#organic beard oil

[uomowebmaster]

The Art of Shaving: Tips for a Smooth and Irritation-Free Experience

Introduction:

Shaving is more than just a routine grooming task; it's an art form that requires precision, technique, and the right tools. Whether you're a seasoned pro or a novice, achieving a smooth and irritation-free shave is essential for both comfort and confidence. 

To More know visit ;- UOMO

[severedfromthesource]

Vampire’s Gift

Angelique lets Catarina play their favorite game with the unsuspecting Lucien. NSFW. Features M resus, F rescuer, CPR, conscious and unconscious mouth to mouth, precordial thumps, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts on an unconscious person.

“Am I not enough plaything for you, chérie?”

Catarina playfully smacked her arm. “Don’t be so pathetic, love. You know my heart only belongs to you.” Angelique slid her long arms around her love and drew her in close against her body, staring out at the dark street of Paris. Lights burned everywhere, so Paris was never really dark, merely dimmed by night. The two of them were under the vampire’s shroud, for all intents and purposes invisible to the people of the city. They’d only be seen by those they wanted to see.

“I just think it would be fun to be the hero for once. And you don’t need a hero,” said Catarina, tapping at the beast’s chest and the long dead heart beneath. Angelique wanted to argue, but she also couldn’t be sure the organ hadn’t been eaten by worms before she returned as the undead. She went on, “You’ll take one for me, won’t you? I have one in mind.”

“How could I deny you anything?” replied Angelique.

So they walked through the nightlife in search of their damsel. Catarina adored her angel’s every form, when she took on the aspects of a man with a more rigid and bat like face, or a great black dog, or sometimes even when she was only a cloud of fog clinging to her naked skin and filing her lungs. Angelique had a better cock in some forms than any man she’d known, yet lately she had felt the ache for a living one. She missed taking a man in her hand and feeling it twitch with his heartbeat. Plus, if she got to be the hero for once, she thought it would be fun to ride someone in and out of the little deaths, the petit morte, that her beast had perfected. Their search brought them to the back alley of the perfumer’s shop.

“Lucien,” whispered Angelique, plucking the owners name from the ether, “Come down, Lucien, and let us in.” Catarina bounced a little on the balls of her toes. Ever since having seen this man on her last trip into the city, she’d thought about the older perfumer and what he would look like between her thighs, or with Angelique taking him in a masculine form from behind. Tonight though, she had something else in mind. She practically squealed with delight and clapped quickly as the bolt on the door audibly came undone and Lucien opened it for them.

Angelique could not fault her for her attraction. He was handsome and broad, old enough to be Catarina’s father, but he wore each line well. A little gray peppered his beard and temples, stark against his otherwise dark hair. His rich coffee colored eyes were dull under her spell, mouth slightly agape. The two of them entered with his permission and stood amidst his workshop.

“This is well enough,” Catarina announced. She shoved a few of his implements off his work table, which smelled of every oil and perfume which had ever soaked into its wood, and took him by the shoulder to sit on the edge. She hiked up her layers of skirts and petticoats and climbed so she sat astride him. She nodded to her beast and the beast rolled her long fingers in the air. Lucien sucked in a breath, eyes regaining their light. “Wh-What? Where…” He looked to find himself in his workshop. Upon seeing her he gasped and tried to scramble back, only to find himself pinned under her, and his strength oddly lacking. “I was sleeping, I- what’re you doing here?” Catarina pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush, dear one. You’re still asleep.”

He stared at her with wide, entranced eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. With her mane of gold curls and the freckles going down her nose to the top of her breasts, rounded by her corset. Something whispered in his mind that she was right, he was still asleep. He had to be. She urged him down with his back against the workshop table and he went without complaint. He saw her eyes slide to the far corner, but he didn’t see the thing in the shadows.

“My mind has conjured a beauty,” he whispered in a sort of reverent tone. Catarina smiled, leaning over him to place her delicate fingers against his jawline and tilt his head up. Her mouth devoured his with a hunger, and she reveled in the feeling of his warm aliveness. She felt a pang of foreign sadness inside her the same moment she allowed herself to appreciate his body, and she sent a soothing pulse of thought back to her creature. ‘My heart only belongs to you’, it said without words. The shadows seemed to hum appreciatively, and the pitiful feeling melted away from her mind.

The dream woman, who felt all too solid and real to Lucien, slid her hand up over the soft down on his belly and trailed up to his chest. She shifted, and he moaned a little in his throat when he felt she wore no underthings, and her warmth and wetness soaked against him. She was already deeply excited, but he didn’t know the real reason why. He couldn’t have imagined what lay in store for him.

She coiled her hands in the hem of his nightshirt and with surprising strength, ripped the thing to the middle, then grabbed hold of it again to rip the rest of the way to the collar. Lucien tried to assure himself this was merely a dream, and the garment would be well when he woke up. Then she leaned over him and sealed her mouth over one of his nipples and he thought no more of the torn shirt.

“Slower.”

Something whispered in his mind and he jolted slightly. His heart, which had been speeding up and beginning to pound under the dream woman’s hands and warm mouth, suddenly stumbled as if at war with itself. It was as though some invisible hand had clutched the organ and held it still before it beat too fast.

Catarina smirked, still suckling at the hard bud of his nipple. She dug her teeth into it a little and rolled it between her jaws, winning a small hiss. She released it, laying her body across his to claim his mouth instead. He made a muffled noise of surprise when her tongue plumbed between his teeth, but relaxed after a moment and returned the kiss.

“Slower.”

Another stumble. This one hurt though. He felt the uneven beat in his temples and in his stomach, hissing in a breath. “Mmh,” he mumbled, pulling away slightly. “My heart… feels funny,” he told the dream woman.

Catarina circled one of his nipples with her index finger. “Oh? Poor thing. Maybe you’re dying in your sleep.” His eyes went wide and she giggled, tongue poking out between her teeth. She glanced at Angelique again, and again her angel whispered, “Slower” into the air and into Lucien’s heart. He groaned, clutching his chest with one hand. She slid down and freed him from his trousers, and despite his growing panic, he was still growing hard at her movements. His cock jumped when his heart tried to correct for another stumble and beat particularly hard.

“What is this?” he groaned, feeling the sluggish beat as his heart struggled seemingly without cause. It moved slow, he could practically feel each lapping wave of blood in his circulation. The growing spaces between tides was beginning to hurt, and more than that, they worried him.

Catarina sat back up astride him, her hands braced against his chest. She rolled her hips so her sex merely brushed against his hardness, teasing between her lips. Her aching clit throbbed with her pulse, and when she slid his shaft over the hood there, both of them moaned. Her head fell back as she continued to rut against him, feeling the flushed heat of him. Angelique, when she took on a man’s shape, would be kind enough to warm her dead flesh at the fireplace so she could mimic these sensations while inside her, but this was different. Real alive warmth. It was the only thing she really missed from human partners. That, and lying in the afterglow with an ear to their chest as they drifted back down from heaven.

Lucien was sprawled against the workshop table in a tug of war between panic and ecstasy. Her wet cunt slid up and down the length of him, and he wanted to grab her hips and spear her to stop this agonizingly slow game. But his limbs felt weak. His head was growing fuzzy. It didn’t feel like a dream, but some twisted and sinful nightmare. He expected to wake up and see a succubus draining the breath from his lungs. Maybe she was right. Maybe he really was dying in his sleep. Air was becoming harder to draw in, and his heart wasn’t contracting all the way.

Catarina tugged at the neckline of her dress, her ample breasts spilling over the hard ribbing of her corset. She lay down across the perfumer’s naked chest, her weight constricting his breathing all the more. “Shhh,” she soothed, cupping his face in her palm, her thumb tracing over his quivering lips. “You have nothing to fear, dear one.” Then she slid her hand up to pinch his nostrils, sealing her mouth over his to give him a breath. His chest rose under her and she felt his lungs expand with her air. He expelled the excess in a puff when she broke the life giving kiss. Reaching between them, she finally took hold of his stiff cock. The fear and adrenaline warring with her beast’s instructions to his heart had done little to soften him. She gave him another breath, and when she reached the end she gave him a little more than needed, his ribs rounding beneath her. Then she slid him inside her as she let go and he gave a breathy moan.

She felt amazing. Her tight, warm walls enveloped him and the aching need he’d felt waned. He bucked his hips once, twice, but his body was too weak to thrust up into her. Her arousal dripped down the crease of his thighs and cooled against his skin when it hit the air. The succubus, which he now was convinced she was, began to rock against him. His length tapped now and then against her cervix and she groaned, still holding his nose closed for respirations. He was not aware, but he was the largest cock she’d ever taken from a human. He wanted to moan and voice his pleasure the same as her. He wanted to grab her hips and drive himself into her again and again. But his breaths wouldn’t come, and his heart refused to speed up into that delirious, hammering bliss he’d always known during sex. The succubus was kind enough to give him breaths between thrusts, and all he could do was rumble in the back of his throat when he had the breath to make noise.

Catarina sat back, pressing her palm firmly against the apex of his heart. She slowed her gyrations to be in time with the slow beat she felt there. His fingers tightened against her hip, his mouth gaping without her breaths. He tapped a few times in a mute plea for her oxygen. She smirked down at him. “Angelique,” she called to the shadows. The corner of blackness chuckled as two eyes reflected in the sparse moonlight tilting from the nearby window.

The creature rolled her fingers in the air again and spoke her command to the poor trapped man. “Your lungs…” The perfumer looked towards her corner and finally saw, with wide and naked fear on his face, what lie there. “Do you feel the last wisp of air being squeezed from them?” As she said this, she rolled her fingers into her palm and tensed her hand. His chest spasmed. Then it went still as his lungs arrested.

Catarina began to buck her hips faster as his hand fell away from her leg. His head lay tilted to the side, his eyes wide and mouth hung open. His heart stumbled beneath her hand, and she kept one against his ribs and slid the other against his thigh to feel the weak swell of his femoral. Her stomach tightened, her breath quickening as her climax drew near. Hands appeared from behind and slid over the planes of her corset. Angelique took hold of the middle of her restrictive finery and tore it in one motion. Catarina sucked in a completely unobstructed breath and cried out. Arms encircled her as she slammed him into herself, smoothing over her exposed belly and dipping between her legs to her and Lucien’s joining. Her swollen clit was a raw bundle of nerves when the vampire’s claw glided across its surface. It took only a few moments of Angelique’s cool hand fingering her there before she came, screaming and bucking. She felt the perfumer’s heart, which had been locked in a sort of half death- beating, stopping for long moments, beating twice, shaking, lub… lubdublub… lub…- until finally it ceased at the moment of their shared orgasm. His warm seed spilled inside her and she collapsed back into Angelique’s waiting arms, bosom heaving. Lucien’s cock twitched inside her, the last movement of his body before he began to soften with the lack of blood flow.

Catarina swiped her hair back from her face and took a moment to catch her breath. “Ah,” she sighed, “Thank you, darling. You’ve given me quite a gift. I’ll grant you one in return.” She took his face by the chin and rolled his head back up to look at her, his eyes empty, his pupils blown wide. She chalked that up to his pleasure fueled heights before the drop into cardiac arrest. It would be a shame if he remained dead.

She laid across him again and gave him her breaths, his body pliable and yielding to her. She briefly rutted against the curve of his cock once more, shivering with sensitivity after being so thoroughly sated, then planting her hands in the middle of his chest. She shoved up into his heart, forcing his ribcage in. His shoulders shrugged inward and the force rippled out through his entire body. Her breath quickened and she grew excited all over again. She grunted as she drove another quick compression down into his sternum, watching how it rounded his toned, furry stomach, rocking his head back. Catarina had never been the one doing the saving. The rush was immediate and consuming as a wildfire. I am holding his life in my hands. I am the only thing between this man and oblivion. She found herself panting out little breaths as she started the compressions in earnest, rising up a little on her knees so she could use all the strength in her body for his sake.

Angelique slid to the head of the workbench, her eyes flickering between the dead man and her dove. There was a light in her love’s eyes that set the vampire alight. She truly was enjoying this. It gave her every sort of satisfaction to have given her this gift, something she knew her love had longed for so long. The jealousy she had harbored began to ebb as she watched her dutifully pound into the perfumer’s chest. She leaned down, her lips just brushing Lucien’s ear, her cold cheek pressed to his, which was growing paler. “My lady will be awfully disappointed if you do not live,” she whispered so only his barely tethered consciousness heard, “Your heart must beat again for her, Lucien. Come back.”

Cold lips brushed his ear. The succubus’ sex brushed warmly against his soft cock, jerking against her with every brutal pump against his heart. His heart had stopped. He really had died in his sleep, he thought. But he knew he wasn’t sleeping now. No corner of his imagination could conjure this up. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even roll his eyes in their sockets. They were planted straight ahead where they had drifted at the moment of his death, staring up at some point between the ceiling and the succubus’s face. His vision bobbed with his head, every compression forcing it to swing her face in and out of his line of sight. She really was beautiful. A belle mort. He knew somehow she had been responsible for his death. Now, she was working desperately for his resurrection. It didn’t make sense. But he wanted to do as the voice commanded. He wanted to come back.

Truthfully, there was little left in Lucien’s life worth continuing it. His wife had died last spring of the fever sweeping the lower city. His daughters had died in their cradles the years before that. He had nothing but the stinking perfume shop to fill his days. If he had died, buried inside this beautiful demon sat astride him now, currently shoving her delicate hands against his chest, he wouldn’t have complained. He would have met the devil, for surely a succubus would have damned his soul to hell, and he would have accepted an afterlife of punishment for those few moments of bliss.

She paused her rhythmic pounding and leaned over, kissing him again. Her breath was so warm. It smelled sweet, and tasted of ambrosia when her tongue briefly flicked his own. He knew then that he wanted to come back. He wanted to please her. He would dedicate the rest of his life to this vision who had stolen it from him. Beat. Beat for her, useless thing. Bats pour elle, espèce de sac inutile.

Catarina was panting by now, sweat standing out on her skin and beading between her breasts. Dread had started to well up in the bottom of her stomach. Had she really killed him for good? “Angelique?” she asked, looking over at her beast, “Is it too late? Have I lost him?” The yellow discs of her eyes in the darkness turned towards the dead man’s chest and focused on the vanishing warmth within him. His heart struggled behind his ribs. It beat once, then stopped. Half the chambers moved, but the others wouldn’t pump. “Listen,” she told her. Catarina lay down on top of him and rested her ear against his chest.

“Poor dear,” she breathed out, “You really are trying to be strong, aren’t you?” She had no way of knowing how badly he was trying. Screaming in his mind for his heart to beat, trapped in a dying body. She pinched his nose shut again, tipping his head back as she rose once more. “Then I won’t give up either, dear one. Your heart is safe in my hands.” It was a contradiction to her actions, considering she had been the one to make it stop in the first place. But Lucien believed her. She didn’t want him to die. For the first time in so long, he didn’t want to die either.

She returned to her compressions with renewed vigor, throwing her whole weight behind each measured blow. It had been about twelve minutes of struggling cardiac activity, and her arms, her shoulders, the core of her stomach, were all getting sore. Angelique never tired when she played the hero, and Catarina was on the verge of asking her to help. “You’ve got this,” her beast purred. It wouldn’t be so sweet a victory if she wasn’t the one to claw him back. Angelique tipped her face against his once more and whispered again, “Come back, little one. Focus on those weak beats and make them strong again.” As she spoke, she skated her hand down his ribs and felt them bow to Catarina’s thrusts. Her preternatural eyes watched his heart struggle, and went from unevenly beating now and then to fluttering.

Catarina let out a frustrated growl when she felt his heart stop altogether, no longer even trying to beat. The quivering was too weak for her to detect. “Please, take a breath. I won’t be able to take if you really died,” she panted. Angelique moved to the side of the workbench, easing Catarina back a little. “Just a moment, dove.”

She raised her fist up and thumped him hard between the line of his nipples. The quivering heart, jolted by the kinetic force, beat once and then descended again into fibrillation. She struck him again. This time, it beat for a few seconds, then shook uselessly again. The third time, Catarina tried. She brought up both hands, clutched together in a fist, and beat the organ hard enough his entire body jolted from the force of the blow. But his eyes closed and he drew in a rasping breath as finally, it worked. Lucien was alive. She was giddy with endorphins as she sat back, breathing hard.

“Good show,” Angelique chuckled, wrapping an arm around her love and squeezing one of her breasts, soaking in the way her heart pounded from the exertion of resuscitation.

Catarina giggled, cupping Lucien’s face. “Apologies, dear one. That was more than you bargained for, wasn’t it?” She leaned down to give him a breath and ease his rasping. She startled a bit when he lunged up and, with what little strength was left in him, kissed her passionately and with great desperation and hunger. She pulled back, a little shocked. He propped himself halfway up on his elbows, looking up at her. His eyes were manic and round, black as a deep well given how blown out his pupils were.

“My lady,” he wheezed, “I am yours.”

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 84)

N was on patrol around the perimeter of the workshop, flying low and flitting through buildings as he surveyed the streets both hands now claws as he gripped onto ancient concrete and tail whipping behind him.

It reminded him a lot of hunting, only it wasn't for food, he wouldn't dare touch the oil that came out of the infected, or give it to any one of his family, who knows what it might do to them.

“Update.” A gruff, southern accented voice reverberated through his software, a radio attached to his audio receptors that was far more long-range then anything inbuilt, though now he had to answer to Dale… who… did not particularly like him.

“Clear.” He parroted into the radio, wincing as feedback crackled into his systems, he swore he was doing it on purpose, every time he signed off it would be a split second of screeching feedback… he was going to go deaf at this rate.

He wanted Hal back… But he was still in the bunker, keeping the peace in this time of unrest with his branch of the WDF.

Dale's team was the smallest, it was Dale himself and four or five other guys, the only drones in the whole bunker that had weapons at a higher caliber then 9mm. Using fully automatic rifles that ate through ammo like he did oil.

They didn't talk to him, they rarely even looked at him, unless it was to give him dirty looks as he walked past. Most workers had gotten used to his presence, were even friendly now (Uzi's pregnancy announcement may have helped a bit with that.) But the group he was now working with? Seemed to hate his guts.

It wasn't anything he wasn't used to. So he just bore with it, and did what he always did… not say anything.

Uzi would probably tell him to have a backbone and actually say something about it and stand up for himself, but wouldn't lashing out prove that their view of him was correct? That he was aggressive and dangerous and couldn't be trusted?

He sighed as he flew back towards the workshop, finding nothing out of place for the time being.

Uzi was finishing up a preliminary sketch of the shuttle, 600 charge pods cramed into 230 feet of real estate, the smallest she could possibly do with all they needed to make sure they could all survive a decent period in space.

Which…. was still utterly huge, about as large as the largest commercial aircraft ever made on Earth based from her research, and quite a bit larger then any of their early space shuttles.

But they weren't working from scratch at least, and the thrusters on the landing pods were overpowered as it was, so all they needed was more of them…

So the next course of action was getting the rest of the pods into the workshop, long trips into previously uncharted territory to retrieve them, risky, but risk didn't matter if without it, they'd be buried under flesh.

She sighed, running a hand along her destended stomach, at 4 months now, her core was a light, pastel pink and the inside was constantly shifting and moving. Trying to hide anything at this point was laughable, she had the body shape of a pear and it was only made worse by her already small size, a tired grumble escaped her. As her core gave a hearty kick.

“I hear you…” She mumbled, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes breifly. She'd begun to get weird looks, which made sense, drones normally didn't get any bigger during pregnancy, but no one said anything yet, either trying to be polite or just not caring enough she didn't know… nor care.

“Ya alright?” A gruff, friendly voice wafted into her ears, and she opened her eyes to come face to hair with a bushy brown beard.

“Hal? What are you doing out here?” She asked, turning so that she could look at him properly instead of upside down.

“Shift just got done inside, wanted to check up on you and N, is he here?” He placed a hand on her shoulder, cocking his head.

“I think he just finished his patrol, should be on his way back.”

“Great! Wanted to invite ya guys down to the house, my wife wanted to meet both of ya properly.” He clapped his hands together cheerfully before looking around a moment.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked, and Uzi gave him a small smile in return.

“V and Lizzy have her, she shouldn't be out here in the cold so much.” She explained, before a shiver went down her own spine.

“Neither should you, can't be healthy for the baby.” She blushed, she forgot sometimes that literally everyone knew now.

“I'm fine. Seriously, N worries enough… and everyone else now, ugh.” She reminisced, on a day that N and V were both busy, Thad and Lizzy escorted her from the nest to the workshop, Thad's coat wrapped around her despite her insisting she was fine.

“Sounds like ya have good freinds.” Hal replied, smirking.

“We do.” Came a third voice from the doorway, N leaning into the curtain with a smile, Tera in his arm, giggling as she gripped her little bat plush.

“Mama!” She squealed, and Uzi chuckled as she squirmed in N's arms, trying to get to her.

“N! There you are.” Hal slapped him on the back, a beaming smile on his face, Tera immediately leaned forward to grab his beard. “I was just telling Uzi that I wanted ya guys over! My wife's been asking about ya!”

“Oh! Yeah! That would be awesome!” N beamed back, before glancing at Uzi and backpedaling slightly.

“I-If Zi feels well enough, so that's up to her.”

“Mmm, smart boy, happy wife, happy life.” Hal commented, N blushed slightly, smiling to himself.

“I'm good N, yeah, we can stop by.” Uzi Confirmed, rising up out of her seat and stretching “not much more I can do tonight anyway.”

“Yay!” Came childishly from N, and Uzi rolled her eyes fondly.

Next ->

[baldursgrave69]

Noted

What is this??? Gale smut??? 👀

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Gale x fem!tav (named)

Word count: 1k

Tags: MDNI, afab!tav, oral sex, sub Gale, needy Gale

“Gale, please I need to sort through my things before tomorrow,” Juno chuckled as Gale pressed kisses along her neck. They were sat in her tent, sorting through her pack. Juno was notorious for stuffing random things into her bag and it was becoming increasingly heavier.

“If you would let me help you, we would have more time for other activities,” the wizard whispered against their neck, his tongue darting out to trail up to her ear.

“You know I’m, ah, particular about things,” Juno breathed, trying to focus on organizing her pack and not the warmth pooling in her belly.

“Alright then, love,” Gale said, resting his head on Juno’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” she replied, returning to sort through her things.

Gale adjusted himself so that the ranger was sat between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her middle with his head still resting on her shoulder as she looked through potions and oils.

Juno struggled to focus on the task at hand with Gale wrapped around her. She could feel his erection against her back, his lips resting against her neck and his finger tracing circles along her hip. She set down the bottle of oil in her hand, leaning back against Gale.

“Gods you’re distracting,” she laughed, feeling the tickle of his beard against her neck. Gale smiled against Juno’s skin, his hands beginning to wander, one coming up to cup her breast.

“I can’t help myself, you’re quite irresistible,” he whispered, his other hand trailing down to dip into her trousers. Juno let out a sigh as Gale began rubbing circles along her clit, his other hand pinching her nipple.

“Gale,” Juno moaned, her head falling back on his shoulder.

“I love hearing my name on your lips,” he growled, grinding his erection against her back. Juno leaned back into him as he slowly rutted against her, his fingers picking up the pace on her clit.

“Hells, Gale I need you,” Juno breathed, pulling away from the wizard. Gale pulled his hand from her trousers as Juno turned to face him. She grabbed his hand, bringing his fingers to her mouth and licking them clean of her wetness.

Gale groaned, eyes half lidded as he watched her tongue swirl around his fingers.

“My love, you make me think such filthy things,” he huffed as Juno crawled towards him, pushing him back onto the floor of the tent.

“Tell me more,” she purred, straddling him and bringing his hands up above his head.

“Oh, I couldn’t…” he started, his cheeks turning red. Juno smirked, grinding down against his straining erection.

“Please?” She whispered against his lips, tightening the grip on his wrists as she gently nibbled on his bottom lip.

“I just… was wondering what your tongue might feel like…” Even with his propensity for verbosity, Juno liked him this way the best. Flustered and needy under her.

“Where do you want my tongue, Gale? Tell me. I’ll give you whatever you want, you only have to ask,” Juno purred as she trailed her lips up Gale’s neck to his ear.

“I, ah, I want your tongue on cock,” he blurted out, lifting his hips to chase any friction he could against Juno.

“Mm, good boy,” she smirked, pressing a hard, sloppy kiss to his lips. Juno pulled back, releasing Gale’s hands and moving down his body.

“Pants off, my dear,” She said with a smirk, leaning back on her heels as she watched Gale scramble to unlace his trousers. The wizard pulled down his pants and small clothes, his cock springing free, eliciting a sigh of relief.

“Gods you’re hot,” Juno groaned, leaning forward and wrapping her hand around his length.

Gale moaned as Juno pumped her hand up his length a few times before leaning forward and flicking her tongue along the head of his cock. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching as the half elf pulled his length into her warm mouth, taking him deeper with each bob of her head.

“Gods,” he groaned, a hand coming up to rest on the top of her head. Juno pulled her head up, smirking at the wizard.

“You can grab my hair, you know,” she said, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock.

“Juno, I… I can’t say I haven’t thought about,” Gale threaded his fingers into her hair, grabbing a handful.

Juno smiled before licking a stripe up the underside of his length. She could feel Gale tighten his grip on her hair as she went back to sucking his cock, taking him as deep as she could.

Gale brought a hand up to cover his mouth as moans and whimpers escaped him. He groaned when Juno removed her mouth from his length, opening his eyes to look at her.

“I want to hear the noises coming from that pretty mouth of yours, Gale,” Juno purred, tracing her tongue along the head of his cock.

“I don’t want the others to hear me,” he whined breathlessly, his hand falling to his side.

“Let them,” Juno replied, pumping his length as she sucked at his sack.

“Hells, Juno I’m- I’m going to finish,” Gale huffed, feeling Juno wrap her lips around him again. The wizard tightened his grip on her hair once more, bobbing her head up and down on his cock. The feeling of her swallowing around him sent him straight into his climax, spilling his need down her throat.

Juno remained still as Gale came, only moving once his grip on her hair relaxed. She sat up, smirking as she swallowed down his spend, wiping her mouth on her forearm.

“Forgive me, my love. I lost the run of myself, I-“ Gale’s babbling was swiftly interrupted by the feeling of Juno’s lips on his.

“My sweet wizard, you have nothing to apologize for,” Juno replied, cupping his face in her hands.

Gale chuckled, his eyes darting down. As he looked down, he noticed the patch of wetness on Juno’s trousers.

“You really liked that, didn’t you?” He asked, looking back up at her. Juno nodded, her lip tucked between her teeth.

“Noted.”

[caxde]

roses and dandelions | steve harrington x reader

summary you're Hopper's daughter as soon as you could you moved fram from Hawkins, some years later you come back to teach at the High School, and you find Steve Harrington has become the new History teacher.

word count: 5.4k

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it), comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!. teacher!steve AU!!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!!

    Steve loved his job. 

And for once he was actually proud of what he was doing, and what he had become. He had managed to get into collage, and worked his way through it, managing to get the top marks in his degree, turns out that if he was actually passionate in what was thought, he had no problem in keeping attention. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that his end goal was not where he was, but it turns out he was content with it. A quiet life, back in Hawkins, in a house of his own, teaching History to high schoolers. They weren’t the little nuggets that he had aimed for, but regardless, he enjoyed the occasional connection with an abnormally curious mind. 

He liked it. The quiet, the normalness, the stillness almost. 

It also made him giggle, being called Mr.Harrington. It seems like the walls of the Hawkins’ High School had seen the evolution, from posh-boy Stevie, King-Steve, loverboy-Steve, nice-Steve to finally years later, Mr.Harrington. He remembers writing it on his first day on the chalkboard and not being able to stop smiling to himself. He had made it, it wasn’t inherited, it wasn’t gifted, he had accomplished it himself. 

So on days like this, early January, where the coldness seemed to drain the morale, he stuck into that thought. 

He taught his classes for today, and was hanging back in his classroom for a bit, grading some work from his senior class. His radio hummed soft music as he concentrated, hand on his chin that played absentmindedly with his short 3 day beard. He was interrupted as he heard a loud thump on the other side of the wall. 

Funny enough, you were there. 

Surrounded by empty canvases, you were struggling to make the room feel better. You had worked in so many artists' workshops that you had certain habits that were hard to break. You needed a space dedicated in its entirety to paint, and you had spent the last hour organizing it. Half empty bottles were up to the front, the first three always had to be the three primary colours, yellow, blue and red. Followed by white and black. Then came the secondary ones, and the tertiary colours. The paintbrushes that could be saved and weren’t to badly beat layed bristles up in a jar. You only had acrylics and you had made a mental note to ask permission to get some oils next. However, the canvases couldn’t stop hitting the floor every time you tried to reorganize them. So you were exhausted and piled them on the ground by shape. Deciding to reorganize the high tables. You knocked one of the stools into the ground. 

A loud thump.

“You okay?” Even if his tone of voice didn’t make it obvious the fact that he had rushed over, seeing his glasses sliding down his nose did. Once you turned around and actually connected the voice to his face a little upside down smile appeared in his lips, while you nodded and looked at the ground. A faint blush appears on your cheeks. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Harrington.” You scoffed as you bent down again to pick the fallen piece of furniture. 

“I didn’t know you were back in town…” He whispered as he came closer to you, standing in front of you, watching you closely as you relocated the stool. 

“Well, I got maybe a little too many calls from Principal Higgins, about how they had nobody to come and ‘save the arts’ and bla bla bla… So… yeah.” You tried to explain without getting into too much detail, eyeing the classroom that was in truely a deprovable state. “And I don’t know where to actually put the tables so it makes sense.” He hides a smile as he scratches the back of his neck, looking around. 

“I’ll help.” He says as he starts heading into one of the high tables. 

“You don’t have to.” You tell him as you grab a sheet of paper and start sketching a quick idea of the distribution, the pencil always rests on your right ear. 

“I know. But if you actually give me an excuse to stop grading papers, you would actually be doing me a favour.” He says in a happy tone, as he rests his forearms on top of the table where your paper rested, his eyes looking deep into yours as you concentrated. His face relaxed as he watched you, and if he was being sincere, it didn’t surprise him. 

“Okay, if I’m your excuse… Guess you can.” You answered absentmindedly, as your whole focus was on making sure that the little game of tetris made sense on the paper.

As you started moving boxes around, Steve’s head had a million questions that he couldn’t help but ask. He was shocked to see you again, and if you’re honest, you were quite embarrassed to be back here again. 

“So what about New York?” He asked cheerfully, and regretted it when he saw how your mouth slightly opened and your eyes flinched at that. 

“Well, New York will wait… I hope.” You whisper the final part, but he hears it nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” You had to interrupt him. You could tell he was about to rumble away as he always did when he tried to fix things that remained unfixable. 

“It’s alright Harrington. It’s just, that way” You point before getting more in depth,  your voice rising above the squeals the tables make. “I’ve worked so hard, y’know? And I finally had, like my own space at a gallery and even if my work wasn't gonna be there, MoMa called back about the job interview and… I don’t know. I’ve still got the place in the gallery but now they won’t actually give me a space until late May…” You rumble away as the table is finally in its right place. “I just thought I had finally made it, I think…” 

“You have. You’ve just got to wait now.” He reassures as he starts pushing the next table, his eyes had not left your face while you rumbled away, his full attention laid on you. 

“I hate waiting.” You replay as the room finally is in shape. He pulls up the canvases and gives you a questioning look. “Between the cabinet and the wall there.” You point out, eyeing the whole room. 

“I remember. You were always so…” 

“Careful now.” You tease him as he tries to find a word to end his sentence. 

“Impulsive?” You laughed as you crossed your arms, and he gave you a soft smile. You looked at him for once. It had been about five years since you left for New York, and yet he still looked the same. His hair had grown a bit, but it remained as messy as it always did. The glasses and bear were a new addition, one that made you get lost in him for a bit longer than you did before. You smile softly as you remember how many times you told him how good he’d look with a beard and he proves you right. 

“Hey!” You scream back at him, as you both giggle and laugh. “You did overthink a lot.” That makes him chuckle as his arms crossed in front of his chest, and your eyes inevitably focus on his upper arms a bit. 

“Still do, H '' He says, using the old nickname he once gave you. “You still make people call you that?” 

“Miss.H?” You ask him, as you clean your things up, putting them neatly into your backpack so you can head back home. “Yeah, Hopper is way too close to dad.” 

“Figured.” He smiles, an upside down smile that makes something deep inside you flutter ever so slightly. “You still in the cabin?” 

“Yeah, he left for Cali with Joyce, and I just sorta bought it from him, you know… A big atelier…” He laughed softly with you, his face softening as he fixated on your movements. 

“See, you might like being back.” He teases as he fixes his eyeglasses. 

“Don’t push it Harrington.” 

“Mr.Harrington now.” He finishes, making you both laugh. 

-

January flew by. 

And with it, your new routine settled quickly. You woke up with not that much time to spare before having to get the car to get in actual time to your first class. Funny enough, teaching wasn’t as bad as you remembered. Granted, the last time you taught you had spoiled upper-east side kids that thought that making an abstract painting was simply spilling paint into a big canvas, devoid of meaning. It deeply infuriated you. 

Thankfully, this time around the kids seemed to actually be interested, and to actually want to learn what you tried to convey. 

However, on this February morning, everything was going exactly as it wasn’t supposed to. To make matters worse, your car had given up and was now refusing to turn on. Frustrated and about to give up, you decide to call for help. 

You were whispering to yourself, pickuppickuppickup, as the tones of the phone answered you.

“Good morning.” You struggled to hide a groan at his happy tone. 

“Help?” You asked as your voice croaked, it being your first word of the day, besides a series of curses dedicated to your car. 

“What do you need, H?” Steve's voice sounded worried now, and you scoffed in an attempt to make him relax. 

“My stupid car has died. Can you come pick me up? Please? I’ll buy you dinner if you wanna, as a thank you.” You explain yourself as you hit the floor with your heavy boots. He could hear  you doing so, just as you could hear him smile. 

“Are you bribing me, bub?” He asks. You can feel your face warming up as you register the stupid pet name. 

“Only if it is working.” You declare, receiving nothing but silence. “Is it working?” 

“On my way.” He says before he hangs up. 

Truth be told, you didn’t have to wait that long, but still, you managed to get lost in some sketches as you waited. So, when Steve found you, curled up on your house steps, head focused on whatever you were doodling, he could help but smile at you. Soft, kind and adoring smile. He stopped the car, and opened the door for you, a smirk on his face as you told him good morning stevie. 

“You know, you’re the only one allowed to call me that.” He teases as he starts the car back up. 

“Course I am.” You tease him back, slapping your thigh as a distraction from your yawning. 

“Did you eat?” He asks, his eyes didn’t leave the road often, but he couldn’t help himself. You were on the passenger seat, hair falling in a calculated mess, and you scratching your eye made him melt a bit on the inside. So as soon as you shake your head no, he reaches on the center console, and gives you a little mug. You chuckle at that. “It’s coffee.” He explains. “I’ve got a croissant in my bag, you can have it.” He tells you, as your cheeks warm up, a pinkish tone invading them. 

“You take your mugs into school?” You tease him as a way to say thank you. Taking it to your lips, leaning your head back as soon as you drink it. 

“Yeah, you know… trying to take the plastic use down.” He explains, as he reaches for the same mug, your hands touching for a second. An electric feeling invading your skin for a moment. You watch him closely as his lips hit the white porcelain, you feel your lips tingle a bit. He looks closely at you as he hits a red light, handing the mug back at you. “Seriously, eat the croissant.” He insists, as you can’t hide your blushing skin anymore, and this time he does notice it, a smile appearing on his face. 

“O-kay, but you’ll eat half of it, ‘kay?” You try to reason with him, as he tilts your head at you, a mocking stare. “C’mon, you know I don’t eat that much.” He nodded as his left hand changed the car gear. 

“You’ll have to feed me though” He teased as his hands were now occupied, his face concentrated once again, as he closed distance with the school. He thinks you won’t, because if he’s honest, it will make him just as nervous as it will make you, having your hand that close to his lips. Not really sure what was going on, but you were in no rush to find out, you just enjoyed it. So his eyes opened a bit as he heard the cracking of the baked pastry on your hand. His head slightly turned to you as his eyes don’t leave the road. Your heart beating a bit harder as you closed distance, his lips kissing your fingers as he bites down. 

When the car stops you share a look. An intimate moment while you too share the improvised breakfast, enjoying the stillness of this moment, the quiet and the sense of familiarity it itself held. You knew as much as he did, that you wished you could just stay there. 

-

Two weeks had passed, and it became a routine. 

He’d come and pick you up, he’ll bring two mugs of coffee, and you’d have some sort of quick breakfast for you both to eat on your way. You’d do your classes, he’d do his, and at the end of the day, he’d let you home and wish you a good night with a soft blink. 

And with it, came two things. 

Feelings that were left in the unknown, and a swarm of students that had seen you come together and started speculating about your relationship. That last part made you smile to yourself every time you overheard them speculate. 

“Bethany saw them arriving together” “Trevor said he saw miss.H give mr.Harrington a kiss on the cheek.” “They left together yesterday”.

You told Steve about it as soon as you heard, and he laughed as hard as you did. So you did some pantomimes in front of some students, like a little inside joke. But if he was to be honest with himself, he liked messing with you. He likes spending time with you, and if it served him as an excuse to touch your hand, or let his hand rest on the small of your back more often, he was more than happy to do so. And then again, the same could be said by you. You probably didn’t need to touch his upper arm as often as you did, or tease him as much as you did, but still, you did because you liked his presence.  

The last Period of the week came around, senior class. You knew you weren’t supposed to have favourites, but then again, you liked that they actually were curious about the world and asked all the right things. 

You had some objects in each table and a simple phrase written on the blackboard. choose one.

They slowly did, as they came in, the usual hello miss.h! was followed by a chorus of what is this? that made you giggle inside. In one of the tables were some postcards, the following one had a collection of letters (with the signature hidden), the other one had some pictures of landscapes, and the final one had a lot of pictures that you had taken. 

As all of your students had one in each hand, you placed yourself in the middle, all eyes on you, and a murmuring silence with unparalleled attention. 

“Hello” You chirped happily, this might be your favourite assignment to date. “So, I’ll go straight to it, that okay?” You asked as you watched for your students to nod or say something, which they did. “Alright, so. You have different objects in your hands, and I’ll give you a month where you can work in this classroom and at your houses, okay? You’ll need to come up with a painting, sculpture, drawing… I don't care as long as it is original, inspired by what you are holding. I don’t care if the only thing that you produce is as big as a pencil sharpener, or as big as you are. I want you to actually be moved by what you produced, and to register the process. In other words, don’t get too stressed by the ending product, and just enjoy the process. Okay? We’ll work here and I’ll be here for any questions or anything you need, but, if you could actually you know, work? That would be lovely.” You heard your students giggle at that, and you smiled proudly at them, clapping your hands as you finished explaining the assignment. “Okay, let’s put on some music, yeah?” They all cheered happily as they headed for the stereo. 

You truly didn’t need to stress with them. You knew what they were about to do, so you went back to the tables and gathered what they hadn’t selected, handling it all with care. And your heart stopped when you reached the letters and found the old post.it that Steve had once wrote. “I know I won’t remember in the morning, but I also know I won’t even shut up about that kiss” Embarrassed with that memory you held it in your hand as some of your students huddled to you. 

“Miss.H?” The shortest of the three asked for your attention, and your slightly blushed cheeks looked up rapidly at them. 

“Ye- Yes?” You muttered as you composed yourself. 

“Will you do the assignment with us, like last time?” She asked again, and you smiled at them, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. 

“Do you guys want me to?” You asked, honesty evident in your voice. 

“We love seeing your art, Miss.H.” The taller one now spoke. 

“Ah, flattery.” You teased, as they giggled at your answer. “That will take you anywhere with me. Sure.” 

“Great!” They cheered as they went back to their table, stopping suddenly when the door opened and Steve stood there. 

You looked at him, forgetting for a second how good he looked today. That stupid blue shirt hugged his arms a bit too well, and the maroon pants complimented his thighs in a way that made your blood rush a bit too much. He had his 3 day beard again, and he just stood there, reclining his body onto your classroom threshold, asking with his look for a quick conversation. You walked over as you heard the girls chattering amongst themselves. 

“What do you need?” You asked, a bit too casually, forgetting that you were actually the teachers and not just some friends in a bar. 

“I told you this morning that my class had a test last period.” He sounded a little pissed off. And his eyebrow furrowed, as your hand reached your forehead, an apologetic look on your eyes. 

“Shit, I forgot.” You whispered. Steve seemed to forget about it for a second, as he saw the little post-it in your hand. Grabbing your hand in a swift motion and opening it up. Your face was now as red as the new paint you bought. 

You could see him reading the note and a smile appeared as he looked you up and down. He did remember writing it, years ago, on the night you left to New York. On the night he had been brave and told you everything he meant to tell you before. He had forgotten all about the test for a second. 

“You still have this?” He asks, not really believing that you would still save such a silly bit of paper. Waving it in front of your face, his eyes seemed brighter all of a sudden

“Yeah…” You were in a loss for words, too embarrassed to actually say anything. He forgot for a moment that you were not alone, as he placed it back on the palm of your hand, and tucked a flock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slightly caressing your cheek, carefully, leaving a tray of warmth and goosebumps, in both your face and his fingers. “I’ll turn the music off.” You whisper, as your eyes get lost in his, momentarily getting lost on his pinkish lips. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah…” He whispered, lost on you. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” He had decided to be brave again. 

“No.” 

“Wanna get dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, his eyes shine at you, as you smile brighter. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, then it's a date…” He said as he left, his eyes had shined as he looked back at your lips, and you didn’t quite believe it. A stupid daze evident on your face. 

-

Robin had just got off the phone with Steve when you called, so her immediate reaction was to laugh when she saw your number, and you were left shocked about her laughing. 

“What are you laughing for?” You demanded, a hint of anxiety evident in your voice. 

“Loverboy just called me.” She laughed as she spoke. 

“Steve?” 

“Mmh.” She affirmed. 

“Shit.” You both laughed at that, your hand reaching your forehead. “He told you already?” She made the same sound again, and you sighed as a response. “What did he say?” 

“Oh, you know, that he had finally asked you out. And I just scolded him for not doing it sooner… I mean, I love you, but hearing you wailing about him for the last five years…” 

“I didn’t wail…” You try to no avail to convince her, but she just scoffs at you. “Maybe a little.” 

“Come on, you both have been in love with each other for so long… Just get on your nice dress, the black one, get a good coat and be ready, it’ll go fine.” She calmed you down, knowing exactly that that’s why you called, she wasted no time. 

“I love you Robs.” You told her, with a wide smile on your face.

“I know, now, go. Don’t use me as an excuse.” 

“Kay, bye.”

“Bye, lovergirl.” She giggles as she hangs up. Leaving you in the quiet of the cabin. 

You did enjoy the silence, the quiet of the woods that surrendered you, but still, you opted to put on some music, just something to ease your brain from overrunning. Once again, Bowie’s voice filled the space, making it all easier, from dressing yourself up, to doing your hair, applying some makeup, and yes, taking a shot of your fathers hidden whiskey to ease the nerves. 

He told you he’d pick you up, so the only thing left to do was wait. 

You didn’t have to wait long anyway. 

Though he wasn’t used to the feeling, he could recognise the nervousness energy that his body emanated. 

Which is why he had called Robin in the first place, he wasn’t sure if he should wear the button down, the sweater… He was in a crisis, and obviously Robin had laughed her ass off. The only thing she had told him was to not shave, and he didn’t quite believe her when she told him that you had always liked how he looked with one. 

So with five minutes to spare, he was in his backyard, well, not technically, he was invading Mss.Jackson’s so he could steal your favourite flower. Stupid as it may be, he’d known that it would make you smile, and Steve would make anything to see you smile again. 

And he knew it was cheesy and a cliché, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, his heart seemed to skip a beat. Your body looked splendid with that little black dress, your legs covered with warm tights, and a coat that kept you warm. The thing that drove him crazier, was how your lips were now blood red, curling upwards as you locked eyes with him. 

Then again, yours did the same. 

You couldn’t help but take a second, just a moment to memorize him. Standing against his car, face slightly buried inside a small bouquet of wild flowers. Roses and dandelions. As stupid as it was, it made you feel heard and seen, him remembering that this combination was your favourite, not only that but, his white knit jumper made him look softer, it seemed to be a gateway to the old Steve. The one that had been in love with you and told you so before you left, the one you kissed as a final goodbye, the same one that left the note that you still carried on your wallet. 

-

The date had passed by too fast. A conversation that didn’t ever end, not really, not even now, when the slight buzz of the wine was beginning to wear off, and you were standing up, outside your little house, smoking as you avoided saying goodbye.  

“I truely can’t believe you smoke that crap.” He teases again, smiling down at you. 

“Hey, sue me, I like them better than Newport’s.” You tease back, your eyes looking at the flowers that were still on his hand. He laughs at that, and a wisp of courage invades you for a second. “Do you want to come in? Put the flowers away?” You ask, softly, embarrassed about the fact that your skin is bright pink as you ask that, your hand scratching your upper arm. But the smile on his face relaxes you. 

“I’d love to.” He admits, as he follows you inside. He watches you closely as the familiarity invades you. As soon as you open the door, you hang your coat on the hanger on the wall. Letting your cigarette rest softly in between your darken lips, he is mesmerized by you, and the easiness that you seem to radiate as you put your hair up. He chuckles as he sees you move so gracefully. 

“What?” You ask, a soft tone accompanied by a shy smile comes out, looking up to his eyes, he seems to melt away once again. 

“Nothing.” He laughs at your raised eyebrows. “You smoke inside now?” He teases, as he finally takes a look around. 

“Steve, honey… I’m an artist and now a teacher… Yeah, I smoke inside.” You mock him a bit, and it makes the both of you try to stifle a chuckle to no success. The way your voice had said honey rings in his ears for a while.

He looks lost at the little cabin, afraid to even ask, he decides to just follow you around. You head into the little kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a half empty bottle of white wine, a soft questioning look that is answered by a nod from him, you reach for two glasses, and you can’t help your lips from curling upwards as you see him getting a little empty glass jar and fills it up with water, letting the roses and dandelions rest there. You clink your glasses together before taking a sip, a stupid grin in both your faces. He looks around, the question evident in his expression. 

“You wanna see the um… atelier?” You asks as you take another sip. He has become lost in you, and just nods as he follows you. 

He’s mesmerized as soon as the light comes on. A neat mess in front of him, and your moving in the space with such grace he can’t tell what he likes better. You spinning around in your short dress or the colorfull paintings behind you.

He steps closer to you, your head slightly rested against your glass as you eye a canvas that hasn’t been finished yet, the one he presume you’ve been woring on before he came. He wasn’t wrong in that, just as he isn’t wrong in assuming that you’ve just had a revelation about it. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He asks, a whisper of a voice escaping his lips as he reclains against a wooden panel that was set up by two very unstable stools. 

“S’nothing.” You mumbels as your eyebrows furrows a bit more, his silence lets you know he doesn’t believe you, though his titled head would have told you the same if you had looked at him. “Just, I thought that I was painting something else, now I see I wasn’t” You mutter, aware that it doesn’t make that much sense. 

“I’m not sure I follow you, H” He says in return, wine going down his throat. 

“Hold on.” You say, as you move closer to him. 

His hearts beats faster for a second as he sees your decision in his eyes, confusing him in thinking that you were going to make a move, surprised when he sees you catch a small brush and the straight bottle of red paint. He watches you closely, and he can’t help himself but mutter “You’ll get your dress stained.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” You smile, dropping the painton the floor, he watches closely as your hands reach over for an old overshired button up, you putt it on quickly, his mouth opens a little too much when he sees you taking the dress off, kicking it of the ground to him. “Good reflexes” You tease as he catches it on his free hand. 

He’s brain can’t quiet compute the information. You look way too good right now. The look of determination on your eyes as you stare at the canvas, your tangled or maybe intricate would be a better word for the state of your bun, with flyaways framing your hair. Your legs still in the black tights, but thanks to that little wardrove change, he can now see the very beginning of your legs, and he is mesmerized for a little too long, not being able to focus on what you were actually doing, since his whole attention is set on the way you move, your presence, you. 

Once you turn back to him, the roles diverse for a second. Maybe a bit more. He crouches forward, and you’re the one left starring. He had taken his jumper at some point, and he was now left with a tight grey shirt, his arms in full display, and with them so were his veins, that now appeared as he was holding the wine in one hand, and your dress in the other. Maybe what you liked best was the look of recognition on his eyes as he started at the canvas. 

“Is that?” 

“Yeah, you.” You finish, as he finally turns around. Even with your arms crossed against your chest, the distance between the both of you was small. If you or him made one step, not only your feet would be touching, but so will be your chest, you’d share the same air. And the electricity of the whole night seemed to be building up, your chest raising faster and faster as you looked up at him. Aware of him, close enough to see his freckles, to count them even if you fancied. 

And just like if lighting had struck, he took a step forward, as soon as his glass reached the impromptu table and his body collapsed into yours, his eyes closed, waiting for your lips to touch, wich they did. Immediately, with a necessity that seemed to come from far before. His hands dropping your dress on the floor fastly as they traveled to your cheeks, pushing in closer to you, as your fingers found the back of his neck, grabbing his hair instictibly, needing him like air, or like water. A soft moan escaping your lips as he pressed harder into you, his hands travelling to your back, he needed you just as much as you needed him. 

His belt was starting to bother him, and you were starting to feel the tingle between your legs, and you knew you had to stop, because if you didn’t, you would never want him to leave again. 

As he pulled away you knew he had thought the same. Touching his forehead with yours as your fingers found its way to one another, intertwined. 

“That was…” 

“Yeah.” You agreed with him. “Stay?”

As his lips kissed the tip of your nose, you felt safe in his arms. 

“I’m never leaving.” He reassured you.

-

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference

-

[arttrampbelle]

Ok now for some actual good shang tsung food for y'all.

*cracks knuckles*

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Shang tsung bathing hcs x reader.

Here is some bathing hcs. Aka. What they do in a bath,showers,cleaning themselves,relaxing,grooming and preening themselves type of hcs.

Cw:nsfw,fluff,maybe some angst?

*NOTE: THIS IS CARY HIROYUKI TAGAWA SHANG TSUNG SPECIFICALLY. MK11/MK1995 SHANG TSUNG. So no damn faker mk12 shang tsung allowed*

Hcs below cut cuz of nsfw content.

Reader is gn ( i try to make these gn if i can)

🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍💚🐍

Shang tsung bathing hcs:

Shang tsung prefers showers if he is just needing to clean up. Because one,it's healthier and easier for him. And two he just likes to take quick warm showers most of the time. However it doesn't mean anything. He sometimes with do either or hot,warm,cold. But he prefers warm

Shang tsung will do baths if he's trying to relax or soak or take his time. Especially if he's with you.

He loves the feel of the warm water next to you. He finds it peaceful.

He definitely does the works tho. Bubbles,oils,salts,soaks,etc.

And after a bath he also definitely either body oils up or body butters himself.

He loves smelling good. And loves you smelling good too.

If you need privacy and don't wish to bathe with him. He will respect that too

As for himself if he needs privacy he will tell you right away beforehand.

Shang tsung will drink wine and bathe. He prefers dark reds buuuut occasionally he'll have a white dry wine or even a sweet wine. Especially if you are with him. But shang already loves the sweetness you bring in your company. The wine just doesn't do justice on that. ;3

He will also eat fruit in the bath. Like this man is the definition of luxurious and living deliciously.

As for grooming habits. He likes to keep himself well trimmed and groomed. He shaved almost completely. But if he wants to leave a bit of hair. He'll leave a lil treasure trail if anything. His balls are smooth tho. A nice trimmed beard too.

Shang has and will fuck in the bath. If you want a quickie it's in the shower. But if you want him to play,take his time,and enjoy every inch of you? He'll fuck you in his private bathing quarters. (Yes his bathroom is modernish. He's not a damn heathen ok you weirdos. Lol. Maybe a bit looking like a 70s/80s/90s Chinese gothic dad vibe but hey. It's modern enough).

He feels this is one of the few times he can let his walls down. You'll get to see a very very somft shang tsung. If The sorcerer trusts you that much. You are lucky af.

He loves to bath you. He doesn't mind receiving in return. In fact he loves being pampered (spoiled lil shit he is. But we love him) but he prefers to actually pamper you more! Besides he loves washing your hair or massaging your scalp. Washing your beautiful body. Taking care with every single touch.

He will even dry you off. Never lifting a single finger. Wrapping a robe or a large towel around you. Picking you up bridal style. Carries you to your shared bed. May or may not finish loving on you there. Depending on your moods.

But either way. Shang loves bathing time with you. It's a very simple but sweet moment.

Shang's sweet side. Is his best side. And you're the lucky one to ever get to see it 💖

Hopefully you guys like these. Sorry if its short and not as organized as i usually try to do it. But it's on the fly while i have the spoons to write.

But i hope this gives you some good food.

💖

[princessnastyaromanov]

The thing about Czechoslovakian Communism is it strayed too far from Lenin's vision of having a microbrewery on every corner where you can drink craft beers and discuss beard oils with your pals. It would have stayed afloat much longer if participation in fifteen minutes of daily meditation was compulsory. Orgasmic meditation in particular is very powerful. If every Czechian and Slovak had organized to have one big simultaneous orgasm, it would have been able to repel those tanks from entering the country through psychic power alone. Czechians to this day do not nearly orgasm as much as they should. I am always receiving visions from Czechian clitorises asking for help in achieving orgasm. The USSR's mass-literacy campaign was commendable but in addition to teaching every woman to read it is also crucial to teach every woman how to masturbate.

[alderaanplacesss]

“Ugh, stop!” V sharply turned her cheek. “I can’t stand you.”

“Wow. News at fucking eleven,” he said flatly. His fingers were on her chin, and they felt like they were on her chin. V scrunched her features, but didn’t stop him. She swore she could feel his quick exhale, a warm ghost of air on her neck.

“Now c’mere.”

And the inevitable happened as he turned her face to his: a kiss. It was the scruff of his beard and her split lip. V absorbed the tangle of suddenly tangible tastes - fresh cigarettes and the sting of tequila. Her headache cooled, feeling better because he felt better. She was pushing up against the rough fabrics on his body because he was doing the same to her. Her fingers were finally in that thick layer of hair against his neck, and his were wrapped firmly around her jaw. It was hard to distinguish what her own movements were, and which were his. V wanted to feel the cold touch of his metal hand on her throat, and then it was there. She wondered what the push of his tongue to hers would feel like, and then he did just that. It was the synchronization of their unspoken desires, a dangerous oroborus of pleasure.

The realization they could touch each other was a match lit between two oil tanks, an unstoppable flame burning down the stick until one small flick - one hand turning a chin - had everything on fire.

It was the caress of metal fingers to her exposed midriff that jolted V back to reality. She almost tripped over her own feet when she pulled back. It felt like she disconnected from a jack, ripping out of a weird brain dance.

She didn’t let herself mull over the echoes of hot sensation that were still happening, stumbling to the bathroom shelf. She didn’t dwell on the desire tugging her back to his horribly perfect touch. She found the bottle of blockers, twisting off the lid with shaky hands. Two should do it.

“V, no, stop!”

He was too late.

[beardedmrbean]

I need me some ingredient rich beard oil, like Invader Zim with his organs

[uomowebmaster]

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[kndllroys]

something only we know

18+ minors dni!! smut, vaginal fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, soft dom!ken, implied age gap

a/n: this is my first ever fic? i wrote this in my notes app so i apologize in advance if it sucks lol also if i missed any tags or warnings please lmk!!! i also posted this on ao3. my username there is hardt0explain

You can sense his presence before you actually see him. Someone like Kendall commands the attention of a room that way. You’re at your favorite dive bar, a place Kendall is known to frequent when he’s in a certain headspace, feeling particularly young and daring. Glancing his way, you can see Ken has that gleam in his eye. You smile to yourself, knowing if you play your cards right you won’t even have to ask - he will be ravenous, animalistic.

Kendall sees you smiling to yourself; you’re clearly not paying attention to your friend chattering on beside you. So smug, Ken thinks to himself as he suppresses a grin. He knows how much of an ego boost it is for you when he shows up out of the blue, wanting you. He knows you’re going to be fun tonight.

“Hi,” Ken approaches your table and shamelessly rakes his eyes over your body.

Your friend has seen Kendall approach you multiple times at this very bar, but she can never really get used to it. She stops in her tracks, mid-sentence, mouth agape.

“Hi, Ken,” you take your straw out of your cocktail and place it between your teeth, still holding it between your pointer finger and thumb. “You decided to make your quarterly pop-in, eh?”

“Well, of course. I just, uh, had a feeling you might be here. We have that kind of magnetic pull toward one another, don’t you think?” Ken is laying it on thick already. This might be a record.

Your friend takes that as her cue to leave and politely excuses herself, “Oh! I think I see my friend from my yoga class. I’m gonna catch up with her - call me if you need me, okay?” She gives your hand a squeeze before heading across the bar.

“You know, I think there might be something there. It’s just hard to tell sometimes,” you tease as Kendall scoots in beside you at your booth. He’s right up next to you, his thigh flush against yours and his face so close to yours you can smell the sandalwood of his beard oil. He’s grown out his facial hair. Just a bit. He looks fucking good.

“You think?” Kendall challenges, the k at the end of the word prominent. You nod and ghost your fingers over his knee, up to his mid-thigh and drape your hand to casually linger between his legs. You look up at him through heavily lidded eyes. His breathing hitches.

“Yes, baby, I think. What if you take me and show me? You wanna see how good I can take your cock?” You’re feeling bold now. You slide your hand up to feel his cock hardening inside his trousers. Your face is still close to his; you lean in close to his ear and whine.

“Alright. Let’s go. Brat.”

Kendall practically drags you to his car. Once you’ve shut the car door, he’s on you. You try to play coy but he isn’t having it. His hands are all over you - cupping your face as he kisses you deeply, pulling your hair so he can kiss and nip at your exposed neck, grasping your breasts through your dress. You let out a whine when he suddenly stops.

“Not yet,” is all he says.

On the elevator ride up to his penthouse, he grabs your hand and rubs his thumb along your knuckles. He’s still not looking your direction. You know you’re in for it.

The elevator dings - Kendall steps over the threshold and pulls you into his penthouse with fervor. His lips are on yours and he is just as you imagined, just as he has always been - needy, passionate. You love having him this way. He walks you backwards, making your way to his living room.

“Did you miss me, baby?” you coo, turning around and bracing yourself on the couch so you can give a little bounce against his cock. He’s breathing heavy already.

“Fuck you,” he groans. Kendall pulls up the skirt of your dress and bends you over the arm of the couch. “Fucking brat,” he pulls your panties down and off your body. “God, you have no right feeling this fucking good,” he says as he pushes two fingers into your cunt. “So fucking wet for me, baby.”

You cry out, arching your back and grinding against his fingers. Fuck, why does he have to be so good at this? Before you can catch your breath, Ken drops to his knees and bends you further over the arm of the couch so he can reach your cunt with his mouth. You can feel his moans vibrating into you as he drinks you in, eating pussy like his life depends on it. Fuck, the way his facial hair scratches against you, your clit, your thighs.

“Baby, oh fu— oh fuck. I need—“ you stutter. Then, Ken’s patronizing voice—

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that. Use your words baby, come on. Tell me what you need from me.”

“Ken, I— I need you. Fuck,” you manage.

“You need me? Oh, baby, I know that. Come on. Surely you’re not fucked stupid yet, baby. Tell me exactly what you need,” Kendall’s scolding now.

“Kendall, oh god, I need to fuck you.”

Kendall lets out a low groan, “Good girl.”

Ken is back on his feet again. You hear a belt buckle and zipper. You feel the tip of his cock brushing against your cunt and subconsciously push your hips back, seeking him out. Kendall stops your hips before he can enter you.

“Oh, you are so pitiful. Such a pathetic little thing,” Kendall condescends. He leans closer and whispers in your ear, “You’re so fucking good for me,” and pushes himself inside you completely.

You barely recognize your voice as you cry out his name, grabbing at the pillows in front of you and Ken behind you and anything you can get your hands on to tether yourself to reality. You push your hips back into him and arch your back, trying to get him as far inside you as possible. Kendall grabs your hips and snaps his into you, grunting as he thrusts.

“Let’s try something,” Ken interrupts. He pulls off his trousers and button down shirt, boxers following shortly after. You slip your dress off and Kendall hands you his button down.

“Put this on. Leave it unbuttoned.”

You do as you’re told and Kendall promptly pulls you down onto the floor with him, giving you kisses and grasping at your breasts hungrily.

Kendall sits cross legged, and with much care and attention, helps you wrap your legs around him and lower yourself onto his cock. The closeness, the intimacy is so much more intense than you could have ever imagined or hoped for. Your nipples press up against his bare chest. Kendall looks at you hungrily, thinking that witnessing you in this position wearing his shirt is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You run your nails down his back, feeling the slickness of his sweat atop his strong muscles. His fingers find your clit and you cry out, burying your face in his neck. Ken circles the pads of his fingers against your cunt as you gasp and whine and beg.

“Come on, baby. You take me so well. Let me hear you cum for me,” Kendall pleads.

You fall apart around his cock, head thrown back and moans echoing off the ceiling. The noises coming out of your mouth are unrecognizable to you, but the ecstasy you feel overshadows any embarrassment you might have had.

“I can’t stop, fu— fuck, I can’t—“ Kendall cries out, sounding so pitiful (and erotic) as he cums inside you. He moans, whimpers, performs a monologue about how perfect, beautiful, amazing you are. You both take a moment to catch your breath, Ken still inside you.

Kendall is the first to speak, “So, uh… you think we have something?”

[bulolity]

—- summary.

Everything in the castle carried heavy in your hands. The vast of amounts of furniture were a warehouse worth of dark woods—mahogany, clockhem, walnut—all of it adorned with metallic embellishments. It was a stark contrast to Navy-regulated material. You almost missed the cheap feel of the plastic backing of the off-white chairs in the coffee rooms.

( in which you accustom to the dracule mihawk’s quirks and the overall healthy change of pace in your life. )

— — —

The clouds clustered, and the humidity slipped through the cracks of the castle stone. The delicious touch of satin was cool against your skin as you combed through your wet curls. Dracule kept a steady, calloused hand stationed onto your thigh. His touch was languid, deep. Between sips of wine and the pages of his worn paperback, he drank in the sight of you. There were moments where his fingertips would drift higher, brush close. He knew the rules for wash days, and remained patient, prowling until the boundaries lifted.

“Braids tonight?” he asked.

“It’s late,” you said. “Besides, I’m not set to sail out any time soon.”

The conditioner was slick from the warmth of your hands and the humidity. You combed through until you heard the softest snap. You lifted the pick and noticed a new tooth gone, the plastic stub jagged like the adjacent spaces.

“Don’t move,”—Dracule’s touch was slight—“you’ve the piece in your hair.”

The shard of plastic was small, its red coating faded. Insistent on finishing, you continued to use the remaining two teeth. Dracule rose from the bed, the familiar warmth of his hand leaving your skin. His silk pants, as thin as your set, swayed with his movements and hung loose on his hips. His sinewy back, bare for the evening, was pale, littered with scars.

Before you could untangle the loose strands of hair that stuck and curled to your comb, your Warlord slipped something heavy into your palm as he returned. The bristles were wide, spaced. The touch of it was so cold, and the finish so dark, you were certain that it were some sort of antiquated metal.

“It’s batoja wood,” he said. “It’s been here since I’ve lived in this castle.”

The bed dipped as he settled back into bed. His hand, once again, made a nesting spot between the warmth of your thighs.

“Batoja wood? A Frunean export?” you asked.

He gave a low hum then reached for his book. You turned the comb in your hands. It was clean, oiled, with no traces of dust or debris, or stray hairs from a former owner. There were a few scratches, signs of wear, yet it shone in the light and had the faintest scent of bergamot.

Wash day finished as it always did, with a bonnet secure around your hair and Dracule deepening his touch. The moment you chose to set aside your gift was the moment he rolled his body over yours. He, all angles and sharpness, fitted against you perfectly. His lips trailed to your neck, the scruff of his beard scratching against your skin. You breathed deep. His scent was heavy and rich like autumn spiced oranges. You threaded your fingers through his cropped hair and tugged until he stared down at you, his eyes glowering amber in the dim hue of light.

“My lovely Hawk Eyes,” you cooed, words thick against your tongue, “how ever should I thank my darling consort tonight?”

[octuscle]

Branko

Sebastian was angry. Actually, at himself, of course. He hadn't bothered to find an internship and now had to take the place assigned to him by the school at the local Harley Davidson dealership for the next two weeks. But on the outside, he was angry at his parents. After all, it was their job to care. For the 16 years of his life, he didn't have to worry about anything. His father was a successful lawyer in Zurich, and his mother had brought so much money into the marriage from his grandfather's inheritance that even though she had finished medical school, she really only spent her time shopping. And with taking care of him, the only son. Why hadn't the two of them organized an internship somewhere where he could have had two relaxing weeks and maintained his Instagram account.

His mother stopped the impressive Bentley Bentayga and Sebastian got out of the car without a word of goodbye with a grumpy face. A couple of motorcycle repair shop employees standing smoking in the parking lot nodded at him with respect for the car; he ignored it and went straight into the building, hoping to get through the day with as few social contacts as possible. The general manager welcomed him personally (presumably because his father was a good customer), gave him a little tour of the offices, the showrooms, and then into the garage, where Sebastian was introduced to the shop foreman. The garage was the first stop during the internship. And he wondered for the thousandth time why he was here. In life, he would not ride a motorcycle. And in life, he wouldn't get his fingers dirty on a motorcycle. After all, the coffee he was offered wasn't bad. Really good, to be honest. And in fact, after the second coffee, somehow everything was different. The motorcycles were fascinating. And Sebastian began to soak up all the information. And with every coffee that the workshop master handed him with a grin, his interest grew. Time flew by, Sebastian struck up a conversation with the other colleagues and gratefully accepted one of the journeymen's offer to take him home. With his oil-smeared clothes, which were not really suitable for work in the garage, he would not have wanted to get into the Bentley.

The next morning, the alarm clock rang at 05:00. Sebastian was used to that. Since he had started his apprenticeship a year ago, he had become an early riser. He pulled a reasonably clean shirt and his shorts from the pile of dirty laundry, put on his running shoes, and made his rounds at dawn. After an hour, he threw his sweaty clothes in the corner, just kept the jockstrap and socks on, and without wasting time showering, put on his overalls and work shoes and quietly left the house. His effeminate parents, of course, were still sound asleep. At the bus stop, he smoked his first cigarette of the day. He wasn't allowed to smoke at home. He couldn't wait until he had his own apartment. And his driver's license. He liked his life, but being dependent on the bus and having to obey his parents was really exhausting. He was all the happier when he arrived at work. He loved listening to the engines of the heavy machines and, according to his foreman, had a talent for teasing the last out of the engines. His dream was to start in the tuning business after completing his apprenticeship.

Wednesdays were vocational school days. He hated school. Everything to do with math was okay, he could use that to tinker with the engines. But he had a hard time with languages. His mother was half Bosnian, so he had picked up a few words of Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian, but English wasn't his... Because he wasn't going to the garage today, Sebastian took a quick shower after his run. While drying off in front of the mirror, he proudly remarked that he had inherited not only the language from his grandfather, but also good genes. Unlike his effeminate father, he had a rather strong beard growth and more and more black hair grew between his abdominal muscles. When he showered with the other trainees after the gym or when they went to the outdoor pool after work in the summer, you could see that he was already further along in his development than the others at the age of 18. Probably because of this, the others made fun of calling him by his middle name, Branko. At first he had hated the master for betraying his Bosnian roots, but today he was rather proud of it. Sebastian shaved his skull as he did every other day or so, put on a jogging suit and, before leaving the house, smoked a first hand-rolled cigarette with his mocha. Since he was allowed to live in the old gardener's apartment above the garage, the smoking ban was finally history. He threw on his alpha jacket, took his helmet and sat on his BMW. Of course he was ashamed in front of his older colleagues because of the pathetic 35 kw, but in two years he would finally be allowed to ride a real heavy Harley.

Thank God it was already Thursday. During the week, the gym always came up a little short, but on the weekend Branko would again pump to exhaustion. Since he lived in his own apartment near the garage, he had a weight bench, but working out in an atmosphere drenched in sweat and testosterone was just something else. For the past three years, he had been going to the gym regularly with his buddies from the garage, and he was very pleased with the results. Whenever possible, he worked out in just his undershirt. Working bare-chested had been tried, but had only resulted in the foreman calling him into the office. Behind lowered blinds Branko had then had to blow his boss. Since then, it happened every now and then. At first, Branko had thought he was the only gay in the company, but on second thought, it was obvious that leather, motors and muscles also attracted fags. And he considered himself good proof that gasoline in the blood and pleasure in engines went well with fun sucking cocks.

Since he had finished his apprenticeship at the top of his class, Branko really enjoyed not having to sweep out the garage on Fridays. It was 3:00 p.m., and he was sitting in the yard with the other fellows, drinking an after-work beer and taking a drag on his cigarette butt. This weekend he didn't have to work in sales on Saturday, which he quite enjoyed doing occasionally, this weekend belonged to the Gym and the boys. Let's see if the weather also allowed a ride on the bike. But for now, he had to make his way to his mother's store. Every Friday afternoon he had one of her girls polish up his body for the weekend. He might look macho, but for him that included manicured fingers, a carefully trimmed beard, and a freshly waxed back. Like his Bosnian uncles, Branko had had strong body hair from an early age. He loved the developing fur on his chest. But hair had no place on his shoulders or back. His mother once again greeted him somewhat effusively when he entered her salon. Branko was always a little embarrassed. Especially since people who didn't know him and his mother might mistake him for her lover. At 34, his mother, who had already come to Switzerland pregnant from Banja Luka, was just 14 years older than him. And his father's money had not only been seed money for a successful cosmetics empire, it had also ensured that his mother was the epitome of a MILF. Lots of exercise and plenty of visits to talented plastic surgeons had ensured a flawless body.

On Saturday, too, the alarm clock went off at 05:00. Without discipline, the muscles did not grow. And before the gym opened at 07:00, Branko put great emphasis on the previous running training and, of course, on plenty of protein for breakfast. Besides, he was not a night person even on weekends. He had been smoking a shisha with the guys yesterday, had fucked the horny Serbian waiter in the toilet and had been in bed at 22:00. And he was sure that there was plenty to fuck in the gym afterwards. When the beads of sweat glistened in his chest hair, he was simply irresistible. It had been a warm night. So Branko ran the twelve-kilometer morning lap bare-chested. And afterwards, unshowered, got right into the Dainese motorcycle suit. He loved the smell of sweat, cum and leather that hit him. When the engine of his brand new Ducati howled up, he got a boner right away. At 21 years old, he was a jerk-off template made flesh. And he knew it.

Before the Sunday visit to his parents, a shower was on the agenda. His parents already found it borderline when he came to brunch with his Harley. Otherwise, he could at least be well-groomed. Punctually at 11:00 am his Harley rolled over the gravel in the driveway. Even though he was now one of the big boys, he was a bit excited. But fortunately, neither his mother nor his father made any comment about the new tattoos that adorned his right forearm. Well, he had been less concerned with his father, after all, whose powerful torso was decorated with abundant signs of Albanian and Swiss national pride. And more importantly, his mother's ratty youngest brother showed great interest in the tattoos. After dinner, Branko showed Dragan the rest of the new tattoos and his new PA upstairs in the old gardener's apartment.

Monday morning Branko was already at the gym at 05:30. The cardio training Dragan and he had more than ample yesterday, but the muscles desperately needed to be pumped up again before work. Thank God the Serbian muscle hunk had an early shift today. At least he could talk to him. The blond Swiss, who usually worked at this time, probably despised him for his broken German. And Branko despised the Swiss because, as a crossfitter, he didn't lift iron. In the garage, the week started at 08:00 with the meeting of the foremen and the department heads. One of the few moments during the week when Branko had his upper arms covered at work. Whereby his supervisor had also rolled up his T-shirt sleeves quite unabashedly. Really massive arms, Branko thought....

Sunrise was early on this Tuesday in June. But since Branko ran the Harley-Davidson branch in Tirana, it was important to him to answer the call to prayer at least three times a day. Many of his employees and also his customers were much more devout than he was. He had to adapt to this if he wanted to survive in this market. And when his father had sent him from Switzerland to the country of his fathers to build up the business there, Branko had resolved to make his parents proud. That's why he now went by his middle name, Granit, in public. It suited him much better, he thought with a grin. After praying, Branko once again examined the magnificent piece of machinery that was to be handed over to a customer this morning. If it wasn't so hot, Branko would have thrown on leather pants and jacket himself. But in hot temperatures, a tank top and combat pants had to suffice for a credible appearance. And he hoped that it would be hot again today.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 63)

Trigger Warning: Heavily Implied Abortion. IT'S NOT UZI, DON'T PANIC.

“N, I need ya for something.” Hal walked by N's desk, two more weeks had gone by without either him or Uzi telling a soul about her pregnancy, and it was beginning to get to him, he understood why they had to keep it to themselves… with what was happening to her being unique. But… he was still so excited.

“What's up?”

“Need you to help me perform a wellness check on a… Miss Walker. Her employer said he hadn't seen her for a couple days.” Hal tangled his fingers in his beard as he read through a file, before turning back to N.

“Sure, now?”

“Now.”

N stood up immediately, following in behind Hal as they left through the office door and made their way through the hallways, it was still early, so the halls weren't filled with people yet, only a few making their way to their early morning jobs.

“How's Uzi?” Hal asked, his tone friendly, though clearly only making small talk for the sake of it.

“She's fine, why wouldn't she be?” N replied a little too quickly. Talking about Uzi made him think about the baby which made him want to scream it to every person passing by. So he tried to avoid talking about her at all while at work… which was nearly impossible, because he was always talking about a show they watched together, or how Tera was doing, or… everything to do with his family, really.

“You've been really quiet about her lately… you're not having issues are you?” Hal was still slightly in front of him, so he couldn't see the man's face, but he got the impression that Hal was at least somewhat genuinely worried.

“No! Nothing like that. We're perfect, never been better, really.” N quickly assured, though he wasn't sure how convincing he sounded, though it was the truth. Every night they spent together, weather it be watching a movie, playing a game or just… talking, had been magical.

“I heard she went to a mothers group. That seems… unlike her.” Hal mentioned, making N's visor fill with sweat as he realized how obvious that was. He was right, Uzi wouldn't just suddenly decide to go to something as sappy and cliché as a mother's group for no reason.

“I convinced her to, Tera doesn't spend a lot of time around kids her age, and we thought it would be good to start socializing her.” The half-lie left his mouth almost instantly, his time with Uzi had definitely made him a more convincing liar, but even still it wasn't entirely untruthful, they had talked about socializing Tera. Though it was more about preparing her for a little sibling.

“Ah… so it was your idea. That does make more sense.”

“How'd you know about that anyway?” N asked, cocking his head as they both rounded a corner, Hal raised an eyebrow at him.

“My sister was there, came to me ecstatic about a new member. Figured out it was Uzi by her description.”

“Oh.” N blinked, well that was good information to have.

“We're here, I'll let ya do the honors this time.” Hal stepped back from the steel door as N stepped forward, nodding as he lifted his fist and knocked on the door heavily, the sound echoed around them for a few seconds.

There was no response.

So he tried again, announcing himself this time.

“This is Officer N and Officer Stone here on a wellness check, we're just here to see if you're okay.” He shouted firmly into the closed door as he knocked again, once again there was no answer.

“What now?” He asked Hal, who pondered the question for a moment.

“We don't have a warrant, we can't just barge in without probable cause.” He explained and N nodded, pressing the side of his face into the door to try and hear what was going on inside.

There was a light scraping noise coming from the other side, like something sharp against tile. It was muffled heavily by the door, but it was audible to his enhanced hearing.

“Well there's something behind this door, I hear scraping.”

“H-Help…” Came faintly from behind the door, and N lept back in surprise, looking at his superior with a dreadful look.

“Someone just called for help!”

Hal didn't seem to hear the cry for help, but he did seem to trust N, as he took a device from his pocket and held it over the access panel for the door, there was a pause, then the device beeped twice as the door swished open.

“Hello probable cause.”

“Miss Walker? Are you alright?” N Called out into the seemingly empty apartment, nothing was out of place, the kitchen was clean, the living room empty, but N could still pick up gentle scraping from… somewhere.

He moved through the Apartment, Hal in behind him as he followed his senses into the apartments bedroom, where he stood at the doorway in shock for a moment.

There was a young woman, only half dressed with her grey tank top shredded down to ribbons, one of her purple eyelights were closed in pain as the other looked at him with a mixture of fear and relief. She was leaning against the bed, sitting on the floor clutching her core, her breath coming out in distressed, shallow huffs.

“Miss, are you alright? What happened?” N immediately crouched down beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder as he looked around, there was a small trail of oil leading from the bathroom into the bedroom.

“I'll check it out, see if you can get anything out of her.” Hal said as he moved into the bathroom, N turned his attention back to the girl.

She was still in shock, her long brown hair tousled and unkempt, she was whimpering softly, looking between him and the hand on her core.

“Hey… I'm N. I'm a WDF member. What's your name?” He started softly, easing her in with something simple as she looked like she was in a panic.

“M-Mary.” She replied, her voice small and weak, muffled by static. N tilted his head slightly, he could smell oil, and she seemed to be in pain, but nothing was visually wrong with her.

“Okay Mary, what happened? Are you hurt?” She leaned into the bed further, every ambient light on her body flickered at once and she winced, clutching her core tighter.

“Where are you hurt?” He changed his question and she gave him an answer by looking down at her core, and everything clicked for him, his eyes turned soft.

“May I see?”

He reached forward and slowly touched her hand, giving her time to respond. She nodded warily before N pulled her hand away and gasped as the smell and sight hit him.

The glass covering over her core had been punctured, by what, he didn't know, but the drones full cylindrical core was now exposed to the open air, oil drooled out of the opening profusely, and was all over Mary's hand from where she'd held it. Strangly, her core was glowing a different color then the rest of her, blue, instead of purple.

It was strange… seeing a working core just… exposed like that. But with the way it was flickering, it wouldn't be working for much longer.

He placed her hand back over it and met her eyelights, they had tears in them, one of her hands was gripping his knee like he was a lifeline, he tried to ignore how much her eyelights reminded him of Uzi.

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

Hal came out of the bathroom a moment later, a screwdriver covered in oil in his hands.

“Found this, no sign of any struggle.”

“Mary?” N asked softly, and the young woman buried herself into his shoulder as she sobbed, he caught a few words that made his oil freeze in his tubing.

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I wasn't ready… I wasn't ready…” N blinked up at his boss, who looked like he'd just eaten a rock, N looked back down at her injury.

“You… did this to yourself?” The girl only sobbed harder as she nodded, and N felt himself gulp as, on autopilot, he scooped her up. Having no more questions.

‘Let's get you patched up okay? Can't have you going offline on us.”

The journey to the medical bay was both incredibly fast, and incredibly, torturously slow. Hal was right in front of him the whole time, sprinting as fast as he could go and N was the same, cradling the woman in his arms to protect her the best he could.

Why had she done this to herself? What wasn't she ready for?

The medical staff were waiting for them and whisked off the young woman in a gurney, leaving himself and Hal standing in the waiting room.

N was confused, but he also felt nauseous and the tips of his fingers felt like ice. Context was an informative bitch, even if he didn't have all the information, he could guess, but he didn't want to guess, he wanted to be wrong.

“Hal, why was her core a different color?” He asked, voice slightly shaky as he continued to stare foreward into the doors Mary had been taken through.

“Late Pregnancy.” Hal muttered simply, also staring at those cursed doors.

With that, N felt a dam snap and then crumble into a thousand tiny peices, tears sprung into his visor as the peices clicked into place. Oh God, oh robo-god.

“Woah, N are you-?”

N struggled to keep himself standing as he imagined those purple eyelights driving the screwdriver into her core, for the express purpose of… of killing.

“Uzi's pregnant.” Hal gasped out, holding onto N's shoulder as he tried to supress a complete meltdown. Hal pushed N into a waiting chair as N himself buried his head in his hands.

“Yeah… She is…” N croaked back, trying to expunge the horrible image of Uzi doing this to herself from his processors. Or of her going offline, killed by Doll, killed by… by carrying their baby and it having nowhere to go but through her.

“Does Khan know?”

“No. N-Nobody does.” He grunted, gripping his own hair as all the unpleasant emotions that had been building up and that he'd been repressing, for Uzi's sake and for Tera's sake, and for the sake that he just… didn't want to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

“No wonder you've been so quiet… that's been eating at ya for almost a month.” Hal tried to inject humor but N didn't even laugh, he just made a pathetic whine and looked at the ceiling.

Did Uzi feel this way too? Like she wasn't ready? Or was N unintentionally pressuring her into something that… she didn't want?

He didn't know.

[guertz]

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