snapping power.

“He said it’s urgent.”

“Fine.” I put down the pot—call it that, no way it was a pot anymore. It was disjointed memories of the shape of a pot, loosely tied together with metal string, like the scale armor the other side wore in Outremer. “Send him up.”

“He’s not coming up here in those boots,” she said, and at once I realized that no, he wasn’t, not when she was using that tone of voice. “And why don’t you just give up on that? You’re wasting your time.”

Women have no patience. “The tinker—”

“That bit doesn’t go there.”

I dropped the articulated mess on the floor and walked past her, down the stairs, into the great hall. Great, in this context, is strictly a comparative term.

Ebba and I understand each other. For a start, he’s practically the same age as me—I’m a week younger; so what? We both grew up silently ashamed of our fathers (his father Ossun was the laziest man on the estate; mine—well) and we’re both quietly disappointed with our children. He took over his farm shortly before I came home from Outremer, so we both sort of started off being responsible for our own destinies around the same time. I have no illusions about him, and I can’t begin to imagine he has any about me. He’s medium height, bald and thin, stronger than he looks and smarter than he sounds. He used to set up the targets and pick up the arrows for me when I was a boy; never used to say anything, just stood there looking bored.

He had that look on his face. He told me I wasn’t going to believe what he was about to tell me.

The thing about Ebba is, he has absolutely no imagination. Not even when roaring drunk—whimpering drunk in his case; very rare occurrence, in case you’ve got the impression he’s what she calls basically-no-good. About twice a year, specific anniversaries. I have no idea what they’re the anniversaries of, and of course I don’t ask. Twice a year, then, he sits in the hayloft with a big stone jar and only comes out when it’s empty. Not, is the point I’m trying to make, prone to seeing things not strictly speaking there.

“There’s a dragon,” he said.

Now Ossun, his father, saw all manner of weird and wonderful things. “Don’t be bloody stupid,” I said. He just looked at me. Ebba never argues or contradicts; doesn’t need to.

“All right,” I said, and the words just sort of squeezed out, like a fat man in a narrow doorway. “Where?”

“Down Merebarton.”

A brief digression concerning dragons.

There’s no such thing. However, there’s the White Drake (its larger cousin, the Blue Drake, is now almost certainly extinct). According to Hrabanus’ Imperfect Bestiary, the White Drake is a native of the large and entirely unexpected belt of marshes you stumble into after you’ve crossed the desert, going from Crac Boamond to the sea. Hrabanus thinks it’s a very large bat, but conscientiously cites Priscian, who holds that it’s a featherless bird, and Saloninus, who maintains that it’s a winged lizard. The White Drake can get to be five feet long—that’s nose to tip-of-tail; three feet of that is tail, but it can still give you a nasty nip. They launch themselves out of trees, which can be horribly alarming (I speak from personal experience). White Drakes live almost exclusively on carrion and rotting fruit, rarely attack unless provoked, and absolutely definitely don’t breathe fire.

White Drakes aren’t found outside Outremer. Except, some idiot of a nobleman brought back five breeding pairs about a century ago, to decorate the grounds of his castle. Why people do these things, I don’t know. My father tried to keep peacocks once. As soon as we opened the cage they were off like arrows from the bowstring; next heard of six miles away, and could we please come and do something about them, because they were pecking the thatch out in handfuls. My father rode over that way, happening to take his bow with him. No more was ever said about peacocks.

Dragons, by contrast, are nine to ten feet long excluding the tail; they attack on sight, and breathe fire. At any rate, this one did.

Three houses and four barns in Merebarton, two houses and a hayrick in Stile. Nobody hurt yet, but only a matter of time. A dozen sheep carcasses, stripped to the bone. One shepherd reported being followed by the horrible thing: he saw it, it saw him, he turned and ran; it just sort of drifted along after him, hardly a wingbeat, as if mildly curious. When he couldn’t run any further, he tried crawling down a badger hole. Got stuck, head down the hole, legs sticking up in the air. He reckoned he felt the thump as the thing pitched down next to him, heard the snuffling—like a bull, he reckoned; felt its warm breath on his ankles. Time sort of stopped for a while, and then it went away again. The man said it was the first time he’d pissed himself and felt the piss running down his chest and dripping off his chin. Well, there you go.

The Brother at Merebarton appears to have taken charge, the way they do. He herded everyone into the grain store—stone walls, yes, but a thatched roof; you’d imagine even a Brother would’ve watched them making charcoal some time—and sent a terrified young kid off on a pony to, guess what. You’ve got it. Fetch the knight.

At this point, the story recognizes (isn’t that what they say in Grand Council?) Dodinas le Cure Hardy, age fifty-six, knight, of the honors of Westmoor, Merebarton, East Rew, Middle Side, and Big Room; veteran of Outremer (four years, so help me), in his day a modest success on the circuit—three second places in ranking tournaments, two thirds, usually in the top twenty out of an average field of forty or so. Through with all that a long time ago, though. I always knew I was never going to be one of those gaunt, terrifying old men who carry on knocking ’em down and getting knocked down into their sixties. I had an uncle like that, Petipas of Lyen. I saw him in a tournament when he was sixty-seven, and some young giant bashed him off his horse. Uncle landed badly, and I watched him drag himself up off the ground, so desperately tired. I was only, what, twelve; even I could see, every last scrap of flesh and bone was yelling, don’t want to do this anymore. But he stood up, shamed the young idiot into giving him a go on foot, and proceeded to use his head as an anvil for ten minutes before graciously accepting his surrender. There was so much anger in that performance—not at the kid, for showing him up, Uncle wasn’t like that. He was furious with himself for getting old, and he took it out on the only target available. I thought the whole thing was disturbing and sad. I won’t ever be like that, I told myself.

(The question was, is: why? I can understand fighting. I fought—really fought—in Outremer. I did it because I was afraid the other man was going to kill me. So happens my defense has always been weak, so I compensate with extreme aggression. Never could keep it going for very long, but on the battlefield that’s not usually an issue. So I attacked anything that moved with white-hot ferocity fueled entirely and exclusively by ice-cold fear. Tournaments, though, jousting, behourd, the grand melee—what was the point? I have absolutely no idea, except that I did feel very happy indeed on those rare occasions when I got a little tin trophy to take home. Was that enough to account for the pain of being laid up six weeks with two busted ribs? Of course it wasn’t. We do it because it’s what we do; one of my father’s more profound statements. Conversely, I remember my aunt: silly woman, too soft for her own good. She kept these stupid big white chickens, and when they got past laying she couldn’t bear to have their necks pulled. Instead, they were taken out into the woods and set free, meaning in real terms fed to the hawks and foxes. One time, my turn, I lugged down a cage with four hens and two cocks squashed in there, too petrified to move. Now, what draws in the fox is the clucking; so I turned them out in different places, wide apart, so they had nobody to talk to. Released the last hen, walking back down the track; already the two cock birds had found each other, no idea how, and were ripping each other into tissue scraps with their spurs. They do it because it’s what they do. Someone once said, the man who’s tired of killing is tired of life. Not sure I know what that means.)

A picture is emerging, I hope, of Dodinas le Cure Hardy; while he was active in chivalry he tried to do what was expected of him, but his heart was never in it. Glad, in a way, to be past it and no longer obliged to take part. Instead, prefers to devote himself to the estate, trying to keep the ancestral mess from collapsing in on itself. A man aware of his obligations, and at least some of his many shortcomings.

Go and fetch the knight, says the fool of a Brother. Tell him—

On reflection, if I hadn’t seen those wretched White Drakes in Outremer, there’s a reasonable chance I’d have refused to believe in a dragon trashing Merebarton, and then, who knows, it might’ve flown away and bothered someone else. Well, you don’t know, that’s the whole point. It’s that very ignorance that makes life possible. But when Ebba told me what the boy told him he’d seen, immediately I thought; White Drake. Clearly it wasn’t one, but it was close enough to something I’d seen to allow belief to seep into my mind, and then I was done for. No hope.

Even so, I think I said, “Are you sure?” about six or seven times, until eventually it dawned on me I was making a fool of myself. At which point, a horrible sort of mist of despair settled over me, as I realized that this extraordinary, impossible, grossly and viciously unfair thing had landed on me, and that I was going to have to deal with it.

But you do your best. You struggle, just as a man crushed under a giant stone still draws in the last one or two desperate whistling breaths; pointless, but you can’t just give up. So I looked him steadily in the eye, and I said, “So, what do they expect me to do about it?”

He didn’t say a word. Looked at me.

“The hell with that,” I remember shouting. “I’m fifty-six years old, I don’t even hunt boar anymore. I’ve got a stiff knee. I wouldn’t last two minutes.”

He looked at me. When you’ve known someone all your life, arguing with them is more or less arguing with yourself. Never had much joy with lying to myself. Or anyone else, come to that. Of course, my mother used to say: the only thing I want you not to be the best in the world at is lying. She said a lot of that sort of thing; much better written down on paper rather than said out loud in casual conversation, but of course she couldn’t read or write. She also tended to say: do your duty. I don’t think she ever liked me very much. Loved, of course, but not liked.

He was looking at me. I felt like that poor devil under the stone (at the siege of Crac des Bests; man I knew slightly). Comes a point when you just can’t breathe anymore.

We do have a library: forty-seven books. The Imperfect Bestiary is an abridged edition, local copy, drawings are pretty laughable, they make everything look like either a pig or a cow, because that’s all the poor fool who drew it had ever seen. So there I was, looking at a picture of a big white cow with wings, thinking: how in God’s name am I supposed to kill something like that?

White Drakes don’t breathe fire, but there’s this stupid little lizard in Permia somewhere that does. About eighteen inches long, otherwise completely unremarkable; not to put too fine a point on it, it farts through its mouth and somehow contrives to set fire to it. You see little flashes and puffs of smoke among the reed beds. So it’s possible. Wonderful.

(Why would anything want to do that? Hrabanus, who has an answer for every damn thing, points out that the reed beds would clog up the delta, divert the flowing water and turn the whole of South Permia into a fetid swamp if it wasn’t for the frequent, regular fires, which clear off the reed and lay down a thick bed of fertile ash, just perfect for everything else to grow sweet and fat and provide a living for the hundreds of species of animals and birds who live there. The fires are started by the lizards, who appear to serve no other function. Hrabanus points to this as proof of the Divine Clockmaker theory. I think they do it because it’s what they do, though I’m guessing the lizards who actually do the fire-starting are resentful younger sons. Tell you about my brother in a minute.)

She found me in the library. Clearly she’d been talking to Ebba. “Well?” she said.

I told her what I’d decided to do. She can pull this face of concentrated scorn and fury. It’s so intensely eloquent, there’s really no need for her to add words. But she does. Oh, she does.

“I’ve got no choice,” I protested. “I’m the knight.”

“You’re fifty-six and you get out of breath climbing the stairs. And you’re proposing to fight dragons.”

It’s a black lie about the stairs. Just that one time; and that was the clock-tower. Seventy-seven steps to the top. “I don’t want to do it,” I pointed out. “Last bloody thing I want—”

“Last bloody thing you’ll ever do, if you’re stupid enough to do it.” She never swears, except when quoting me back at myself. “Just think for a minute, will you? If you get yourself killed, what’ll happen to this place?”

“I have no intention of getting myself—”

“Florian’s too young to run the estate,” she went on, as though I hadn’t spoken. “That clown of a bailiff of yours can’t be trusted to remember to breathe without someone standing over him. On top of which, there’s heriot and wardship, that’s hundreds and hundreds of thalers we simply haven’t got, which means having to sell land, and once you start doing that you might as well load up a handcart and take to the roads, because—”

“Absolutely no intention of getting killed,” I said.

“And for crying out loud don’t shout,” she shouted. “It’s bad enough you’re worrying me to death without yelling at me as well. I don’t know why you do this to me. Do you hate me, or something?”

We were four and a quarter seconds away from tears, and I really can’t be doing with that. “All right,” I said. “So tell me. What do I do?”

“I don’t know, do I? I don’t get myself into these ridiculous messes.” I wish I could do that; I should be able to. After all, it’s the knight’s move, isn’t it? A step at right angles, then jump clean over the other man’s head. “What about that useless brother of yours? Send him.”

The dreadful thing is, the same thought had crossed my mind. It’d be—well, not acceptable, but within the rules, meaning there’s precedents. Of course, I’d have to be practically bedridden with some foul but honorable disease. Titurel is ten years younger than me and still competing regularly on the circuit, though at the time he was three miles away, at the lodge, with some female he’d found somewhere. And if I really was ill—

I was grateful to her. If she hadn’t suggested it, I might just have considered it. As it was; “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Just think, if I was to chicken out and Titurel actually managed to kill this bloody thing. We’ve got to live here. He’d be insufferable.”

She breathed through her nose; like, dare I say it, one of the D things. “All right,” she said. “Though how precisely it’s better for you to get killed and your appalling brother moves in and takes over running the estate—”

“I am not going to get killed,” I said.

“But there, you never listen to me, so I might as well save my breath.” She paused and scowled at me. “Well?”

Hard, sometimes, to remember that when I married her, she was the Fair Maid of Lannandale. “Well what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh,” he said, sort of half-turning and wiping his forehead on his forearm. “It’s you.”

Another close contemporary of mine. He’s maybe six months older than me, took over the forge just before my father died. He’s never liked me. Still, we understand each other. He’s not nearly as good a tradesman as he thinks he is, but he’s good enough.

“Come to pay me for those harrows?” he said.

“Not entirely,” I replied. “I need something made.”

“Of course you do.” He turned his back on me, dragged something orange-hot out from under the coals, and bashed it, very hard, very quickly, for about twenty seconds. Then he shoved it back under the coals and hauled on the bellows handle a dozen times. Then he had leisure to talk to me. “I’ll need a deposit.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. There was a small heap of tools piled up on the spare anvil. I moved them carefully aside and spread out my scraps of parchment. “Now, you’ll need to pay attention.”

The parchment I’d drawn my pathetic attempts at sketches on was the fly-leaf out of Monomachus of Teana’s Principles of Mercantile Law. I’d had just enough left over to use for a very brief note, which I’d folded four times, sealed, and sent the stable boy off to deliver. It came back, folded the other way; and under my message, written in big crude handwriting, smudged for lack of sand—

What the hell do you want it for?

I wasn’t in the mood. I stamped back into the house (I’d been out in the barn, rummaging about in the pile of old junk), got out the pen and ink and wrote sideways up the margin (only just enough room, writing very small)—

No time. Please. Now.

I underlined please twice. The stable boy had wandered off somewhere, so I sent the kitchenmaid. She whined about having to go out in her indoors shoes. I ask you.

Moddo the blacksmith is one of those men who gets caught up in the job in hand. He whinges and complains, then the problems of doing the job snag his imagination, and then your main difficulty is getting it away from him when it’s finished, because he’s just come up with some cunning little modification which’ll make it ever so slightly, irrelevantly better.

He does good work. I was so impressed I paid cash.

“Your design was useless, so I changed it,” he’d said. A bit of an overstatement. What he’d done was to substitute two thin springs for one fat one, and add on a sort of ratchet thing taken off a millers’ winch, to make it easier to wind it up. It was still sticky with the oil he’d quenched it in. The sight of it made my flesh crawl.

Basically, it was just a very, very large gin trap, with an offset pressure plate. “It’s pretty simple,” I said. “Think about it. Think about birds. In order to get off the ground, they’ve got very light bones, right?”

Ebba shrugged: if you say so.

“Well,” I told him, “they have. And you break a bird’s leg, it can’t get off the ground. I’m assuming it’s the same with this bastard. We put out a carcass, with this underneath. It stands on the carcass, braces it with one foot so it can tear it up with the other. Bang, got him. This thing ought to snap the bugger’s leg like a carrot, and then it won’t be going anywhere in a hurry, you can be sure of that.”

He frowned. I could tell the sight of the trap scared him, like it did me. The mainspring was three eighths of an inch thick. Just as well Moddo thought to add a cocking mechanism. “You’ll still have to kill it, though,” he said.

I grinned at him. “Why?” I asked. “No, the hell with that. Just keep everybody and their livestock well away for a week until it starves to death.”

He was thinking about it. I waited. “If it can breathe fire,” he said slowly, “maybe it can melt the trap off.”

“And burn through its own leg in the process. Also,” I added—I’d considered this very point—“even without the trap it’s still crippled, it won’t be able to hunt and feed. Just like a bird that’s got away from the cat.”

He pulled a small frown that means, well, maybe. “We’ll need a carcass.”

“There’s that sick goat,” I said.

Nod. His sick goat. Well, I can’t help it if all my animals are healthy.

He went off with the small cart to fetch the goat. A few minutes later, a big wagon crunched down to the yard gate and stopped just in time. Too wide to pass through; it’d have got stuck.

Praise be, Marhouse had sent me the scorpion. Rather less joy and happiness, he’d come along with it, but never mind.

The scorpion is genuine Mezentine, two hundred years old at least. Family tradition says Marhouse’s great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather brought it back from the Grand Tour, as a souvenir. More likely, his grandfather took it in part exchange or to settle a bad debt; but to acknowledge that would be to admit that two generations back they were still in trade.

“What the hell,” Marhouse said, hopping down off the wagon box, “do you want it for?”

He’s all right, I suppose. We were in Outremer together—met there for the first time, which is crazy, since our houses are only four miles apart. But he was fostered as a boy, away up country somewhere. I’ve always assumed that’s what made him turn out like he did.

I gave him a sort of hopeless grin. Our kitchenmaid was still sitting up on the box, hoping for someone to help her down. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m hoping we won’t need it, but—”

A scorpion is a siege engine; a pretty small one, compared to the huge stone-throwing catapults and mangonels and trebuchets they pounded us with at Crac des Bests. It’s essentially a big steel crossbow, with a frame, a heavy stand, and a super-efficient winch. One man with a long steel bar can wind it up, and it shoots a steel arrow long as your arm and thick as your thumb three hundred yards. We had them at Metouches. Fortunately, the other lot didn’t.

I told Marhouse about the dragon. He assumed I was trying to be funny. Then he caught sight of the trap, lying on the ground in front of the cider house, and he went very quiet.

“You’re serious,” he said.

I nodded. “Apparently it’s burned some houses out at Merebarton.”

“Burned.” Never seen him look like that before.

“So they reckon. I don’t think it’s just a drake.”

“That’s—” He didn’t get around to finishing the sentence. No need.

“Which is why,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “I’m so very glad your granddad had the foresight to buy a scorpion. No wonder he made a fortune in business. He obviously knew good stuff when he saw it.”

Took him a moment to figure that one out, by which time the moment had passed. “There’s no arrows,” he said.

“What?”

“No arrows,” he repeated, “just the machine. Well,” he went on, “it’s not like we use the bloody thing, it’s just for show.”

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. “Surely there must’ve been—”

“Originally, yes, I suppose so. I expect they got used for something around the place.” He gave me a thin smile. “We don’t tend to store up old junk for two hundred years on the off chance in my family,” he said.

I was trying to remember what scorpion bolts look like. There’s a sort of three-bladed flange down the butt end, to stabilize them in flight. “No matter,” I said. “Bit of old rod’ll have to do. I’ll get Moddo to run me some up.” I was looking at the machine. The lead screws and the keyways the slider ran in were caked up with stiff, solid bogeys of dried grease. “Does it work?”

“I assume so. Or it did, last time it was used. We keep it covered with greased hides in the root store.”

I flicked a flake of rust off the frame. It looked sound enough, but what if the works had seized solid? “Guess I’d better get it down off the cart and we’ll see,” I said. “Well, thanks again. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Meaning: please go away now. But Marhouse just scowled at me. “I’m staying here,” he said. “You honestly think I’d trust you lot with a family heirloom?”

“No, really,” I said, “you don’t need to trouble. I know how to work these things, remember. Besides, they’re pretty well indestructible.”

Wasting my breath. Marhouse is like a dog I used to have, couldn’t bear to be left out of anything; if you went out for a shit in the middle of the night, she had to come too. Marhouse was the only one of us in Outremer who ever volunteered for anything. And never got picked, for that exact reason.

So, through no choice or fault of my own, there were nine of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse, the six men from the farm. Of the six, Liutprand is seventeen and Rognvald is twenty-nine, though he barely counts, with his bad arm. The rest of us somewhere between fifty-two and sixty. Old men. We must be mad, I thought.

We rode out there in the flat-bed cart, bumping and bouncing over the ruts in Watery Lane. Everybody was thinking the same thing, and nobody said a word: what if the bugger swoops down and crisps the lot of us while we’re sat here in the cart? In addition, I was also thinking: Marhouse is his own fault, after all, he’s a knight too, and he insisted on butting in. The rest of them, though—my responsibility. Send for the knight, they’d said, not the knight and half the damn village. But a knight in real terms isn’t a single man, he’s the nucleus of a unit, the heart of a society; the lance in war, the village in peace, he stands for them, in front of them when there’s danger, behind them when times are hard, not so much an individual, more of a collective noun. That’s understood, surely; so that, in all those old tales of gallantry and errantry, when the poet sings of the knight wandering in a dark wood and encountering the evil to be fought, the wrong to be put right, “knight” in that context is just shorthand for a knight and his squire and his armor-bearer and his three men-at-arms and the boy who leads the spare horses. The others aren’t mentioned by name, they’re subsumed in him, he gets the glory or the blame but everyone knows, if they stop to think about it, that the rest of them were there too; or who lugged around the spare lances, to replace the ones that got broken? And who got the poor bugger in and out of his full plate harness every morning and evening? There are some straps and buckles you just can’t reach on your own, unless you happen to have three hands on the ends of unnaturally long arms. Without the people around me, I’d be completely worthless. It’s understood. Well, isn’t it?

We set the trap up on the top of a small rise, in the big meadow next to the old clay pit. Marhouse’s suggestion, as a matter of fact; he reckoned that it was where the flightlines the thing had been following all crossed. Flightlines? Well yes, he said, and proceeded to plot all the recorded attacks on a series of straight lines, scratched in the dried splatter on the side of the cart with a stick. It looked pretty convincing to me. Actually, I hadn’t really given it any thought, just assumed that if we dumped a bleeding carcass down on the ground, the dragon would smell it and come whooshing down. Stupid, when you come to think of it. And I call myself a huntsman.

Moddo had fitted the trap with four good, thick chains, attached to eighteen-inch steel pegs, which we hammered into the ground. Again, Marhouse did the thinking. They needed to be offset (his word) so that if it pulled this way or that, there’d be three chains offering maximum resistance—well, it made sense when he said it. He’s got that sort of brain, invents clever machines and devices for around the farm. Most of them don’t work, but some of them do.

The trap, of course, was Plan A. Plan B was the scorpion, set up seventy-five yards away under the busted chestnut tree, with all that gorse and briars for cover. The idea was, we had a direct line of sight, but if we missed and he came at us, he wouldn’t dare swoop in too close, for fear of smashing his wings on the low branches. That bit was me.

We propped the poor dead goat up on sticks so it wasn’t actually pressing on the floorplate of the trap, then scampered back to where we’d set up the scorpion. Luitprand got volunteered to drive the cart back to Castle Farm; he whined about being out in the open, but I chose him because he’s the youngest and I wanted him well out of harm’s way if the dragon actually did put in an appearance. Seventy-five yards was about as far as I trusted the scorpion to shoot straight without having to make allowance for elevation—we didn’t have time to zero it, obviously—but it felt stupidly close. How long would it take the horrible thing to fly seventy-five yards? I had no idea, obviously. We spanned the scorpion—reassuringly hard to do—loaded Moddo’s idea of a bolt into the slider groove, nestled down as far as we could get into the briars and nettles, and waited.

No show. When it got too dark to see, Marhouse said, “What kind of poison do you think it’d take to kill something like that?”

I’d been thinking about that. “Something we haven’t got,” I said.

“You reckon?”

“Oh come on,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t keep a wide selection of poisons in the house. For some reason.”

“There’s archer’s root,” Ebba said.

“He’s right,” Marhouse said. “That stuff’ll kill just about anything.”

“Of course it will,” I replied. “But nobody around here—”

“Mercel,” Ebba said. “He’s got some.”

News to me. “What?”

“Mercel. Lidda’s boy. He uses it to kill wild pigs.”

Does he now?, I thought. It had occurred to me that wild boar were getting a bit hard to find. I knew all about smearing a touch of archer’s root on a bit of jagged wire nailed to a fencepost—boar love to scratch, and it’s true, they do a lot of damage to standing corn. That’s why I pay compensation. Archer’s root is illegal, of course, but so are a lot of useful everyday commodities.

“I’d better ask him,” Ebba said. “He won’t want to get in any trouble.”

Decided unanimously, apparently. Well, we weren’t doing any good crouching in the bushes. It did cross my mind that if the dragon hadn’t noticed a dead goat with a trap under it, there was no guarantee it’d notice the same dead goat stuffed full of archer’s root, but I dismissed the idea as unconstructive.

We left the trap and the scorpion set up, just in case, and rode in the cart back to Castle Farm. To begin with, as we came over the top of the Hog’s Back down Castle Lane, I assumed the pretty red glow on the skyline was the last blush of the setting sun. As we got closer, I hoped that was what it was. By the time we passed the quince orchard, however, the hypothesis was no longer tenable.

We found Luitprand in the goose pond. Stupid fool, he’d jumped in the water to keep from getting burned up. Of course, the mud’s three feet deep on the bottom. I could have told him that.

In passing: I think Luitprand was my son. At any rate, I knew his mother rather too well, seventeen years ago. Couldn’t ever say anything, naturally. But he reminded me a lot of myself. For a start, he was half-smart stupid, just like me. Hurling myself in the pond to avoid the flames was just the sort of thing I might have done at his age; and, goes without saying, he wasn’t there when we dug the bloody pond, twenty-one years ago, so how could he have known we’d chosen the soft spot, no use for anything else?

No other casualties, thank God, but the hay barn, the straw rick, the woodpile, all gone. The thatch, miraculously, burned itself out without taking the rafters with it. But losing that much hay meant we’d be killing a lot of perfectly good stock come winter, since I can’t afford to buy in. One damn thing after another.

Opito, Larcan’s wife, was hysterical, even though her home hadn’t gone up in flames after all. Larcan said it was a great big lizard, about twenty feet long. He got one very brief glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, just before he dragged his wife and son under the cart. He looked at me like it was all my fault. Just what I needed after a long day crouched in a briar patch.

Luitprand played the flute; not very well. I gave him the one I brought back from Outremer. I never did find it among his stuff, so I can only assume he sold it at some point.

Anyway, that was that, as far as I was concerned. Whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it would have to be dealt with, as soon as possible. On the ride back from the farm, Marhouse had been banging on about flightlines again, where we were going to move the bait to; two days here, while the wind’s in the south, then if that’s no good, then another two days over there, and if that still doesn’t work, we’ll know for sure it must be following the line of the river, so either here, there, or just possibly everywhere, would be bound to do the trick, logically speaking. I smiled and nodded. I’m sure he was perfectly correct. He’s a good huntsman, Marhouse. Come the end of the season, he always knows exactly where all the game we’ve failed to find must be holed up. Next year, he then says—

Trouble was, there wasn’t time for a next year.

By midnight (couldn’t sleep, oddly enough) I was fairly sure how it had to be done.

Before you start grinning to yourself at my presumption, I had no logical explanation for my conclusions. Flightlines, patterns of behavior, life cycles, cover crops, mating seasons, wind directions; put them together and you’ll inevitably flush out the truth, which will then elude you, zig-zag running through the roots of the long variables. I knew.

I knew, because I used to hunt with my father. He was, of course, always in charge of everything, knew everything, excelled at everything. We never caught much. And I knew, when he’d drawn up the lines of beaters, given them their timings (say three Glorious Sun Ascendants and two Minor Catechisms, then come out making as much noise as you can), positioned the stillhunters and the hounds and the horsemen, finally blown the horn; I knew exactly where the wretched animal would come bursting out, so as to elude us all with the maximum of safety and the minimum of effort. Pure intuition, never failed. Naturally, I never said anything. Not my place to.

So: I knew what was going to happen, and that there was nothing much I could do about it, and my chances of success and survival were—well, not to worry about that. When I was in Outremer, I got shot in the face with an arrow. Should’ve killed me instantly; but by some miracle it hung up in my cheekbone, and an enemy doctor we’d captured the day before yanked it out with a pair of tongs. You should be dead, they said to me, like I’d deliberately cheated. No moral fiber. Ever since then—true, I shuddered to think how the estate would get on with my brother in charge, but it survived my father and grandfather, so it was clearly indestructible. Besides, everyone dies sooner or later. It’s not like I’m important.

Marhouse insisted on coming with us. I told him, you stay here, we’ll need a wise, experienced hand to take charge if it decides to burn out the castle. For a moment I thought he’d fallen for it, but no such luck.

So there were three of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse. The idea was, we’d follow the Ridgeway on horseback, looking down on either side. As soon as we saw smoke, Ebba would ride back to the castle and get the gear, meet us at the next likely attack scene. I know; bloody stupid idea. But I knew it wouldn’t happen like that, because I knew how it’d happen.

Marhouse had on his black-and-white—that’s breastplate, pauldrons, rerebraces, and tassets. I told him, you’ll boil to death in that lot. He scowled at me. He’d also fetched along a full-weight lance, issue. You won’t need that, I told him. I’d got a boar-spear, and Ebba was carrying the steel crossbow my father spent a whole year’s apple money on, the year before he died. “But they’re just to make us feel better,” I said. That got me another scowl. The wrong attitude.

Noon; nothing to be seen anywhere. I was just daring to think, perhaps the bloody thing’s moved on, or maybe it’d caught some disease or got itself hung up in a tree. Then I saw a crow.

I think Ebba saw it first, but he didn’t point and say, “Look, there’s a crow.” Marhouse was explaining some fine point of decoying, how you go about establishing which tree is the principal turning point on an elliptical recursive flight pattern. I thought: that’s not a crow, it’s just hanging there. Must be a hawk.

Ebba was looking over his shoulder. No, not a hawk, the profile’s wrong. Marhouse stopped talking, looked at me, said, “What are you two staring at?” I was thinking, Oh.

I’m right about things so rarely that I usually relish the experience. Not this time.

Oh, you may be thinking, is a funny way of putting it. But that was the full extent of it: no elation, no regret, not even resignation; to my great surprise, no real fear. Just: oh, as in, well, here we are, then. Call it a total inability to feel anything. Twice in Outremer, once when my father died, and now. I’d far rather have wet myself, but you can’t decide these things for yourself. Oh, I thought, and that was all.

Marhouse was swearing, which isn’t like him. He only swears when he’s terrified, or when something’s got stuck or broken. Bad language, he reckons, lubricates the brain, stops it seizing up with fear or anger. Ebba had gone white as milk. His horse was playing up, and he was having to work hard to keep it from bolting. Amazing how they know.

On top of the Ridgeway, of course, there’s no cover. We could gallop forward, or turn around and gallop back; either case, at the rate the bloody thing was moving, it’d be on us long before we could get our heads down. I heard someone give the order to dismount. Wasn’t Marhouse, because he stayed mounted. Wouldn’t have been Ebba, so I guess it must’ve been me.

First time, it swooped down low over our heads—about as high up as the spire of Blue Temple—and just kept on going. We were frozen solid. We watched. It was on the glide, like a pigeon approaching a laid patch in a barley field, deciding whether to pitch or go on. Very slight tailwind, so if it wanted to come in on us, it’d have to bank, turn up into the wind a little bit to start to stall, then wheel and come in with its wings back. I honestly thought: it’s gone too far, it’s not going to come in. Then it lifted, and I knew.

Sounds odd, but I hadn’t really been looking at it the first time, when it buzzed us. I saw a black bird shape, long neck like a heron, long tail like a pheasant, but no sense of scale. As it came in the second time, I couldn’t help but stare; a real dragon, for crying out loud, something to tell your grandchildren about. Well, maybe.

I’d say the body was about horse-sized, head not in proportion; smaller, like a red deer stag. Wings absurdly large—featherless, like a bat, skin stretched on disturbingly extended fingers. Tail, maybe half as long again as the body; neck like a swan, if that makes any sense. Sort of a gray color, but it looked green at a distance. Big hind legs, small front legs looking vaguely ridiculous, as if it had stolen them off a squirrel. A much rounder snout than I’d expected, almost chubby. It didn’t look all that dangerous, to be honest.

Marhouse is one of those people who translate fear into action; the scareder he is, the braver. Works against people. No warning—it’d have been nice if he’d said something first; he kicked his horse hard enough to stove in a rib, lance in rest, seat and posture straight out of the coaching manual. Rode straight at it.

What happened then—

Marhouse was five yards away from it, going full tilt. The dragon probably couldn’t have slowed down if it had wanted to. Instead—it actually made this sort of “pop” noise as it opened its mouth and burped up a fat round ball of fire, then lifted just a little, to sail about five feet over Marhouse’s head. He, meanwhile, rode straight into the fireball, and through it.

And stopped, and fell all to pieces; the reason being, there was nothing left. Horse, man, all gone, not even ash, and the dozen or so pieces of armor dropping glowing to the ground, cherry-red, like they’d just come off the forge. I’ve seen worse things, in Outremer, but nothing stranger.

I was gawping, forgotten all about the dragon. It was Ebba who shoved me down as it came back. I have no idea why it didn’t just melt us both as it passed, unless maybe it was all out of puff and needed to recharge. Anyway, it soared away, repeated the little lift. I had a feeling it was enjoying itself. Well, indeed. It must be wonderful to be able to fly.

Ebba was shouting at me, waving something, the crossbow, he wanted me to take it from him. “Shoot it,” he was yelling. Made no sense to me; but then again, why not? I took the bow, planted my feet a shoulders’ width apart, left elbow tucked in tight to the chest to brace the bow, just the fingers on the trigger. A good archery stance didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter in hand—like playing bowls in the middle of an earthquake—but I’m a good archer, so I couldn’t help doing it properly. I found the dragon in the middle of the peep-sight, drew the tip of the arrow up to find it, and pressed the trigger.

For the record, I hit the damn thing. The bolt went in four inches, just above the heart. Good shot. With a bow five times as strong, quite possibly a clean kill.

I think it must’ve hurt, though, because instead of flaming and lifting, it squirmed—hunched its back then stretched out full-length like a dog waking up—and kept coming, straight at me. I think I actually did try and jump out of the way; just rather too late. I think what hit me must’ve been the side of its head.

I had three ribs stoved in once in Outremer, so I knew what was going on. I recognized the sound, and the particular sort of pain, and the not quite being able to breathe. Mostly I remember thinking: it won’t hurt, because any moment now I’ll be dead. Bizarrely reassuring, as if I was cheating, getting away with it. Cheating twice; once by staying alive, once by dying. This man is morally bankrupt.

I was on my back, not able or minded to move. I couldn’t see the dragon. I could hear Ebba shouting; shut up, you old fool, I thought, I’m really not interested. But he was shouting, “Hold on, mate, hold on, I’m coming,” which made absolutely no sense at all—

Then he shut up, and I lay there waiting. I waited, and waited. I’m not a patient man. I waited so long, those crunched ribs started to hurt, or at least I became aware of the pain. For crying out loud, I thought. And waited.

And thought: now just a minute.

It hurt so much, hauling myself onto my side so I could see. I was in tears.

Later, I figured out what had happened. When Ebba saw me go down, he grabbed the boar-spear and ran towards me. I don’t imagine he considered the dragon, except as an inconvenience. Hold on, I’m coming; all his thoughts in his words. He got about half way when the dragon pitched—it must’ve swooped off and come in again. As it put its feet down to land, he must’ve stuck the butt of the spear in the ground and presented the point, like you do with a boar, to let it stick itself, its momentum being far more effective than your own puny strength. As it pitched, it lashed with its tail, sent Ebba flying. Whether or not it realized it was dead, the spear a foot deep in its windpipe before the shaft gave way under the pressure and snapped, I neither know nor care. By the marks on the ground, it rolled three or four times before the lights went out. My best estimate is, it weighed just short of a ton. Ebba—under it as it rolled—was crushed like a grape, so that his guts burst and his eyes popped, and nearly all his bones were broken.

He wouldn’t have thought: I’ll kill the dragon. He’d have thought, ground the spear, like boar-hunting, and then the tail hit him, and then the weight squashed him. So it wouldn’t have been much; not a heroic thought, not the stuff of song and story. Just: this is a bit like boar-hunting, so ground the spear. And then, perhaps: oh.

I think that’s all there is; anywhere, anytime, in the whole world.

I tried preserving the head in honey. We got an old pottery bath and filled it and put the head in; but eight weeks later it had turned green and it stank like hell, and she said, for pity’s sake get rid of it. So we boiled it out and scraped it, and mounted the skull on the wall. Not much bigger than a big deer; in a hundred years’ time, they won’t believe the old story about it being a dragon. No such thing as dragons, they’ll say.

Meanwhile, for now, I’m the Dragonslayer; which is a joke. The duke himself threatened to ride over and take a look at the remains, but affairs of state supervened, thank God. Entertaining the duke and his court would’ve ruined us, and we’d lost so much already.

Twice I’ve cheated. Marhouse was straight as a die, and his end, I’m sorry, was just ludicrous. I keep telling myself, Ebba made a choice, you must respect that. I can’t. Instead of a friend, I have a horrible memory, and yet another debt I can’t pay. People assume you want to be saved, no matter what the cost; sometimes, though, it’s just too expensive to stay alive. Not sure I’ll ever forgive him for that.

And that’s that. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.

[lynseylags]

WOW, have things gotten wild over the past week! I’m currently in self-imposed quarantine, as is almost everyone I know. Several close friends have fallen ill. It’s scary out there right now. I sincerely hope that all of you readers this are safe and healthy. And that you’re washing your hands, avoiding contact with other people….and not terribly bored if you’re working (or not working) at home. Sounds like a good time to support and read some indie comics, if you ask me.

A cheap shot? Maybe.

But, hey. In the midst of all this COVID-19 madness, I’m…uh…still trying to fund this book I wrote. I’ve got a few days left before the Kickstarter to fund Tracy Queen, V2: Dangerous Experiments ends on Friday, March 20. And, well, that’s looking just about as bleak as the outside world right about now. I’ve worked very hard on the book itself, and on the Kickstarter campaign to fund it. And yet, there’s more than 50% left to raise in just over three days.

Yeah. I’m scared.

Not just because I have a compromised immune system due to medication I take for my autoimmune condition. (Although I am scared as heck about that, not gonna lie.) But also about my future as a writer. I rely on Kickstarter as a means to market, print, and distribute the comics I write, as well as books by other creators that I publish. So far, I’ve never had one fail. But with COVID-19 on the loose, interest in funding my work seems to have taken a precipitous dive. I’m not mad, because everyone is terrified. And it would be selfish and silly to be mad that folks are a little preoccuppied.

But I am scared.

Because, you know all those people who are losing income and afraid about whether they can make rent in the midst of all this fear and uncertainty? They’re me. And the future of my business as a comics writer and independent publisher may rely on this Kickstarter. If this campaign doesn’t get fully funded, we don’t get ANY of the money people have pledged. And then we may have to give up on, or at least severely alter, the future of my company—Oneshi Press. The proceeds from this campaign were meant to fund printing of this book and also help us stay afloat for the next few months, pay some of the artists who are creating work for our projects, and pay some bills. If we don’t make it, well…

I’m an indie creator, and my business helps support other indie creators.

So, hey. If you’re looking for ways to support folks whose livelihoods are on the line right now? Folks who work for themselves, have no paid time off, no sick leave, and usually really crappy health insurance? Look no further.

Hey. I know things are massively uncertain right now. I know people are losing income left and right, the stock market is taking a nosedive, and not every government is exactly stepping up to help people get through. *cough cough USA* I know shit’s scary.

But I’m literally trying to sell some comics. For cheap. For you to read while you’re in quarantine.

Folks. For $10, we’ll give you FOUR full-length digital comic books absolutely stuffed with art. That art took multiple artists thousands of hours and lots of money to produce.

For $25, we’ll give you all that and a printed comic book, too. The pot sweetens with every increase in pledge level after that. We’ve added new rewards of hand-drawn, gorgeous art, awesome stickers, and so much more. No matter what level you back at, I promise you: You’ll get more than your money’s worth, and you’ll likely get most of it while you’re still in quarantine.

Because those comics? They’re ready to go.

We’ll have digital rewards out within two weeks of the Kickstarter, if we get fully funded. That means, just when quarantine cabin fever is beginning to truly set in…BAM! Digital comics! And a few weeks after that (assuming our printer is operational) BLAMMO! Printed comics and art!

So, even if you’re not into supporting artists. If you’re just looking for something to do to keep yourself busy while you’re at home, bored and/or scared and/or desperate to stay entertained? Look no further. Our books will entertain you and get your brain going and let you immerse yourself in a world that’s not our messed-up situation in this world.

Help me give people comics!

If you’ve got a few bucks to spare and you want some comics, please pledge. If you don’t have anything to spare but you want to help, you can share the link. Or any of the following links, which provide interesting listening, fun-as-heck viewing, fascinating reads, and links back to my Kickstarter:

Smash Pages Q&A: Lynsey G.

Adrian Has Issues Episode 153: All Hail The Queen (with Lynsey G & Jayel Draco of Oneshi Press)

Which Tracy Queen Character Are You?

(NSFW) KILLER CAMGIRL TAKES OFF ARMOR, PUTS ON LINGERIE, TAKES OVER THE WORLD…

Let’s Talk About Socks, Baby! (And Changing the World!)

support tracy queen: a weird, wild, sex-positive graphic novel

My Sex-Positive, Feminist Graphic Novel, Tracy Queen, is Being Shadow Banned

Hot off the interview, we had reinvited our friends from Oneshi Press, Jayel and Lynsey, to talk about the TRACY QUEEN Volume 2 Kickstarter!

Here’s what’s in it for you.

Freaking ART. So much art! Tracy Queen, V2: Dangerous Experiments is a graphic novel, which means there’s art throughout by illustrator Jayel Draco. But there’s also cover art and fan art on the line by five other guest artists!

“Dangerous Experiments” front cover art by Tangmo Cecchini

Tracy Queen character turnaround, art print by Jayel Draco

“Dangerous Experiments” Chapter 1 cover art by Shaydens Doodle

Tracy Queen dominating Patience, fan art by Pink Pitcher

“Dangerous Experiments” Chapter 2 cover art by Jason Johnson

Tracy Queen in Mr. Guy Socks, art print by Jayel Draco

“Dangerous Experiments” Chapter 3 cover art by Dylan Jay Fox

“Dangerous Experiments” Chapter 3 cover art by Sophia Murphy

Plus comics! We’re offering Tracy Queen volumes 1 and 2, as well PACK issues 1 and 2, to everyone at $10 and over. Higher-level backers get even more comics in the form of our anthologies, which feature dozens of short comics by well over a hundred creators!

We’re also sending out stickers, postcards, a paper doll of Tracy, hand-drawn sketches, tote bags! The whole kit and caboodle!

Look. You’re in quarantine. I’m in quarantine. Let’s help each other out.

Please. Help if you can. Every pledge and every share means the absolute world to me right now.

Never miss another self-indulgent plea for help! Sign up for my newsletter!

In Quarantine? Want a Comic Book? I’m Making One. WOW, have things gotten wild over the past week! I'm currently in self-imposed quarantine, as is almost everyone I know.

[irishwomanquotes]

Charles Kingsley, The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby, 1899

Page 8: Soon they came up with a poor Irish woman, trudging along with a bundle at her back. She had a gray shawl over her head, and a crimson madder petticoat; so you may be sure she came from Galway. She had neither shoes nor stockings, and limped along as if she were tired and footsore; but she was a very tall handsome woman, with bright gray eyes, and heavy black hair hanging about her cheeks. And she took Mr. Grimes’ fancy so much, that when he came alongside he called out to her: “This is a hard road for a gradely foot like that. Will ye up, lass, and ride behind me?”

But, perhaps, she did not admire Mr. Grimes’ look and voice; for she answered quietly: “No, thank you: I’d sooner walk with your little lad here.”

Page 10: Tom was picking the flowers as fast as he could. The Irish woman helped him, and showed him how to tie them up; and a very pretty nosegay they had made between them. But when he saw Grimes actually wash, he stopped, quite astonished; and when Grimes had finished, and began shaking his ears to dry them, he said: “Why, master, I never saw you do that before.”

“Nor will again, most likely. ‘Wasn’t for cleanliness I did it, but for coolness. I’d be ashamed to want washing every week or so, like any smutty collier lad.”

Page 11: Grimes was very sulky, because the woman preferred Tom’s company to his; so he dashed at him with horrid words, and tore him up from his knees, and began beating him. But Tom was accustomed to that, and got his head safe between Mr. Grimes’ legs, and kicked his shins with all his might.

“Are you not ashamed of yourself, Thomas Grimes?”

“Yes; I was there,” said the Irish woman quietly.

“You are no Irish woman, by your speech,” said Grimes, after many bad words.

“Never mind who I am. I saw what I saw; and if you strike that boy again, I can tell what I know.”

Page 12: “Stop!” said the Irish woman. “I have one more word of you both; for you will both see me again before all is over. Those that wish to be clean, clean they will be; and those that wish to be foul, foul they will be. Remember.”

Page 24: The Irish woman, too, was walking up to the house to beg—she must have got round by some byway—but she threw away her bundle, and gave chase to Tom likewise. Only my Lady did not give chase; for when she had put her head out of the window, her night-wig fell into the garden, and she had to ring up her lady’s maid, and send her down for it privately, which quite put her out of the running, so that she came in nowhere, and is consequently not placed.

Page 25: In a word, never was there heard at Hall Place—not even when the fox was killed in the conservatory, among acres of broken glass, and tons of smashed flower pots—such a noise, row, hubbub, babe, shiny, hullaballoo, stramash, charivari, and total contempt of dignity, repose, and order, as that day, when Grimes, gardener, the groom the dairy maid, Sir John, the steward, the ploughman, the keeper, and the Irish woman, all ran up the park, shouting “Stop their!” in the belief that Tom had at least a thousand pounds’ worth of jewels in his empty pockets; and the very magpies and jays followed Tom up, screaming and screaming, as if he were a hunted fox, beginning to droop his brush.

Page 29: But the Irish woman, alone of them all, had seen which way Tom went. She had kept ahead of everyone the whole time; and yet she neither walked nor ran. She went along quite smoothly and gracefully, while her feet twinkled past each other so fast that you could not see which was foremost; till everyone asked the other who the strange woman was; and all agreed, for want of anything better to say, that she must be in league with Tom.

Page 32: What would Tom have said if he had seen, walking over the moor behind him, the very same Irish woman who had taken his part upon the road? But whether it was that he looked too little behind him, or whether it was that she kept out of sight behind the rocks and knolls, he never saw her, though she saw him.

Page 37: So Tom went down; and all the while he never saw the Irish woman going down behind him.

Page 41: And all the while he never saw the Irish woman coming down behind him.

Page 46: Instead of it he turned and tossed and kicked about in the strangest way, and let so hot all over that he longed to get into the river and cool himself; and then he fell half asleep, and dreamt that he heard the little white lady crying to him, “Oh, you’re so dirty; go and be washed;” and then that he heard the Irish woman saying, “Those that wish to be clean, clean they will be.” And then he heard the church bells ring so loud, close to him, too, that he was sure it must be Sunday, in spite of what the old dame had said; and he would go to church, and see what a church was like inside, for he had never been in one, poor little fellow, in all his life. But the people would never let him come in, all over soot and dirt like that. He must go to the river and wash first. And he said out loud again and again, though being half asleep he did not know it, “I must be clean, I must be clean.”

Page 47: And all the while he never saw the Irish woman, not behind him this time, but before.

Page 267: Grimes looked up; and Tom looked up too; for the voice was that of the Irish woman who met them the day that they went out together to Harthover. “I gave you your warning then: but you gave it yourself a thousand times before and since. Every bad word that you said—every cruel and mean thing that you did—every time that you got tipsy—every time that you went dirty—you were disobeying me, whether you knew it or not.”

Page 273: “You are the Irish woman who met me the day I went to Harthover!” …… “And of course Tom married Ellie?” My dear child, what a silly notion! Don’t you know that no one ever marries in a fairy tale, under the rank of a prince or a princess?

“And Tom’s dog?” Oh, you may see him any clear night in July; for the old dog-star was so worn out by the last three hot summers that there have been no dog-days since; so that they had to take him down and put Tom’s dog up in his place. Therefore, as new brooms sweep clean, we may hope for some warm weather this year. And that is the end of my story.