#this fade egg i love his prideful ass so much

[roguelioness]

Solas: doesn't tell his friends anyone about his plans

Also Solas: why did you ruin my perfectly good plan!?

[samingtonwilson]

Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos. 

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan. 

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang. 

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.” 

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.” 

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?” 

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling. 

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.” 

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator. 

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?” 

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”  

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.” 

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.” 

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.” 

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.” 

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?” 

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.” 

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.” 

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?” 

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.” 

“You don’t care about either of those teams.” 

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?” 

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?” 

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.” 

“But—” 

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer. 

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her. 

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her’ thirteen times.” 

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave. 

Well. That’s not all he wants. 

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily. 

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.” 

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face. 

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—” 

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.” 

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.” 

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.” 

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.” 

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.” 

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?” 

“Perky?” 

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.” 

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?” 

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?” 

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue. 

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.” 

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.” 

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips. 

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball. 

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria. 

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella. 

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem. 

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions. 

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day. 

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head. 

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home. 

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.” 

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off. 

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice. 

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?” 

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.” 

“Oh, am I?” 

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?” 

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.” 

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?” 

“I’m a growing boy.” 

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?” 

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.” 

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?” 

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.” 

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.” 

“Damn, he’s got money.” 

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.” 

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?” 

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.” 

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.” 

“It didn’t take me hours.” 

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.” 

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?” 

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?” 

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.” 

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle. 

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow. 

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes. 

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral. 

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name. 

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers. 

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.” 

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.” 

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.” 

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?” 

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?” 

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?” 

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.” 

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?” 

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.” 

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.” 

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.” 

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.” 

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” 

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you. 

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?” 

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.” 

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.” 

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?” 

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.” 

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.” 

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts. 

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity. 

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.” 

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.” 

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.” 

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.” 

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?” 

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?” 

--

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #23)

01/09/88   5:17 AM

Hey.

Hey. Hi. Hello.

I know I’ve said this dozens of times already. But Devs, I don’t want to write this. It’s just a huge, chaotic web of bad, and I just get tangled up whenever I think about it. It just pulls me into a freakin’ mind spiral again. But there are a lot of things I should have told you. There are things that part of me wanted to tell you. I wanted to trust you with this. I wanted to tell you why I shut down and wouldn’t look at you. But I didn’t have time. Or, I guess I didn’t have the guts to do it while I still had time. I was afraid of what you’d say. Of what you’d do. But you can’t say or do anything anymore, so there’s not much at stake. I might as well tell you now.

I believed you were never really supposed to care about me.

I’ve always been pretty sure no one is. It’s just felt like part of my programming. And yeah, I know I adhere to my program the least of any sprite in this Dev-forsaken arcade, but this was different. I did not screw with this. I couldn’t risk getting it wrong. I’ve always had ample reason to believe that being the sort of Easter Egg that I am… more or less means I’m not made for love. Not the real kind, anyway, the kind that actually lasts. The Devs showed me that with their sweet little gamer angels. They love me when I’m new and novel, but the second they get bored, they drop me flat. Say you love me, use me, abuse me, and you’re gone. That’s the formula. It might seem harsh, and, I mean, it is harsh. I’ve been hurt too many times to count. But I adapted. It seemed pretty simple -- don’t give anyone the chance. Don’t get attached to anyone, and never believe anyone is attached to you. They might say they are, they might think they are, but they’re not. They’ll figure it out eventually. I learned this years ago, and I never forgot it.

I begged the question of myself, then, why did my stupid, masochistic, self-sabotaging ass deliberately ignore my own rules when I met you?

My code was constantly screaming that you would leave me if I didn’t leave you first. I could have done it. There were so many opportunities for me to walk away. Maybe we both would have been better off if I did. But I didn’t. I saw it happening, I saw us becoming friends, I felt us hit unsafe territory, and I chose to stay. If what we had was going to end, I decided that you would have to be the one to end it. 

You didn’t. Years went by, and you still didn’t end it.

For a long time, it really seemed like you wouldn’t leave after all. It really seemed like everything was going to be okay.

But then you cared about me.

You just had to go and actually care about me.

Look… I know a lot of this is stupid. It’s about to get even stupider. Now that I’m out of the thick of it, I can recognize a lot of my fears at the time to be ridiculous and irrational. Sometimes, it feels like I’m coming to a point where none of me believes it anymore. I know what happened to you, now. I’m starting to understand why it happened, too. But there are nights where the quiet gets to me. These thoughts come creeping back into my head, and they nibble away at my brain.

Most of the time, the pain I would feel over being abandoned felt like a sort of punishment from the Devs. Like they could see me trying to feel loved, despite being shown time and time again that I’m to stay out of that business entirely, and decided to scold me for it. I know it’s stupid. The Devs can’t see us. They can’t do anything to us. They just left me to run free with this crappy programming, and if I trip over it and bash my face in, that’s on me. I should know how to live with it. I’d like to think that I usually do.

But with you, I just… didn’t know what to do. You were different from anyone else I’d ever had to keep at arm’s length. You’d been the exception to so many rules in my life already. I wanted you to be the exception to this one, too. You know, I just… I wanted to pull you in. So badly. So, being stupid, arrogant, and reckless, I threw caution to the wind and broke the one rule I never broke.

So imagine how it must have looked on my end when, just like that, just as I let you in, you burned up.

I’ve been making my own semblance of peace with that concept, little by little. But, that night at Tapper’s, the pain felt like the Devs’ most horrific sort of punishment of all. It felt like they saw that I had the gall not to leave you, and that you weren’t going to leave me like you were supposed to, because you actually cared about me. So they intervened and ended our friendship for us. It felt like they took you away to keep me in line. It felt like you were paying for my mistake.

Just imagine, for a minute, feeling like your best friend’s death was your fault.

Maybe that will help you understand why I did what I did.

As I stood there in the bathroom stall that night, this revelation tore into my brain like a pack of hungry dogs. The muffled sounds from the bar faded, and I heard -- clear enough to make me jump -- vicious barking. 

This ghost audio cut in and out, and my brain thrummed with each hit, flashes of binary cutting through my vision. I clamped my hands hard over my ears, but I couldn’t shut it out. I just heard it all again. Loud and clear, I heard what that sicko screamed as she beat me.

“You knew this would happen! You could have stopped it! But you didn’t! You let this happen! Now he’s gone! For good! Forever! And that’s on you!

It’s on you!”

I couldn’t breathe. I’d started hyperventilating. My chest heaved wildly and my intentions for a scream came as airy whimpers. All the weight, everything I’d been carrying on my shoulders, bore down and brought me to the floor. Literally. The strength went out of me and I fell back against the stall door, slipping right down onto my ass. I stared at the tile between my feet and found it moving. My vision started to darken around the edges. I knew from unfortunate experience that I’d pass out if I didn’t do something.

So I grabbed my hat and breathed into it as deeply as I could. It just barely helped. Every time I’d start to regain control, my thoughts would spiral again and I’d be gasping. I was just gripped by this feeling of impending doom.

But then someone came in.

When I heard the door swing open, I froze. I almost stopped breathing entirely. I willed my heart to stop, too -- any sign of life that could indicate my presence. But none of that would have mattered. She could see me under the stalls.

Her footsteps stopped a little ways in, and it took a minute for her to say something. I don’t really remember what her voice sounded like, but I know she asked, “Are… you okay?”

I forced myself to take a few deep, steadying breaths, and leaned over to spit in the toilet. With all the strength I could summon, I got to my feet. “Had a bit too much,” I said in a regrettably shaky voice before I flushed away my fictional puke. “Go on and take your piss, I’m fine.”

She didn’t take much convincing. Once I heard her enter a stall, I left. I walked back into the bar room, drawing the gaze of the ever-present accusing eyes all around, without breaking stride. I didn’t care what they thought anymore. I wasn’t afraid. I thought I knew the truth, and it was scarier than all the arcade’s hatred put together.

Wreck-it was back in his stool by the time I got to our spot. I didn’t stay for chit-chat. I gave Tapper his drawing, accepted my pay, and told him I’d be back with another soon. With that, I said goodbye, and was on my way. Wreck-it fell in step behind me after a second, apparently under the impression that we were a unit that evening. I don’t remember if he said anything on the way back, but I certainly didn’t. Not until we were back on that pile of bricks.

I sat in my temporary nest, and he settled in by his stump. After a minute, he prodded awkwardly, “So… how did it feel to get out there again?”

I heard his words, but they meant nothing. They were just sounds demanding more sounds from me. So, automatically, I said, “Good. Thank you.”

He paused. “Wait, wait. Did you just thank me? You?”

I barely noticed the tears spilling down my face. I was frozen.

After receiving no sass, or any response at all, he muttered, “Well… You’re welcome. I’m glad it helped.”

He fell asleep shortly after.

I didn’t sleep at all.

I sat, quivering, for Devs know how long, hands clamped over my mouth, my whole body clenched so tight I could barely breathe, just desperately trying to keep quiet. My eyes wouldn’t close, they just stared blankly off into the dark and overflowed down onto my hands. There was a battle raging in my head, a last-ditch effort to remain in control. I was losing.

It was the first of many attempts to convince myself that you didn’t, in fact, give a crit about me.

I still do this. All the time. If I can believe you never cared, it’s easier. Then it’s your fault. Then I can be angry at you, and being angry is easy. You never cared about our friendship, because you never cared about a single thing but yourself. I was a toy to you, an object, a trophy. I was fun, I was pretty, I was something you had that no one else in the arcade could even lay a finger on, and you loved that. But it wasn’t me that mattered. It was your pleasure, your pride. You trashed me without hesitation. You’re the asshole. You left me behind. You did this to me. It’s your fault. All your fault. 

It didn’t work then, and it certainly doesn’t work now, knowing what I do.

I was so, so wrong to want proof that our friendship mattered to you. I have more of it now than I can handle, and I can never let it go. It’s not in a letter or a memento, something I can destroy and forget -- it’s in all my Dev-forsaken memories. I can see it in all the things we did together, the things you’d say, the way you treated me different from everyone else, in things I don’t have the heart to mention. 

I won’t say that those memories aren’t important to me. I won’t say that I really want to forget them. I will say that there are still nights where I think of each one, and I wonder if they were all nails in your proverbial coffin. At the time, I certainly believed they were.

Those memories assaulted my head as I sat there, woven into horrid echoes of barking and shouting and my own screaming.

I couldn’t stand it.

I just couldn’t stand this new reality I’d pieced together where it was my fault you were gone. I couldn’t stay in it a day longer. I needed to leave. I needed buffs -- not cutesy vanilla Boosts or Heals anymore, no. I didn’t need to blur reality, I needed to change it.

I needed Game Changers.

And, thanks to Tapper, I had the credits for it.

[mintchocohip]

pegging sub!bts︱all members

▬     𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 ➤ headcanons for pegging the OT7!

▬     pairing: member x reader ︱ rating: explicit ︱ genre​: smut

cr▹

┃ other kinks can be found with each member, when applicable.

        𝙏𝘼𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝙂  

▬   A double-sided strap provides the connection Taehyung craves. He wants to work up to something the size of his own cock, or bigger━occasional bouts of humble-bragging insecurity over being too big means he wants to know what it’s like for his partners. The realization that he just loves feeling full up and filled deep follows naturally. 

▬   Aesthetics aren’t an afterthought. The material and colors of the harness and toys do need to suit Taehyung’s mood, and they do need to suit the aesthetics of his favorite immersive historical roleplays.

▬   Even when it’s a low-key session with a medium-sized, soft toy that can curve nice and gently, lube flows like a waterfall. The huge bottle of lube is there less because Taehyung needs it, and more because you both love the slick, crisp sounds. 

▬   Taehyung’s mood is crystal-clear in how he asks for a pegging. If he’s in a good mood, it’s silent body language. When he’s in a bad mood, it’s demands of “fuck me, fuck me, please, right now, just fuck me.” When he’s in a really bad mood, bending Taehyung over the nearest flat surface gets the job done in a few knee-shaking minutes━no lube necessary. Taehyung’s romantic moods means he can’t ask for it. He wants you to know. There’s a certain soft look in his eyes, though, and a certain way he licks his lips, that makes you cusp a hand against the side of his face and ask “Is that what you want?”

▬   Experimenting with the temperature of the toy in the harness gets surprisingly exhilarated results. A warmed-up ceramic dildo is especially popular.

        𝙔𝙊𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙄   other kinks: gangbang, sounding  

▬   When the harness comes out, the comfort of a prostate massager or the intimacy of fingers and tongues is abandoned. The cold, calculated and invasive make Yoongi’s heart patter, and flush him into the kind of mindlessness that can only be released through trust. 

▬   Big, thick, small, thin━what goes in the harness doesn’t matter, as long as it’s pushed into him rough. Yoongi’s mouth is especially eager to take the strap, but indulging his desire to get facefucked is usually reserved for a treat, or a little decompression during aftercare. Within the boundaries of a scene, not letting Yoongi get what he wants is key.

▬   When he’s getting fucked within an inch of passing out, Yoongi’s exhibitionist streak becomes a jetstream. There’s nothing intimate about these moments, so he’s not shy about sharing them. Play parties, clubs, and private shows with strangers make Yoongi woozy with pride over how well he can take it, and equally humiliate him until his cheeks are a beautiful cherry red. Sometimes you start the train; sometimes it’s a friend, and sometimes it’s whoever volunteers to buckle into the harness next to Yoongi’s bound and blindfolded body. 

▬   All of Yoongi’s holes are fuckable, in one way or another. Pale legs have been frogtied up with medical tape. His knees are in his armpits. A metal rod is slowly sliding down his lube-glistening cock, and the stainless steel dildo is slowly pushing up his slicked ass. Dueling sensations streaked through Yoongi’s body by your hand and your hips mean a sensitive prostate is getting squeezed from two sides━the blanked-out expression and utter motionlessness beneath you are relying on you to listen, and watch carefully for signs of a failed attempt to mouth the safeword. Yoongi is also relying on you to understand he’s far from delicate. There’s a muscle in Yoongi’s thigh you only ever see twitching when he’s about to have a shoved-all-the-way-in-there orgasm, and right now, it’s almost vibrating.    

▬   Yoongi doesn’t like the strap being treated as an extension of his partner’s self. The appeal of toys rests on their depersonalization. It’s a thing being put inside of him.

        𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙆𝙊𝙊𝙆   other kinks: sub training       

▬   Jungkook will try anything in the harness once. Once. The trusty masturbation egg he’s been using for years has survived thanks to regular, attentive cleaning. When it comes to dildos, though, Jungkook goes through them like tissues. Packages constantly show up in his mailbox containing the latest squishy squirting jelly dildo he saw online, or the glittery fuchsia piece shaped like a tentacle. Shyness about experimentation held Jungkook back in the past, and now, his curiosity is spilling out. 

▬   Mixing up unusual, surprising colors into faux-cum creampies keeps things fresh, but, ultimately, most of Jungkook’s rainbow-colored collection fall out of rotation and end up as stress toys for him to squeeze and pick at when he’s bored.

▬   Any position that makes Jungkook uncomfortable turns gears in his brain that pool drool into his mouth. Sucking something hard and tasteless often looks like foreplay, but it feels like a main event. Getting fucked in a piledriver sets those gears into overdrive. Jungkook loves being able to see the strap push into him, and he’ll stare between his legs wide-eyed, flutter his eyelids, squeeze his eyes shut, and wheel through such a beautiful series of expressions and keening, muscle-twitching whimpers that it looks and sounds like he’s going to come untouched at any second━when a rope of come does shoot down onto his shaking chest, it always means keep going. Hands in Jungkook’s hair, fingernails clawing at his legs until they’re pink and red; streaking and pinching come over his nipples, and pushing out a few more orgasms until Junkook’s running dry━it’s the only way to make sure he emerges from the other side of aftercare satisfied.

▬   The thought of his ass and mouth being available to you 24/7 makes Jungkook shiver. Practicality and boundaries mean fantasy stays fantasy. On one special day a week, though, you both get a slice of that dream. By the time you’ve trained him to keep the buttplug in all day, Jungkook can fall asleep with your fingers playfully turning the base.

▬   Building up tiers of length and thickness means switching toys out regularly during long, long pegging sessions. Giving memorable names to the collection of toys available to Jungkook means he can ask for a specific toy simply, or beg for it with a single word.

        𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆   other kinks: roleplay, degredation, bondage, public/semi-public, filming

▬   He insists he can take more. Overwhelming Hoseok into spilling the safeword into his rolling, hiccuping moans is shockingly easy. Even if Hoseok wants to work up to bigger things, getting fucked is a precarious balance between accepting that it won’t all be luxury and trying to stop himself from teetering off a cliff he can’t climb back up on his own. For now, toys are average sized and simple shapes, and lube glistens on Hoseok’s ass like a second skin. 

▬   During gentler sessions, a reach-around with a fleshlight turns Hoseok’s moans into eye-fluttering silence.

▬   Roleplay loosens up Hoseok’s internal restraints. It doesn’t matter how hard he gets fucked, and it doesn’t matter if it hurts━he wants it to hurt. Punishment play, degradation, and your self-assured dirty talk about how much he just needed to get that attitude fucked out of him erase Hoseok’s thoughts, and replace them with sparks and blobs of blissful numbness. The roles are often classics, and the positions that accompany them are classics, too. The man caught jerking off in the library; and the frustrated librarian who’s had enough of his shit━it gets replay. Doggy style and fade down, ass up means he can just shut off his brain, and take it. Other times, faux-impromptu bondage ties him up in precariously exposed positions, and leaves him there when the deed is finished. Breaking Hoseok down is easy, and he’s so cheerful once the binds come off, it almost seems like he wasn’t just shaking like a leaf.

▬   Traveling with Hoseok means racking up unique, increasingly precarious places where he’s been pegged. Bringing him back down from the urge to take the strap in the middle of a bustling plaza means exploring that craving with a camera, some mood lighting, and constant refreshes to see how many hits the video has gotten so far.

▬   The visuals of the harness and toy don’t seem too important, at first. When you introduce a strappy black leather harness and a bright red dildo, Hoseok is swallowing and flushing so much he doesn’t even want to look at it directly. Again━the classics have their appeal.

        𝙅𝙄𝙈𝙄𝙉   ​other kinks: praise/degredation, filming  

▬   Long, thick, and hard. Knowing what Jimin wants is simple.

▬   Jimin’s ass is magical, and it deserves the praise of a good fuck. Praise laced with degradation heightens that fuck into an experience stripping Jimin to his core. Soft words in his ear fill Jimin up with that heady mixture as much as the reverent, demeaning movements of hips━”Perfect. All flushed and fucked like this. Do you understand, Jimin? The way you love it so much━ you’re made for this. As soon as it’s up in there, you’re amazing. You’re glowing. This is who you are.” Dirty talk in his ear while he’s fucked from behind and hands play with his nipples and grope his chest and abs and squeeze the head of his cute little cock means Jimin can curl up in the sheets and shake and squirm as much as he needs to. Ricocheting gasps, high-pitched squeals, and random bouts of stunned laughter mean Jimin loves it. 

▬   Jimin needs to love it. If he isn’t enjoying himself, he will let you know. Bitterness seeps into the vocal brattiness he shoots over his shoulder. If he can’t form those coherent sentences, you’re doing something right.

▬   Pegging Jimin often becomes an exercise in service topping. If you don’t get off, though, he takes it as a personal offense. When he’s not too blown out to need immediate aftercare, the reason Jimin prefers open-crotched harnesses becomes obvious in a flash of skilled fingers slipping into your cunt, and slicking you off the edge that’s been building since your fingers made those same motions in Jimin’s ass fifteen minutes prior.

▬   The simplistic USB necklace keys into whatever outfit you wear on dates with Jimin. If you slid out the compatible connector and pushed it into his phone, dozens of stills of Jimin getting fucked would tile up in neat rows. Some star you; some star whoever consented to recording. The reminder was your idea, but Jimin fell head over heels for it.

        𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙅𝙊𝙊𝙉   other kinks: crossdressing  

▬   Lacy harnesses match Namjoon’s jewel-toned lingerie. A sleek black harness compliments his mesh bodysuit, the matching black collar on his throat, and the jingling black harnesses on his wrists and ankles. You know how to choose outfits that compliment Namjoon’s tan skin and streamlined body━it always makes Namjoon almost giddy with attempts to mute his joy when you surprise him with some shopping, and choose what he’s going to wear tonight.

▬   Namjoon loves dressing up, and he loves getting fucked right. Simple, medium-sized toys or prostate massagers slot into the harness. When Namjoon takes something he can’t relax around instantly, discomfort stops him cold. Thirteen centimeters draw out nothing but delighted shivers and shakes. The gentle care and pleasure pushed in by ten centimeters make Namjoon flush into automatic gasps, and make him leak automatic drips of thick, glossy precome.

▬   One taste was all it took for Namjoon to become addicted. It means a lot to him. Feeling desirable for what his cock can do is fine, but knowing somebody wants him this way is deeply flattering, liberating, and relieving. It’s romantic.

▬   Namjoon wants to show you what his body can do. His stomach sucks in and twists; his shoulders pull back, his chest spreads out and his hips rotate and twist and press down on your lap━hard. Every time Namjoon pushes down hard, the buzz on your clit pushes down, hard. Lights tingle and sparkle over your eyes━keeping your eyes open through the stars Namjoon is putting in them means you must look in awe. You are in awe. When you can move, you’re stroking Namjoon all over, jerking him off, sucking on his chest, groping his ass, and whispering quiet words to the man giving you the best lapdance you’ve ever received━”You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful.”

▬   Letting Namjoon lead once the pegging session starts is vital. Otherwise, he becomes a little too flustered to properly function.

        𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆𝙅𝙄𝙉   other kinks: bondage, degradation

        warning:  elements of rape roleplay

▬   Studded leather and an unforgiving strap make Seokjin almost sick with anticipation, on nights when a jockey whip taps against the wall on its way to his ass spread out over the spanking table. A lacy pink harness and a short, soft pastel pink cock put Seokjin at ease, on nights when he wants to be the little spoon, have one of his thighs pushed over the other, and get cuddlefucked into loving oblivion.

▬   “Please!” “No…” “please, stop, please, I can’t take anymore━” and babbling nonsense sounds are Seokjin’s leitmotifs. Getting a feel for Seokjin’s sounds means knowing what it means when the words are soft━faster, harder━and knowing what it means when there’s an edge to them━I’m serious, slow down, but… make it work in the scene. Condescend to me, make fun of me, tell me how pathetic I am for not being able to take more... A taste for hands on his throat and getting jostled around like he isn’t a tall, solid guy means Seokjin needs to trust his partner. While he can enjoy a pegging with somebody he doesn’t know very well, even a casual pegging means outlining parameters of play, and establishing his tics. The relief of a familiar pair of hips in the harness means Seokjin doesn’t have to hold back the things that flow naturally. 

▬   It isn’t a disappointment if Seokjin goes soft during a pegging. His senses have flown into his ass, and the rest of his body can’t keep up. A prostate orgasm while his nipples get a tad too much attention is far more intense than anything his cock could provide, anyways.

▬   Nothing matches the kick you and Seokjin get out of eating his elaborately prepared dinner with a dildo on the table. The second Seokjin tries to start washing the dishes, you're distracting him, until he’s conceding to getting bent over the sink and fucked with tender thankfulness for an amazing meal. 

[gumnut-logic]

Nutty Writing Thoughts

I was re-reading part of my Kermadec fic and encountered the bit where Scott comes across the hot spring and it occurred to me the difference between Scott and Virgil as to how they interpret their environment. This led me to thinking about characterisation and point of view and how you write a character to sound like themselves. Then, because I’m lying idle around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I pondered how each of the five brothers might interpret the same scene. I sat their idly constructing scenes in my head and how this might illustrate how a character thinks.

So, now because I’m still sitting around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I thought I’d give this exercise a go...cos actually writing one of my many wips would be far too logical ::headdesk::

Anyways, five brothers, same beach, same time of day. Let’s see if I can make them sound like themselves....and not end up writing another wip :D Note: these scenes are separate and unrelated to each other...just flotsam my brain threw up. Guess which brother is which?

-o-o-o-

His running shoes hit the sand hard, gouging holes in the pristine surface. The air was still and clear, the ocean quiet, his breathing drowning out the sound of the waves. This was his third lap, but his first step onto this beach. He usually avoided this patch of sand because it was Virgil’s favourite and often the place his brother came to be alone. But today was a day that wouldn’t see Virgil outside the villa. Not today, not tomorrow, not for some time at all.

His breathing lost its regular pace and he had to force himself to concentrate harder on his rhythm.

His feet hit the sand and he kept on running.

-o-o-o-

There were times being a brother of the commander of this outfit really sucked.

One foot after the other. Scott may feel exuberant at this time of the morning, but honestly, this time should not exist.

He was only awake because the smart ass had called a drill. God. He ran a hand through his hair and guzzled the coffee that was automatically poured into his face.

He swore Scott did it because of his comment about Thunderbird One’s erotic symbolism yesterday. But hey, he was the one who had compared Two to a pregnant turtle.

Turtles lay eggs, you idiot.

But that hadn’t been enough, so he’d resorted to a dick joke.

And had been dragged out of bed at 5am.

Ergh.

His staggering finally led him to the beach and the moment he stepped onto the sand, the breeze caught him and brushed away his frown.

A sigh fell from his lips and he closed his eyes.

The sounds of the ocean caressed his ears and washed away the aggravation. The calm seeped into his bones and his shoulders dropped.

But he kept his grip on his mug of coffee.

Another sip.

Another grateful sigh.

And a plan began to form.

-o-o-o-

Before he knew it the sun was peeking over the edge of the planet and the stars were fading.

His butt and back were damp from lying on the sand.

There was dry seaweed in his hair.

He reached up and untangled the mess, frowning as it caught and pulled. Ow.

It wasn’t often he used a beach for stargazing, but he hadn’t had the energy to climb the stairs to the observatory and to be honest, he wasn’t looking for a specific event, more just comfort in the familiar.

He had come out here in the early hours, his circadian rhythm still slightly off and done his best to connect with what he loved.

He had forgotten the inconveniences of sand, mosquitoes and was that a crab?

He shifted his leg out of reach and clambered to his feet.

The sun flashed everything gold, including him.

A sigh and he turned to walk back to the house.

-o-o-o-

One of the advantages of living on your own secret tropical island is that he could run around in whatever clothes he wanted and not have to worry about what the public might think.

A pair of flip flops and his swimwear, mostly because it was just after his morning laps. Specimen bags in hand, he headed down to the beach to check on the morning’s finds.

The ocean was still puking up stuff from the storm that passed to the south of the Island two weeks ago and he was making sure to check the beaches every morning to see what treasures might surface. One of the things about cyclones is that they churned the ocean as much as the land and often interesting things appeared with the tide as a result.

Fortunately the storm hadn’t actually hit the Island itself and the beach was on the protected side, otherwise there may have been no beach left to comb. This time the conditions were perfect and he wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity.

Clambering around the Island in flip flops would probably earn him several frowns from several quarters, but to be honest he didn’t care.

From the moment his feet hit the sand, he was discovering and cataloguing. Three different types of sponge all seen before. A nasty chunk of the rare kelp from that isolated patch to the south, damn. An array of shells of which one he was unable to identify. He grabbed that one for identification purposes and one other simply because it was pretty and he knew a brother who might like it.

He found the waves tossing about a large chunk of broken coral and he swore. Damn. Cyclones were nasty to reefs and they took eons to repair.

The worst find was a relatively small mola mola. The young sunfish looked like it had been caught up in an argument between the surf and the volcanic rocks of the island.

He carefully picked it up and placed it in a bag, commemorative words for a life lost passing through his mind as he sealed it tight. Size and details would be sent to the NZ DoC south of their island for research purposes.

Reaching the end of the beach he turned back and trailed his feet in the water. A glance at the rising sun and he headed back.

-o-o-o-

He bounded onto the beach and kicked the sand with his foot. This was so unfair! Why couldn’t he do what everyone else was doing?

He stomped his feet into the sand and took some satisfaction in the deep divots his feet left behind.

The water was whispering as if to herald the rise of the sun.

He didn’t like it.

It mocked him.

Why? Why? Why?

The question bounced around his head and just fuelled his anger.

There was a roar and the island shook as behind him Thunderbird One leapt into the air. Further in the distance he heard the deeper rumble as Two ignited her rear thrusters and a moment later the great green ‘bird appeared over the palm trees and shot off into the distance, Thunderbird One darting down to escort her.

Both were lit up by the sun.

His heart was caught between pride at the sight, and the anger that he wasn’t with them.

As they disappeared in the sunrise, he glared after them.

-o-o-o-

Okay, that exercise did not go exactly the way I had planned, but I hope you enjoyed these little snippets. I hope you can tell which bro is which. I haven’t really gone to any effort to hide them and I’m kinda hoping it is obvious. Maybe take note of the bits of information that give it away?

Or which bros I’m better at writing, maybe :D

Fun to write. I hope they are fun to read.

::hugs you all::

Nutty

(Yeah, well, my brain is weird, I can’t help myself)

[enby-hawke]

Summary: Hawke loves dragons and this is his very first dragon fight. I made up some magic that doesn’t exist. 

Word Count: 7815

Pairing: Lots of flirting mostly between oblivious Merrill, oblivious Hawke, and super annoyed Carver.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bethany was still not talking to Hawke and neither was Mother. That didn’t change the fact that rent needed to be paid and Hawke had only gathered half the coin needed for the expedition. With Carver in tow, Hawke circled through his usual contacts, trying to drum up some work. After one no turned into 8, and the morning slipped to noon, Hawke decided it was time to get a drink and ask Varric for ideas before his temper made him do something stupid.

“I have the usual escort and delivery jobs, but if you’re looking for something bigger, I’ve heard of another opportunity...but the patron is….”

Varric trailed off, and Hawke sighed into his glass, the growing headache an unwelcome guest. “What, he a templar or something?”

“Orlesian.”

Even Carver joined in the groan. “Maker, we’re desperate aren’t we?”

“When are we not?” Hawke chuckled back. “What’s the job?”

“Just to check on his mine. Apparently, none of his workers have clocked out of work since Saturday, but also none of them have reported home. He won’t say what the reward is only that it will “exponentially paid,” whatever that means. Eh, maybe count me out today.” Varric knitted his eyebrows as he pressed his pen to his tablet, but with two words written, he’d erase three. There were at least three drained mugs of spiked coffee that Edwina still hadn’t bussed, but whether they were from last night or this morning Hawke couldn’t tell.

“Why not? You always come along,” Hawke grinned. If anyone could use a break from his room, it was Varric.

Hawke continued to feed scraps of his sausage and eggs to Boof under the table. The mabari had his head on Hawke’s lap, begging for more with his big brown eyes.

Varric set down his pen, rubbing his temple as he adjusted his reading glasses. “Maybe cause “The Bone Pit” is haunted with ghost slaves and spiders and Maker knows what else. You want to get cursed? Be my guest. I’m good.” Varric grabbed a not drained glass of spiked coffee and took a swig.

“Already cursed. It’s not such a big deal,” Hawke shrugged nonchalantly, but mischief crept into his eyes. “C’mon, Varric, where’s your authorial pride? Think of it as a research trip. A haunted mine could be the perfect setting for your next book.”

“I write action thrillers with a dash of political intrigue,” Varric argued. He pushed Boof away when the dog tried to push his head in his lap.

“Y’know I’m kind of with the dwarf on this one,” Carver said, picking at his stew before pushing it aside.

“Hey eat, you’ll need your strength,” Hawke pushed the bowl back in front of Carver. His brother grunted but resigned himself to shoveling the stew into his mouth. Hawke turned back to Varric. “Besides we don’t have a car. It’ll take forever to walk,” Hawke gave his biggest puppy eyes and even left his chair to kneel on the sticky floor, both hands clasped pleading. “Pleeeeeeeeeease.”

“Maker,” Varric caved. He always did. “Fine, but only because writer’s block is kicking my ass.”

Hawke jumped up, a spring suddenly in his step. “Great! But I should drive. You’ve been drinking.”

Varric barked a laugh. “So have you, genius. We’ll put Donna on autopilot.”

They picked up Isabela since they were already at the Hanged Man and Merrill just happened to already be in her room. Isabela didn’t like the idea of traipsing through a boneyard but when Merrill wanted to go, she resigned to tagging along. It was kind of like that ever since Hawke introduced the two, and that worked out since it was fun to watch Carver attempts to talk to Merrill. Though he was rooting for them, he couldn’t help but join Isabela teasing them.

Varric introduced Hawke to Hubert Bartiere in the Hightown Market where he had a store that sold everything from high-end fabric, perfumes, and of course his featured item, polished gems and jewelry mined and crafted “locally”. The man knew Hawke was Ferelden as soon as Hawke introduced his dog. He was less than impressed. Both Carver and Hawke managed not to punch him.

“You’re a mercenary, right?” Hubert glared at the odd party of humans, a dwarf, a Dalish elf and a mabari.

“I do a bit of everything,” Hawke shrugged.

“Well you’re good at killing and that’s what I need. I sent a group from the Wicked Dawn’s to take a look and they haven’t returned. I’m starting to think they made off with my coin. You, I won’t pay until the job’s done.” He continued to primp the mannequin displays, trying to end the conversation.

Hawke wasn’t satisfied with that and tapped Hubert on the shoulder. “But what is the reward? The listing isn’t clear.”

The man looked repulsed at the fact that he had been touched and took out a handkerchief, patting himself down. “I don’t know the extent of the problem so it depends on what you find there. Rest assured you will be fairly compensated. I am a reputable and fair merchant.”

Varric snorted at that, which told Hawke what he needed to know. The mage crossed his arms, planting himself in front of the mannequin in a peacock dress. “Not taking one step out of Kirkwall unless we each get 50 silvers each and then we can discuss a potential bonus-depending on what I find.”

The man looked outraged, his temple vein popping. “Where does a dog-barbarian get off making demands like that?”

“I can vouch for him,” Varric offered. “Whatever’s going on in your mine, Hawke can solve it. He comes with the Tethras guarantee.”

Hawke grinned cockily, imagining his fist was knocking out one of the Orlesian’s teeth.

The man sniffed sharply. “If it turns out my workers are just being lazy I will want my money back.”

‘And you won’t get it,’ Hawke thought, but he nodded offering the man the peace of mind he needed.

The man reached into his pocket going for plastic coin chits, but Hawke held up his hand in refusal. “I prefer coin.”

“I will need to go to the bank to convert it over. That may take some time as I can’t leave my stall. Perhaps you should go and check on my mine while you wait.”

Hawke grabbed the chits angrily. “Taking these for collateral. You can exchange them after I come back.”

The Bone Pit was only about 15 minutes away flying on Donna. You had to pass it when you left the city to get anywhere else. “Oh don’t look so grumpy, Varric,” Hawke nudged the dwarf, Donna’s wheel automatically adjusting course. “Didn’t you say hanging out with me is always an adventure?”

“Don’t butter me up, Hawke. You’re just using me for my wings.”

When they piled out of the car, Boof galloped out, dashing wildly in a wide circle causing Merrill to giggle.

“Boof!” Hawke called out. The dog bounced off a boulder and bounded back towards Hawke, and sat at attention, his feathery tail quivering as it swayed from side to side. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the fresh air, bud, but we have a job to do. Lead us to trouble.”

Boof nodded instead of barking, his puppy demeanor shifting instantly to wardog. Then he dashed away, before dashing back, then dashed away again, impatient at the humanoids much slower stride. The mine itself was strangely abandoned, pickaxes and tools and even luggage and blood were strewn about but no people. They kept their hands on their weapons as they explored, sometimes jumping at the sound of some birds scattering as they approached. The wind whistled through the mountains carrying cries of creatures that they could not place. The air was cold, the veil felt thin. You could feel the Fade weighing down from the midst of haze that hovered overhead.

Boof led them to the foot of a cave, where they saw a miner still dressed in ratty clothes. He was lying face down, several spider punctures tore through his shirt, where the man had been drained of blood. Strangely, his back was also burned, his skin had bubbled and stinking the air with singed flesh. The corpse had been scavenged, huge chunks of his torso that had been chomped out, most of his organs missing, but all the days-old blood was dry and flaking. “Poor man,” Merrill said. “It might have been a rage demon.”

“Or a dragon,” Hawke whispered, his heart suddenly in his throat. The heat that had done this was intense, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Suddenly Boof crouched, growling menacingly. They all turned to hear several high-pitched screeches. Hawke recognized the cry and dashed after his dog, casting a haste spell to keep up.

“Hawke!” he heard several voices shout behind him, but he wouldn’t slow down. The bright lantern lights danced with the shadows in the cave, echoing with the pounding of his gait. He kept running until he saw a clearing where about 20 drakes of all at varying sizes huddled. At the head of the pack stood the broodfather, fully mature at about 10 feet tall, and he breathed out a territorial fire at the sight of the intrusion in his nest.

“Aaaaaww, Boof,” he groaned. “It’s not a dragon.”

The drake screeched charging, the other younger drakes following in tow. Hawke sighed, it was still a fight and he still had to take it seriously. Deciding to save bullets, he grabbed the staff from his back, unfolding the blades with a click of a button.

The mabari was eager to charge but Hawke put his hand up. “Not yet, Boof,” he said and the dog sat down, waiting.

He channeled his magic into his staff, building up energy. When he collected enough, he waved his hand, imagining where he wanted ice to form. All beneath the charging drakes, sigils of ice mines formed exploding some smaller drakes into the air. Crystal crept and spread across the dirt and stone covering the drakes path with slippery ice. The smaller drakes began to lose traction, sliding and falling, but the largest drake dug his claws into the ground, steadying himself, digging claw after claw as it pushed its way out of the ice field.

The others were just beginning to catch up when they gazed out towards the damage already done. “Boof and I got the big one if you guys want to take the smaller ones,” Hawke grinned, causing Carver to roll his eyes. Hawke then pointed at the broodfather. “Boof! Tear out his throat!”

The mabari yipped in confirmation and bolted from his seat charging for the enormous drake. It bellowed, breathing fire but the dog bounded and bounced out of the way. Hawke aimed at Boof, and cast a haste spell, speeding up the dog’s gait so the drake could not aim properly.

Bullets and magic and Bianca’s laser bolts shot past the broodfather picking off the still slipping lesser drakes. Carver had decided to opt-out of this fight. He was now turned away, the tip of his greatsword buried in some dirt. Boof was in front of the drake now, and it swiped at the mabari with its meaty claw. Boof yipped, bouncing off its arm and then back to the ground. The dog jumped back up, raking his claws into the drake’s skin and pushed himself upwards. Boof barked triumphantly, clamping down on the drake’s throat and started to shred. Blood spurted out of the wound and the dog wriggled, tearing open it’s tough leather hide.

Hawke nervously watched his dog swinging through the air, his staff following as he aimed a barrier at him. The drake was moving erratically, turning and twisting and slipping and Hawke could not get a clean shot. The drake kept swiping at its neck, and it was only a matter of time before Boof would get hit.

“Boof, return!” he ordered and the dog released his chomp and pushed off the drake. Hawke managed to cast a barrier as he landed just in time for the drake to swipe. The claw sparked against the barrier, sending the dog flying backward towards Hawke. Boof scrambled to his feet and shook his head all the way down to his feathery tail. That was close.

The drake was dying now, all the other lesser drakes almost picked off by the others. Carver was sulking. Sure Hawke was disappointed it wasn’t dragons, too, but at least they were in the same family. “You want to finish it off, little bro?”

“Go ahead,” Carver muttered, not turning towards Hawke.

Hawke shrugged. He didn’t know what he did wrong this time, but he didn’t feel like playing into Carver’s mood. The drake was approaching now, trying to breathe fire, but it could not manage it any longer and the flames only went a few inches past its mouth. Hawke chose an ice spike, aiming carefully. He shot it, the air whistling as the large chunk of crystal shot from Hawke’s hand and into the wound Boof had opened. The spike pushed through its spine and through the back of the dragon’s neck. The drake gurgled, swayed and fell with a thud.

“Is that all of them?” Merrill asked, breaking the sudden silence.

Hawke sheathed his staff onto his back. “There may be more. We should clear out the cave just in case.”

They had found the rest of the miners and the mercenaries Hubert had sent earlier. The corpses were dragged behind a knocked-down wall only days open strewn about the nest in a shallow pile. The bloody bones were in the process of being stripped clean with gnaw marks chewed in. Armor was scattered in shallow piles with a single torso still trapped stuck into its chest plate-dented from where the drakes had tried to peel it off.

Hawke and Isabela, of course, halted the group to check to see if they could find any coin or other valuables amongst the scattered body parts. Both of them dug through pockets and bags throwing whatever didn’t interest them over their shoulder which could either be a rock, a button, a shovel, or a foot. Isabela pried off a gold ring off a mercenary’s gloved finger inspecting it closely. Hawke collectively found 126 silver and split amongst the group. Isabela, like always, kept all the coin she found and the ring, but still was still happy to receive her share.

“Nice!” Hawke grinned as he divided up the piles. “It’s even.”

“I still don’t know why Boof needs money,” Isabela eyed the pile before Boof, who was busy cleaning himself.

“Oh c’mon. Boof deserves a king’s meal after taking out that drake.” He collected Boof’s share and put it on the money pouch on his armor harness. “I’m treating him to a special dinner after this,” Hawke grinned at his pup who looked up at him with his tongue still out. “Your pick.”

Isabela groaned as Hawke suddenly started baby-talking his dog showering him with kisses over his snout as Boof’s tongue would stretch trying to reach Hawke’s face. She didn’t bring up that Hawke was always treating his dog to “special dinners.” Boof’s happy booming bark bounced against the cave wall, as he rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs.

“Quiet, Boof, we don’t want to wake the nest.” Hawke said sternly.

Boof then boofed, his throaty bark muffled in his throat as he begged still belly-up.

After a short-ish belly rub session in which Merrill joined, they spent the next few hours exploring each nook and cranny. Hawke kept hoping for a dragon. There was a whole nest here, but he knew Mothers didn’t usually stay near the brood. She might be nearby, or anywhere in the mountains, if she was there at all. They kept going when they heard the sound of a cry. It was a man’s voice, and he was terrified.

“We’ve got a survivor,” Hawke told Boof. “Find him.”

Boof nodded, dashing forward and the party followed to find a man who had climbed on top of a rock. He was surrounded by 5 lesser drakes about as big as Boof. They clicked and growled trying to climb up the rock, but the red-haired miner kept kicking them back down with his lone spare boot, his other dirty pink foot bare.

He spotted the group and shot an arm out towards them. “Help me! Please!”

Boof corralled the drakes, herding them away from the miner. Hawke was about to shoot a fireball when he remembered he didn’t know this man and waved at an overly eager Merrill to put down her staff. Carver and Isabela understood and they charged alongside Hawke with Merrill lagging behind, her staff at the ready. Varric picked off drake after drake with throat and eye shots. There were only 2 left by the time Isabela, Carver, and Hawke arrived. Isabela grabbed one biting head and shoved her dagger in its eye. The drake squealed before keeling over. Carver chopped off the other one’s head and it rolled away, it’s tongue flopping. Hawke having nothing to do started helping the man down from the rock that he was trapped on.

“Oh thank the Maker. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Yeah you got pretty lucky,” Hawke nodded, steadying the man. “How are you? Need food? Water?”

“I’m thirstier than a son of a bitch. I’ve been trapped in these caves for days now,” the man replied causing Hawke to dig through his bag and bring out a thermos and some jerky. The man took it and greedily downed the whole thermos leaving Hawke with just the backwash and then inhaled the jerky.

“Thank Mythal you’re ok,” Merrill said, leaning against her staff. “How did you survive?”

“By hiding mostly,” he replied, coughing on the meat. “I spent most of my time in a crate, with the quarry, but my thirst got the better of me. I tried to make my way to the entrance but those dragons sniffed me out.”

“Actually, those were drakes,” Hawke corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

“Drakes are primarily male with few exceptions, have no wings, and only grow a quarter of the size of-,”

The man held up his hand. “Sorry I asked. I just really want to get out of there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hawke felt embarrassed that he had gone into lecture mode about drakonis. “Sure, the way back should be clear.”

Hawke started to move forward but the man grabbed him by the shoulder his murky brown eyes manic with fear. “You can’t go through there. There’s a huge dragon.”

“We can handle it,” Hawke shrugged. He probably meant another drake.

“No, you don’t understand it’s much bigger than the others- with the horns and huge wings. You don’t want to go out there.”

Hawke suddenly lit up. One with wings? Could he be telling the truth? “Let’s go, Boof,” Hawke dashed off, his wagging dog yipping in agreement.

He could hear the others only barely turning the corner, their footsteps echoing against the cave walls. “Will you slow down?” Carver shouted.

“She might not be there if we wait too long,” Hawke called back over his shoulder.

Hawke’s ears were pounding with the thud of his heartbeat. His breathing was erratic and only Boof seemed to be able to keep up with his hastened gait. He dashed out of the cave and onto a rocky plateau where she lay, curled up like a cat, her head tucked into her hefty claws.

He was paralyzed, his heart galloping in his chest and for a few moments, he could only stare. “Holy fuck it’s really a dragon,” Hawke whispered just as the group caught up with him.

Hawke was visibly trembling. He thought he would disintegrate at this moment. She was young, only a few heads taller than a full-grown drake and her scales were a sandy color. She had two sets of outstretched horns that ended in sharp, bony points. Her claws were like obsidian and about half the size of his mabari and they twitched as the dragon slumbered, unaware of the intrusion. For a few moments, all he could hear was the sound of his heartbeat and he breathed alongside the beast.

“This is the best day of my life!” Hawke’s voice was not quiet and there was a chorus of shushes.

The dragon stretched and moved and Carver pulled Hawke back into the cave before his brother could go charging. The Abyssal snorted, but settled back into its dream. “Elgar’nan, she’s big,” Merrill whispered, peeking around the corner.

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you,” Carver told Merrill. Then he turned to Hawke, strapping his greatsword to his back. His voice was still low and wary. “This might get messy. Mind if I borrow Dad’s gun?”

Hawke’s eyes lit up. “The Armorwing?” He was too loud again and was shushed.

“Yeah, we never had a real chance to try it out,” Carver grinned back.

Hawke waved his hand excitedly, opening a portal, and reached into the white void. He called to his mind the image of the gun, trying to ignore the sudden ache as a soft memory of daily shooting practice bubbled into his thoughts. Suddenly, he could remember the first time he held the Armorwing and quickly squashed down the flood of memories that threatened to come crashing in. A few moments later, he felt it wrapped around his fingers and he pulled out a silverite assault cannon with a barrel about 2 inches wide. 6 different colored runes were into 3 buttons on each side.

Carver slipped the strap into place adjusting it to his size and as he fiddled with some of the settings while Hawke hovered over. The rest of the party was dumbfounded.

“Now remember we’re going to want to stick to ice settings for most of the fight. She’s fire-aspected.” Hawke pointed at the snowflake rune which made Carver snort, and he pressed it before Hawke could.

“I know how to use it. Just don’t get us killed,” Carver muttered. He clicked off the safety and stared down the sight.

“How in the Maker’s name did two broke Fereldens get their hands on an Armorwing?” Varric asked.

“Didn’t I tell you? My dad helped invent them,” Hawke shrugged.

“Oh, I guess that explains everything then,” Varric replied, his tone stating the opposite.

“Don’t worry, it's got nothing on Bianca,” Hawke grinned.

Isabela followed, exchanging her knives for her handguns. “Great we found the dragon- Let’s kill it while it’s sleeping,” she began to aim but Hawke shoved his way forward bounding like the mabari that trailed his feet- in front of Isabela’s aim.

“Oh sweet Maker,” Carver groaned.

Hawke didn’t even notice his party but was addressing his dog rather seriously, his arms crossed looking into the mabari mutt’s deep brown eyes. The mabari’s long feathered tail was wagging wildly somehow understanding. “Now this is our first real dragon fight, Boof. She’s young but it’s the real deal so keep up, okay. She looks maybe 50 summers at most, but don’t underestimate her. Her flame sac is fully mature. She will be able to create a gaseous flame that burns at about 1600 degrees Celsius. Boof! That’s hotter than lava!”

“Lucky,” Carver cleared his throat. He seemed more annoyed than horrified.

“Right, right,” Hawke nodded and then nodded to his dog. “Got that? No catch. Stay behind me if it gets rough-”

The dragon was starting to awaken because Hawke wasn’t exactly being quiet. The party fidgeted, with varying degrees of anger to fear, except for Carver who was just sighing and looking up to the sky for help.

“Uh, Hawke what the fuck are you doing?” Varric whispered not that it mattered if he was quiet any longer. The dragon slowly opened one scaly red-eye, it’s gaze fixating on the bubbly mage who was enthusiastically stretching his arms and lunging.

“Looks like it’s time.” Hawke clapped his hands in glee then placed them on the ground. Pebbles trembled and sudden spikes of boulders shot up from the ground, startling the dragon. A circle of spaced jagged rocks juts out one by one making makeshift barriers on the platform, while one boulder raised right before Hawke’s feet. The dragon crouched defensively, dodging the spikes as she took to the air with several wind-inducing wing beats.

The dragon bellowed the air grew stiff and dry and flames shot down at Hawke, who pressed himself behind the center boulder. Everyone dove undercover as the flames flooded the platform melting some of the rock. “Whoooooooooooooooo!” Hawke whooped as the flames split against the boulders shooting past him and blackening the rocks in front of him. He only had a small pocket where he and Boof huddled as the flames licked past them, the heat sweltering the air, making it thin.

The dragon finally stopped inhaling and swooping far into the air beyond the reach of bullets and laser bolts.

“Maker she’s so beautiful.” Hawke was shouting now. “Alright everyone barriers will last only about 4 seconds at best under direct fire so best stay undercover and stay light on your feet.”

Merrill chirped from where she was ducked under a rock near the mouth of the cave. Carver was guarding her with his body, the Armorwing clenched in his hands. He swore under his breath as Merrill drew her staff, her eyes wide and trembling but she just said, “Let’s try not to get cooked, everyone. It’ll smell awful.” Somehow she was just able to accept that this was happening.

“She’s magnificent,” Hawke laughed maniacally. “Aw man, does anyone want to record this?”

Isabela and Varric just glanced at each other from their cover, not sure if they should gang up to kill Hawke.

“You’re mad, you know that?” Isabela cried. She fired several shots at the dragon, as it circled around them trying to make runs in the safety of the skies, but the bullets just sparked against her underbelly. Varric shot a laser from Bianca but it only scorched the scale. Carver shot one hole in the center of it’s right wing. The dragon screeched, echoing through the mountains. It breathed flames again, and everyone dove back under cover of the boulders. But though its hide was blackened it didn’t seem to do much damage.

“Her underbelly’s harder than steel,” Hawke cried. “Aim for the fleshy part of her wings to bring her down.”

Hawke aimed an ice spike at the dragon’s eye but she tilted, veering left and the spike shot past her. Isabela shot up with her handgun, the dragon flinching each time a bullet bounced off the wing but one bullet went clean through, blood spurted from the wound. Merrill flung spells and bolts up at the dragon in support but the dragon seemed to be absorbing the magic.

The dragon gurgled, it’s mouth lighting up as it swooped down for another pass. “Cover,” Hawke called out. Boof barked and they both dove behind the boulder again everyone ducking for safety. The rocks were steaming still red with flame that slowly died into embers. Their cover would melt away if they took much longer. The dragon honed in on the dog, following it with its flame. Boof galloped towards the edge of the arena bouncing against the rocks to lift him just beyond her reach. Hawke shot at the dragon's head, another ice spike grazed her eye, scraping it and it’s turned its head, the fiery stream blasting away from the plateau.

“Boof, you alright?” Hawke called out, his voice high and panicked.

The dog barked from behind a boulder.

The dragon bellowed zoning in on Hawke, circling back around. Varric was following the dragon with Bianca, Carver with the Armorwing, Isabela with her handguns. They both took turns shooting holes in her wings whenever they had an opening. Some of Varric’s laser bolts bounced off the bone and impaled themselves into the rock with glowing red spikes. Isabela aimed for parts already bleeding, but Carver’s ice absorbed into the dragon causing it to shriek every time he managed a hit. The dragon hovered above, steadily losing traction, when a huge rock flew from what seemed like nowhere and smacked the dragon on it’s nose.

“Nice one, Kitten!” Isabela grinned in approval.

“Watch out!” Merrill shouted back.

Blood spurted from it’s nostrils as the boulder continued undeterred into the sky. The dragon tumbled down, crashing into the rocks which slid away clearing half the platform.

She shook her head, her red eyes a little glazed but quickly spotted Hawke and started slinking into range.She gurgled, her teeth glowing orange as she inhaled.

“Lucky!” Carver cried out as Hawke fleeing behind the lone center boulder still steaming from being hit from all sides. He could not get too close to the melting rock and he could feel the heat on his back.

The flames wrapped around the boulder scooping out and filling the space. The dragon continued breathing fire approaching the boulder, the flames curling around the side singing Hawke as it became a hot bowl of flames. Hawke cast a barrier absorbing most of the indirect heat but the dragon was determined to burn Hawke out of existence and kept breathing out.

His barrier was cracking, the protective glow quickly fading. The heat was getting through and his skin began to blister. He called healing magic to run through him, trying to keep up with the damage.

“Hold on Hawke!” Merrill cried. A sigil formed around Hawke and lighting him up with a soft blue glow underneath before another barrier encased his body.

The dragon held out for a few more seconds before she could breathe no more, and it took a long ragged gasp. “Carver, now!” Hawke cried, but the dragon once again began to inhale.

The dragon swiped away the melting boulder, leaving Hawke completely in the open. Carver cried out dashing from the dragon’s flank and buried his greatsword deep between two scales in the dragon’s neck where it snapped off. Blood squirted from the wound and the dragon breathed out short premature flames that Hawke was able to dodge. Carver then grabbed the Armorwing, aimed it at the wound, and shot several rapid ice bullets. The ice burst through the other side of the dragon’s neck, the bullet’s sizzling against the stone as they bounced off. The dragon bellowed, stomping all across the ground, causing an earthquake and Carver struggled to maintain his footing as he dodged the dragon’s swipes.

Boof barked, charging at the dragon his hackles raised and chomped down on the wound Carver just made. The dragon flailed, trying to shake the dog off as he shredded the wound. The ground shook, knocking Carver off his feet. Hawke dove forward while the dragon was distracted and rolled under her head where the soft underside of her mouth was exposed. He drew his staff from his back, and with mana-enhanced force he jabbed the blade upwards through the soft scales into the roof of the dragon’s mouth snapping it’s maw shut and snuffing out the flames. Hawke cried out, channeling all his energy into one large lightning bolt that amplified through Hawke’s staff and sizzled the dragon, frying its brain. The dragon’s head swerved and began to fall and Hawke rolled and kept rolling until her seventy-pound head shook the ground with a thud.

The dragon twitched, flapping its wings erratically as it tried to take flight again. She attempted to open her mouth, but the slick black staff held firmly in place. Flames shot through its teeth and nostrils as it rattled its last breath. It’s great red eye slit focused on Hawke, his reflection staring back as the life seeped out of the creature until the dust settled and all was silent.

Varric stepped out from behind his melted boulder, Bianca still raised at the creature. “Andraste’s flaming tits. You idiots did it.”

Hawke threw up his arms whooping as loudly as he could. Flames shot from Hawke’s mouth, a stream of triumphant fire blasting over the dead dragon as he mimicked her breath. Carver tackled him screaming excitedly, snuffing out the flame. Both of their cries bounced off the mountains of the Bone Pit. Soon Boof was shaking himself off and joined in howling on top of a boulder, safe from the heat of the hot stone. Hawke grappled Carver, trying to corral his head into a noogie, “Fuck yeah, little bro. First fucking dragon! Who’s kick-ass now!”

“Get off me,” Carver laughed twisting out of Hawke’s grasp quite easily since he was about a whole a head taller and twice as broad. “You idiot! You almost got us all killed.”

Merrill giggled, as the brothers wrestled for dominance. The mabari stayed barking at the brother’s, demanding one of them pay attention. The brothers twisted and squirmed, until Carver slammed Hawke into the ground, forgetting the stone still glowed with heat.

“FUCK!” Hawke’s scream echoed and he jumped to his feet, the back of his arms were singed and stinging. He had already been nursing burns and this just reopened them. Embers flaked off his leather armor and faded as they fell.

“FUCK!” Carver’s hands were sweltering where he had caught himself on the hot stone. His fingers trembled in the pain, parts of his palms bubbling.

“What kind of idiot gets more hurt after the dragon battle?” Varric chuckled. He was writing something in his travel notebook.

“The kind of idiocy that’s genetic,” Isabela rolled her eyes as the brothers nursed their wounds.

“You guys should be thanking me,” Hawke called back. “That was awesome!” He was already running his hands over Carver’s so they weren’t as much of an angry brown-red. Then he ran a spell through his whole body, the stinging easing just a bit. When he was done, he finally noticed that Boof was licking his paws, also bloody with burns. “Oh Boof, I forgot your shoes.”

“Are you all alright?” Merrill called out. Speaking of shoes, Merrill’s had no soles in spite of Hawke’s and Isabela’s insistence she get a sturdy pair of boots. Even if she did, everyone’s shoes were melting into the stone. She was still at the edge of the platform, safe, but trapped.

Hawke ran up to the boulder that Boof had taken refuge on. He was laying on his side panting, but with happy eyes. Lucky dug into his blood to fuel one more regeneration spell, his hands closing the burns on Boof’s back paws. Boof licked his dark gold snout, closing his eyes as Lucky worked.

The skin was growing, but it still looked tender.

Still need to visit Anders.

“You did great, bud,” he rubbed the dog’s floppy ear affectionately then hoisted the pup up over his shoulders so he wouldn’t have to walk on the scorched ground. The dog turned his head, licking Hawke’s cheek.

Then Hawke walked over to the dragon head and put one hand on its snout, the scales still warm. The Abyssal’s head was as half as big as Hawke’s body and he felt this great sense of peace as he gazed into the dragon’s eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of getting close enough for forever and...” he couldn’t finish his thoughts and turned to Varric, odd eyes gleaming with excitement. “You think we can bring the head with us?”

“Why in the Maker’s name would you want to?” Varric snorted.

“I don’t know. It’s cool.”

“Where in Gamlen’s hovel where would we store it?” Carver said.

“Fine, then I’m at least taking a tooth or else no one at the Hanged Man will believe me. Wait! Someone take a picture!”

“I got a selfie stick,” Isabela cried out digging through her bag.

“Um, you guys go ahead,” Merrill called out at the gathering group, still stuck at the edge of the platform. “I think I might just wait until the ground cools down.”

The group exchanged glances before Hawke nudged Carver. His brother looked annoyed that he was shoved. Boof licked Carver’s head as Hawke leaned in close. “Go be a gentleman,” he whispered, winking.

Carver blushed deeply, Isabela and Varric snickering. Carver undid the strap of the Armorwing, handing it back to Hawke to put away. “Uh…Merrill?” he started out awkwardly taking only a single step forward.

“Yes, Carver?” she called back.

“If you’d like I could…carry you?” Carver looked like he might keel over.

Her green eyes lit up in relief, but her pointy ears twitched slightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t wish to be a bother.”

“Ridiculous!” Hawke cried, shoving Carver forward with his free hand,“Carver’s great a picking up beautiful girls.” Immediately Merrill went beet red all the way to the tips of her ears. Boof barked as Hawke’s grip slipped putting the Armorwing back into the portal. Quickly, he hoisted the dog back up onto his shoulders.

“Lucky,” Carver said warningly, looking nervous as he gazed back at him.

“Go get her,” Hawke whispered.

The three of them unashamedly ogled as Carver, red-eared, walked up to Merrill his feet slightly dragging. He rubbed the back of his neck avoiding her gaze. She had a habit of staring intensely and Carver couldn’t seem to stand the scrutiny. “Would you like a piggyback or would you prefer bridal style?”

“Bridal style!” Hawke hooted, causing Carver to glare at him murderously.

“Oooh, swoop her up in those big strong arms!” Isabela teased.

“That’s my vote!” piped Varric.

“It’s not a vote!” Carver bristled, his brown freckled skin deepening all the way down to his neck.

Merrill seemed to look confused, not quite understanding what Hawke, Varric, and Isabela saw as so amusing. “Um…I don’t know what either of those mean so just…whatever makes you most comfortable.” She held out her arms straight out towards Carver, unsure what was going to happen.

Carver awkwardly leaned down since he was a head and a half taller, and placed her hands on his shoulder. “Kind of link your hands so you don’t fall-”

She removed her hands from his shoulders and clasped her hands together, waiting for her next instructions. Carver, not wanting to correct her, tried to push his head through the hole in her arms but his head was so big he just pushed her arms up, confusing Merrill.

“You’re brother’s real smooth, Hawke,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s like watching a drunk monkey pet a cat,” Isabela cringed.

“Yup,” Hawke replied. This was painful.

Finally, he thought to grab her hands, unlink them, throw them around his neck and then press them back together before he finally scooped her up by the knees causing her to yelp in surprise.

He steadied himself as she flailed squeezing onto him and then carried her back to the dragon where Isabela was fixing her phone onto the stick. “Finally, lovebirds,” she teased.

Carver glared at her in an effort to shut her up but she just waggled her eyebrows as she extended the stick and then held it up in the air. They huddled around the dragon head with Hawke sitting on top, gripping each horn. His dog still draped around his shoulders licking his lips and panting heavily. Carver was carrying Merrill to his right, Merrill smiling sweetly, but Carver’s face looked uncomfortably serious. Varric and Isabela were to Hawke’s left, both linked arm in arm and grinning. Isabela was making a peace sign.

“Say “dragon!” Hawke yelled out.

“Dragon!” only Merrill and Hawke called out as they snapped the picture.

They took several more photos since Isabela didn’t like how she looked in the first one. She held up the group for 5 minutes adjusting her hair and make-up in the camera on her phone. When they finally got a picture Isabela didn’t hate, Hawke insisted he has one with his head inside the dragon’s mouth. It took a bit to pry out his staff and he also got a lot of drool in his hair for that idea. Then Hawke picked the biggest, sharpest tooth he could find took 15 minutes of digging it out with his dagger. Boof scrambled off of Hawke’s shoulders and settled himself on the dragon’s neck, watching his packleader work. Finally, when Hawke successfully pulled out the tooth and put it in his pocket, the party turned to leave. But Hawke, instead of following, turned the dragon’s head on its side started sawing at the dragon’s throat.

“Lucky,” Carver said warningly. “We’re not taking the head with us.”

“I’m not,” Hawke grunted, tearing the dragon’s throat-wound open gingerly, his hands slick with blood.

“Uh…Hawke gets a little crazy around dragons.” Varric stared at Hawke like he was completely unhinged.

“You have no idea,” Carver muttered.

“Just a sec.” Hawke couldn’t focus on talking. He set the bloody dagger down on the dragon’s head and used his hands to peel down the top of the muscles gingerly. Then when he had a big enough opening, he dug his hands into the dragon's throat. He didn’t have to go very far to find what he was looking for, the Abyssal’s flame sac. Carefully, he felt around until he could see in his mind exactly what the gland looked like. Then pulling out his right bloody forearm, he picked up the dagger again and slid it inside, carefully shearing away the tendons that held the firm sac in place.

The party watched in horror as the blood gushed onto Hawke, who seemed to not mind it one bit. The sounds of squelching and ripping filled the air and Isabela looked queasy. “Anybody bring a bucket?” she covered her mouth.

When it was free, he tucked the blood-drenched dagger back into his sheath on his belt and pulled out a small red fleshy ball that’s center glowed orange. Its thick skin was veiny, almost see-through and it beat like a heart.

“Isn’t it amazing? It’s her flame sac.” Hawke breathed excitedly. “Look her magic lives, but it’s not as warm as I thought it would be.”

“Uh…that’s great Hawke,” Varric replied. He was eyeing his friend, who was drenched with slick, steaming dragon blood from his face all the way down to his melted boots.

Isabela whistled, “Good call. An extinct dragon gland can probably fetch at least 100 sovereigns. Maybe more in the right circles.” She dared a peek just in time for it to beat. She gagged and turned away. “Glad I didn’t have to do it.”

“We can probably fund the expedition with this!” Carver said.

“I was thinking of giving it to Merrill, actually,” Hawke replied, causing the Dalish elf’s eyes to widen in surprise in Carver’s arms. “I mean we’re not too far off from funding the expedition and Abyssal flame sacs are especially potent at cleansing magics. Perhaps it will help purify your eluvian shard?”

Merrill’s green eyes were so wide Hawke thought he might fall in. “Oh, n-no, Hawke, I couldn’t. You need it more,” her face was red as she stammered.

“We can find coin anywhere,” Hawke shrugged, “but restoring an eluvian? That’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides that barrier probably saved my life. I owe you,” He smiled at Merrill who was beaming back until he met Carver’s gaze. Somehow he had pissed him off.

“Um,” Hawke said awkwardly, “I’ll just put it away until we can store it properly.” He was suddenly feeling self-conscious. He waved his hand opening up an interdimensional portal and stuck the sac in the reflective portal before closing it, his brother still glaring coldly.

“Great, great,” Varric muttered. “Now can we go home. My pants are singed and I think all the rubber’s melted off my shoes.”

Hawke leaned on Varric, slicking blood onto him. “Buy me a drink, Varric. I’m a dragon-slayer now.” He waved his hand into a fist dramatically.

“It’s your turn, dragon-kook,” Varric groaned as he looked at his clothes, an impression of blood slick where Hawke had made contact.

They bantered and teased Carver all the way back to Varric’s car. At one point Isabela had to flee from one of Hawke’s blood-drenched hugs. Merrill had not noticed she was being carried the whole time until they arrived at the car which caused Isabela to hone in on Carver’s reddening face. “You didn’t realize? Really, Carver? Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“Ask me out to what? That sounds fun!” Merrill cried.

Carver looked like he would crumble under the laughter.

On the way home, Hawke had been forced to strip down to his small clothes and hose down with magic before Varric would let him into his car.

“You’re easy to get naked, Hawke. I just have to ask.”

Carver refused to look at him. Merrill was red, fidgeting with her seat belt refused to even glance at him the whole time. When Hawke tried to make conversation she would squeak and refuse to say anymore. Isabela stared in approval. “You do keep fit.”

Hawke refused to part with the dragon tooth and he refused to clean it. He wanted to remember this moment exactly as it was. Varric did made him put it in a plastic grocery bag so it wouldn’t drip and he clutched it happily. He rode home with one towel beneath him so he wouldn’t wet the seats and one towel draped over his shoulders. His curly hair was frizzing and messy. Boof’s head laid on Hawke’s lap as he sprawled across his brother and Merrill, his feathery healing paws now wrapped, and twitching in his sleep.

“You know, Hawke, I had a thought,” Merrill’s eyes were purposely averted from him, her voice high and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Merrill,” he looked over to her and she dared a peek. His one brown eye, one blue met hers, and she gasped. Hawke’s unbridled joy was spread in the biggest grin, his brown freckled skin warm and bright, and he was of course completely nude except the tight superhero boxers that clung to his drying skin.

Her eyes went wide and stayed wide as she slowly looked away, her whole body rigid and stiff with some expression Hawke could not decipher. “Uh,” she said and gulped. “Why didn’t you just put the dragon in your portal?”

Everyone’s expressions fell dark as Hawke’s mouth fell open. For a moment he just gawked at her brilliance. “I could kiss you!” he shouted, startling the slumbering pup who barked in protest. Carver clenched his fist, ready to punch him as Merrill suddenly fell and bonked her head on the car window. Hawke obliviously shot forward, placing one hand on the dwarf’s sagging shoulders. “Varric, we need to turn back!”

[writer-dreams]

Polyjuice Potion (End) (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Hiii! This is the final part of Polyjuice Potion!

Part 1 / Part 2

House: Slytherin

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Angst? Possible swearing. A bit of an abusive relationship but its only a slap. A little bit of putting yourself down.

Note: There's a lot of switching POVs in this story. I hope its not too confusing.

Word Count: 3,595 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third Person POV

(Y/n) slowly walked down the halls, exhausted after a whole day’s worth of studying. She could barely keep her eyes open and she felt as though she would pass out at any moment. The sky outside was dark and blank, it seemed that the stars were afraid to come out tonight. She continued trudging her way to the Slytherin Common Room, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the soft mattress of her bed, with her boyfriend’s arms wrapped around her. Speaking of Draco, she wondered where he would be at this time. He was probably waiting for her again, waiting to complain to her about how much time she spent studying instead of being with him. (Y/n) smiled at the thought of her boyfriend, her friends may have hated him but they didn’t see what he was like when the two were alone.

She finally arrived at the Common Room, where she saw Draco sitting on one of the couches, watching the fireplace die out, its embers glowing softly. She grinned at the platinum-blonde male and decided to sneak up on him, creeping behind him before jumping out and wrapping her arms gently around his neck. She felt Draco stiffen up immediately, his whole body freezing up. Suddenly he ripped her arms off of him rather forcefully and turned around to look at her. (Y/n) looked at her boyfriend, expecting a different reaction. She had expected him to snuggle up in her arms and greet her as he usually did, not for him to aggressively remove her arms from him. Then she saw it. The tear-stained cheeks, those red, puffy eyes, those beautiful grey orbs full of hatred. He had clearly been crying, what could have happened to cause him to cry?

“D-Draco? Are you alright?” Y/n asked cautiously.

“Get your filthy hands off me, you disgusting blood-traitor!” He shouted.

“W-What?! Why are you saying this?!” Y/n could feel tears pooling in her eyes. Why had he called her something so hurtful? Why did he look at her like she was nothing but dirt under his shoe?

“Get away from me. I don’t understand how I could’ve ever loved a person like you. I regret it all. I regret us.” Draco spat.

Y/n physically took a step back, feeling the sting of his words. What had happened to the Draco she loved? What happened to the Draco who broke down all of her walls and loved the person he found behind them? What happened to the Draco who didn’t care about blood status and reputations? What had happened to her Draco? Salty tears fell from her eyes as she watched her boyfriend walk up to her slowly, raising his arms. Thinking, he was going to hug her, she closed her eyes and awaited for his arms.

“Draco….Please tell me this isn’t real. You don’t…really regret us, do you?” Y/n asked through closed eyes.

Suddenly, she heard a very audible smack sound and felt a stinging sensation on her cheek. She opened her eyes in shock to see Draco with an emotionless face and a hand raised. He had slapped her.

“It’s Malfoy to you. And yes, I regret us. I regret you. I regret ever loving you.” He said coldly, walking away, leaving a broken-hearted y/n in the common room, holding her red cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco was angry, that much was obvious. He stomped down the halls, fury still raging through his blood. Y/n was an idiot. At first, he had been hurt that she had broken up with him, but then he grew angry that she had dumped him, The Slytherin Prince, for absolutely no reason. And then she shows up a few hours later and acts like they’re still together. However, through his anger, he felt a deep pit of guilt build up as he recalled Y/n’s shocked look when he had slapped her and said those horrible, horrible words. Truly, he had never meant to, he had simply acted out of anger. That didn’t stop the pit of guilt from growing, he knew it was wrong to hit her and say such spiteful insults. He knew that even though he was furious, that didn’t justify his actions. He knew he had deeply hurt her. ‘Good, now she knows how hurt I was’ his ego and pride were saying. His mind, however, kept flashing the haunting image of Y/n’s broken expression. He felt like crying, like running to her and comforting her as he used to so often. He wanted to shower her with endless apologies and compliments, he wanted to kiss her soft lips again, he wanted to hold her in her arms and offer his shoulder for her to cry on, but most of all, he wanted her love again. He sighed and ran his fingers through his blonde hair in frustration. Dammit, even when I’m furious with her, I still love her. I’m sorry, Y/n….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Y/n felt completely hollow. Her face was devoid of any emotion and her blank eyes stared up at the ceiling as she lay unmoving on her bed. She felt no motivation to get up and go to her classes today. She wanted to stay here, forever.

“Y/n! Get your ass up.” Pansy Parkinson screeched.

Still no movement came from the broken girl. Pansy sighed as she stared at her saddened friend.

“Y/n…I know it hurts but we need to go. You can’t just sit around on your ass all day just because of a boy.”

Nothing. Nothing moved nor was a sound made. Pansy knew her friend was going through a rough time but she didn’t want Y/n to miss out on classes.

“That’s it.” She grumbled. She wasn’t going to bother with this anymore. Y/n was stronger than that and she was going to get her moving, whether Y/n liked it or not. “Get out.” She said as she rolled Y/n off the bed. Y/n hit the floor gently before finally sighing and getting up.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go get ready.” Y/n groaned before heading into the bathroom.

The young Slytherin stepped into the girl’s washroom to get ready for the day, despite not planning to in the first place. Clearly, her friend had other ideas. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw a heartbroken girl on the glass. This girl had dark bags under her eyes, lifeless (e/c) eyes, and pale skin. It looked like a Dementor had given her their famous kiss, sucking out her soul from her body. The fading red bruise on her cheek was barely visible though it still ached if she touched it lightly. She shook her head in dejection and continued preparing herself for a whole day in Hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The golden trio sat down at the Gryffindor table, anxiously waiting for their Slytherin friend to enter the Mess Hall. They were still feeling extremely guilty but none of them wanted to tell Y/n what they had done in fear of how she would react. Draco Malfoy was already seated at the Slytherin table, looking…..off. For once, the Slytherin Prince didn’t have a stupid smirk on his face or his ridiculous friends surrounding him. There wasn’t even a swooning Pansy Parkinson next to him. Instead, Malfoy looked broken; a deep frown set on his face, eyes that stayed glued on the wood of the table, a hunched back. He was aimlessly drawing random circles on the table with his finger. The doors to the Mess Hall opened, revealing Pansy waving goodbye to Y/n as their friend made her way to the Gryffindor table. Y/n took a seat and the trio could see how hurt she was. Her once lively eyes were empty, there were dark bags under her eyes, and there were tear-stains on her cheeks. She looked pale and she didn’t bother saying a single word to them as she silently sat down.

“Hey Y/n.” Harry greeted.

“Hi.” She answered curtly.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, though they all knew exactly what was wrong.

“No. I’m fine.” Y/n replied.

Her voice sounded so….lifeless. The trio frowned at her response but they couldn’t question her further as Dumbledore decided to start his morning speech.

After a boring speech, Dumbledore clapped his hands and food appeared on the table. Ron immediately started filling his plate with eggs, waffles and a wide assortment of other food. Slowly, Harry and Hermione also reached for the food. Harry was about to take a bite into some bacon when Hermione gently nudged him and tilted her head in Y/n’s direction. He looked up and noticed Y/n just staring blankly at her empty plate.

“Y/n….you gonna eat?” Harry asked.

“Not hungry.” She said.

“You should eat.” Hermione started putting some (f/f ((Favourite Food)) on Y/n’s plate/bowl.

Y/n simply pushed away the food and got up. “I’m not feeling hungry. I…I’m just gonna go.” She mumbled before exiting the Mess Hall through the doors.

Hermione looked back at Harry, fury in her eyes, “See what we’ve done?! We’ve broken her! Does it make you feel good knowing that she is like this because of something we did?! Do you feel better knowing that we are keeping her safe by torturing her?! Do you consider yourself a better friend now?!”

Harry couldn’t even answer. He did this with good intentions but seeing Y/n now….he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to protect Y/n or because he didn’t like the idea of one of his best friends with his worst enemy. He looked over at Malfoy, who stared off into empty space with a deep frown and dull eyes.

“Harry…we messed up, big time. We need to do something to fix this. Please. Look at how much both of them are hurting. We did this to them, now we need to do something to repair the damage.” Hermione begged.

Somewhere in his heart, Harry knew that Hermione was right. No matter how much he wanted to protect Y/n, he should never have gone through such lengths to do it.

“Fine.” He answered.

“Wait…what is that?” Hermione asked, pointing to a shiny object laying on the table.

“Looks like…Y/n’s necklace. The one Malfoy gave to her when they first started dating. She never took it off.” Harry said, “The stupid clip always fell off though. It must’ve fallen off again.”

Hermione took the necklace and put it in her pocket, an idea slowly popping into her head on how to help her friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been days since the breakup. Draco felt more and more miserable as the days passed. Currently, the breakup was affecting him more than the mark on his arm. He could handle the dark mark, but he couldn’t handle not having Y/n in his life. She was something he couldn’t just forget about or pretend didn’t exist like he did with the mark. He would mindlessly watch her as she would sit down at the Slytherin table during meals and stare at her plate. He desperately wanted to go over to her and wrap his arms around her, to convince her to eat. Granted, he hadn’t really eaten either however, Draco couldn’t be bothered to think about that. His mind had been too focused on Y/n. Overhead, he heard the loud screeching of owls, signaling that mail had arrived. His owl swooped down to him with a small package in its talons and a letter in its beak. He gently took the items from the bird before it took off to the owlery. He opened the letter first and read the messy handwriting on the paper;

Malfoy,

I know what happened with Y/n. I know that she broke up with you and returned hours later acting like she was still your girlfriend. Acting like…she never knew she broke up with you.

Draco was confused. How could this person have known that? He shook his head and decided to continue reading.

In anger, you insulted her and deeply hurt her. Now...she’s suffering and so are you. Don’t try to deny that you don’t miss her or don’t love her because you know that you’re only lying to yourself.

I wrote this letter because I want to help the two of you. It may seem odd that a random stranger would want to help you but I’ve seen the way you two loved each other and I don’t think something like that should be so easily extinguished. I’m not gonna say who I am nor am I going to meet you in person, I’m just here to offer some advice.

Y/n is a wonderful girl. You don’t find a lot of people like her and you managed to form a strong relationship with her. Love as strong as that shouldn’t be thrown away. Y/n loves you. I know that she was the one to break up with you but I want to say that Y/n is someone who is gentle and has a big heart. She wouldn’t just break up with someone she loves without an explanation. I’m advising that you go talk to her and find out what happened that night. Perhaps you jumped to conclusions. Also, give her the thing in the package, she’ll appreciate it.

Anonymous.

Draco raised his brows in suspicion as the letter ended. This person seemed to oddly know a lot about what happened that terrible night. Nevertheless, they had provided him with some sort of help that he could use to fix his relationship. He opened the small package to reveal the necklace he had first given Y/n when they had started dating. She never took it off, so if it’s off... He didn’t even want to think about it that way. He thought over the letter and this so-called “Anonymous’” advice. Perhaps this person was right, Y/n did seem confused when he was angry with her.

“It’s worth a shot. Not like it can get worse than this.” He told himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had found Y/n at the Astronomy Tower. She was serenely looking at the landscape on the tower’s balcony. He coughed awkwardly and she turned around and immediately froze when she saw him.

“Y/n….” He started, “I-I’m sorry for what I said. I never meant to hurt you and…it ate me up inside. I was just angry that night and I took it out on you.” Draco decided to leave out the part where she had broken up with him, he would look into that later. “You’re not a blood-traitor, you were my girlfriend. I never regretted us but I did regret hitting you. It hurt me to see you hurt by something I did. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I love you so much. If I had a time-turner, you can bet I would be using it to change how this turned out. If you don’t forgive me, I understand. I probably wouldn’t forgive me either. I’m just so miserable without you and I don’t think I can last another day watching you and knowing I can’t hug you or kiss you anymore. I miss you. You don’t have to forgive me but I’m just asking for another chance. Please….”

Y/n averted her gaze from him, her eyes cloudy with tears. “Draco…” Hearing her voice again was oddly refreshing. “You hurt me so much that night.” He hung his head and stared at the ground, wishing he could take it all back. “I didn’t understand why you were angry or why you did those things. You told me that you regretted me. That you regretted us. You said you regretted loving me. What did I do wrong? Am I not pretty enough? Smart enough? Did you simply grow bored of me? I wouldn’t blame you though, I’m just average Y/n. Just Y/n. I don’t compare to someone like Pansy or Astoria.” Y/n cried.

Draco moved to hug Y/n but stopped when she flinched. His heart broke a little at the sight. She was afraid of him.

“Y/n…don't talk about yourself like that. You’re beautiful, clever, talented, and the only one for me. Parkinson and Greengrass don’t matter to me, nor will they ever. I could never get bored of you. I…I love you. That’s the honest truth. I said some really hurtful things that night but I swear that I never meant any of it. Please don’t go. I truly love you and I promise I’ll never do those things again.” Draco begged.

Slowly, Y/n stepped towards him, carefully inching towards him. Her mind screamed at her to not forgive him. After all, he did slap her. However, her heart cried for her to go to him. He may have done all those horrible things but for Merlin’s sake she still loved him. It’s not like she could easily forget how painful that incident was but it was also hard to let go of all the good times they had. It was one stupid mistake versus years of love and trust. She kept making her way to him until she was about an inch away from him.

“Promise?” She asked, holding out a hand for Draco. Draco looked up at her, those stormy grey eyes looking into her own (e/c) eyes.

“Promise.” He answered, cautiously wrapping his arms tightly around her and bringing her to him, holding her like she was going to slip away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He sobbed into her shoulder.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him as well, tears flowing down her cheeks and onto Draco’s black suit. She lightly stroked his blonde hair, comforting him and silently signaling that she forgave him.

Draco broke the hug and dug something out of his pocket. He fished out the necklace he had gotten from “Anonymous” and showed it to Y/n.

“My necklace!” Y/n gasped upon seeing it. “The cursed thing fell off again!”

She turned around and Draco helped her put it on again.

“It’s back where it belongs now.” He smiled.

He moved closer to Y/n until he was face to face with her. Merlin, he missed her. He then gently pushed his lips onto hers, feeling relieved when she kissed back. The kiss was full of passion, longing and desperation. Eventually the pair parted for oxygen.

“I love you, Y/n.” Draco said.

“I love you too, you git.” Y/n responded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So? You two are back together?” Harry asked Y/n during breakfast the next day. Y/n looked a lot better than she had been the past few days. She was smiling more and the life had returned to her eyes. She ate food and was more social.

“Yes. Wait a second…how did you know the two of us had broken up if I never told you?” Y/n asked suspiciously.

“Uh…the both of you were pretty depressed for the past week so I just assumed that happened?” Harry panicked.

“Nice try, Harry. The truth. Now.” Y/n demanded.

Harry could see Hermione and Ron give him the death glare as the trio reluctantly told their friend what they had done. By the time the story was finished, Y/n looked livid.

“Let me just…summarize this. You impersonated me and broke up with my boyfriend as me because you wanted to protect me from him all because he was a death eater?! Well guess what?! This whole time I knew he was a death eater! I KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME AND I STILL STAYED WITH HIM! I love you guys but I don’t need your protection nor do I need to be involved in your crazy schemes! Never. And I mean never. Never EVER mess around with my relationships again! I should stop being your friend right now but I’m not going to do that because I understand you had good intentions when you did this. Just never do that again. When were you going to tell me you did this?!” Y/n fumed.

The trio shook their heads, silently answering her question. Never.

“You three caused me a lot of grief. This would have never happened if it weren’t for you guys! Even worse, you were never going to tell me?! Really?!” Y/n seethed.

“Please, you have to forgive us. I promise that we felt so much guilt after what we did. We know it was wrong but we thought it was best!” Hermione begged.

Y/n understood why her friends did this. However, there had to be some consequence.

“Alright. I’ll forgive you if you promise not to do that ever again. However, for this whole month, I’m spending my time with Draco and cutting off any communication from you. Don’t try to talk to me until this whole month is over. I hope you all learned a lesson.” Y/n said, getting up from the Gryffindor table and making her way over to Slytherin table instead. Behind her, the golden trio groaned at the loss of their friend. They watched as she sat down next to Draco and kissed him.

“At least she’s happy.” Ron muttered.

“I told you it was a bad idea.” Hermione said.

“You were part of it!”

“I regretted it the most! And I was the one who wrote the Anonymous letter to Draco, remember?!”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. We can’t change anything about it now. We should just be happy that she didn’t stop being our friend and we should be glad that she’s happy now.” Harry interrupted.

“She’s happy with Malfoy. I suppose we can’t do anything to change that.”

********************

That concludes Polyjuice Potion! Thank you for sticking around and reading this cringeworthy material! I am in NO way romanticising an abusive relationship. I'll leave a number to a place you can get help if you are being abused. I'm going to be moving the rest of my more popular Draco x Readers on here so prepare for more I suppose. I also want to warn that some of those happen to be angst (sorry if you don't like angst or I fail at writing the stuff). Thank you for reading and (possibly) enjoying this. If you have any requests, feel free to ask. Until next time. This post is too long so I'll add the number here; National Domestic Violence: 1−800−799−7233 (Unfortunately, this is the only one I know of. Please feel free to tell me any other ones you know of so I can add them here.)

-Jade

[evilprincesskeri]

Old Married Couple Fluff

Dean felt himself becoming Murtaugh; he was getting too old for this shit.  Being thrown, bodily across the room by the variety of telekinetic beings he had to deal with on the regular - everything from ghosts and witches to angels and demons seemed to have the ability to just flick a wrist and send him flying into a wall.  He was going to turn 40 this year - F O U R T Y - and after a lifetime of getting his ass kicked, he ached.  

Things just … hurt… when he woke up.  His knees creaked so loud he was sure it was audible, his back was always stiff in the morning, and today he woke up and his shoulder felt like it had been dislocated yesterday.  And it hadn’t.  He just freakin slept wrong.  And he was cranky about it.

He didn’t bother to get dressed, just shrugged on the grey robe over his boxers and slipped his feet into a pair of slippers to shuffle down the hall to the showers.  He paused on his way, and inhaled the scent of strong black coffee from the kitchens.  He glowered down the hall for a moment before he shuffled into the kitchen to grab a mug.  

Cas sat at the table with a newspaper and a stack of books.  There was toast.  There were eggs.  There was bacon.  Dean stood in the doorway and glared at Cas who appeared oblivious.  He grabbed a mug off the shelf and filled his cup and piled food on a plate.  “Did you cook?”  Dean asked suspiciously

Cas peered over the top of the newspaper and intoned in his usual deadpan  “Sam did.  Then he went for a run.”

Dean took a second helping of eggs and dropped into a chair across from Cas.  He was too grumpy to even bother with conversation so he just dug into the food.  When the caffeine finally hit his system and the cloud of sleep-grump started to clear he looked up and noticed that Cas had put aside his newspaper and was simply watching him eat.  

“Dude.”  Dean said simply.  

Cas leaned forward in his chair; his expression earnest and his eyes laser focused on Dean’s own.  After all these years it still stopped his heart for half a second when Cas focused his whole attention on him like that; like there was no one else in the whole world.  “Are you well?”  

Dean scowled at Cas.  “Am I… what?”  

“You have been unreasonably grumpy this past week.  Even for you.”  Cas said with sincere concern.  “I am… concerned.”  

Dean huffed and dropped his fork.  Scooping up his coffee he stood, groaned audibly due to the pain in his shoulder and headed back down the hall to the shower.  He shut and locked the door in hopes that Cas would take a hint and stripped out of his clothes.  

Just as he was stepping into the shower he heard the telltale flutter of wings.  He growled in frustration. They had done this dance before, on the many occasions he tried to hide the effects of injuries.  One of the drawbacks of being married to an angel was that you couldn’t just slam a door and storm out.  “I’m fine.  I just slept wrong.”  

Cas stood at the far end of the tub, his head tilted quizzically to the side.  “I wasn’t aware there was a wrong way to do that.”

“Can we not, Cas?  My shoulder is sore.  I slept ON it wrong, and explaining it to you is not helping.” He yanked the curtain shut and winced in pain.

Steaming hot water poured down over his neck and shoulders and the room was quiet.  Dean hadn’t heard Cas leave, but, perhaps he had.  There was a part of him that was disappointed; though he wasn’t up for raucous shower sex the world was always a little better when Cas was in the room.  He figured he should soap up, but the scalding water felt nice on his shoulder and back.  

The curtain slid back quietly and Dean felt Cas’ arms slide around his waist.  Cas dropped his forehead gently to rest between Dean’s shoulder blades and said in overly serious tones “I am concerned.”

Dean turned around to cup Cas’ face in his hands.  He pressed a short kiss to Cas’ lips in apology.  He knew he had been sharp before, but, this was a little much.  “I’m fine.  I’m just…’  he sighed deeply.  “... old.”  

Cas’ brows drew together in confusion “You’re barely… “ he started

Dean cut him off with another kiss, before dropping his forehead to rest on Cas’.  “I *feel* old, Cas.  My shoulder hurts, my back aches, I have scar tissue and old injuries and…” “Let me help.”  Cas said simply.  

“There’s nothing to heal, Cas.  I’m not injured, I’m just… sore.”

Dean felt Cas’s deft hand slide up his back and down again, and then again with slightly more pressure.  His hands moved around his waist and up over his chest to his shoulders and neck, where his strong fingers dug gently into the triangular muscle connecting his shoulder to his neck, and Dean groaned in pleasure.  As Castiel’s fingers continued to gently knead the muscle Dean felt his knees go a little weak and he clutched at Cas’ waist.  Cas leaned close and whispered in his ear “Let me help.”  

Dean could only mummer assent “Mmmm, yeah… ok.”  

Castiel dropped a feather light kiss on the curve of Dean’s neck before his hands dropped back to his side.  “Finish your shower.  I’ll wait in your room.”  

Dean choked on a hoarse little laugh.  Sometimes Cas was oblivious to the double entendre in his words, but Dean felt sure that one was on purpose.  Dean tried to grab hold of his angel, but, he was a little slippery.  He snorted at his own pun and grabbed up the bar of soap.

After a short shower, Dean padded down the hall wearing his towel and carrying the robe and boxers he’d started in.  On his way back to the room he heard Sam open the bunker door and come back in from his morning run.  He felt better, less cranky, less sore and was looking forward to finding Cas waiting for him in his room so he ignored his brother’s entrance and slipped down the hall a little faster.  

When he stepped into his room he tossed his clothes into the hamper in the corner and the towel along with it.  Cas sat at the foot of his bed, disappointingly fully clothed.  Dean scoffed, “Man, come on.”    

“I do not need to be naked in order to help you, Dean.”  

Dean smirked, and swaggered toward the bed.  “Well, I guess that’s true.”

Castiel raked his blue eyes over Dean from head to toe as he stood up to meet him at the foot of the bed.  Dean felt the surge of pride in seeing how hungry those eyes looked as they took him in.  They kissed, passionately at first - it always seemed like they had lost time to make up for, but to Dean’s continuing frustration Castiel pulled away.  “This isn’t what I meant, Dean.” “No?”  Dean brushed his fingertips along Cas’ jaw and into the little curls of hair behind his ear.  “It would help, though.”  

“Only temporarily Dean.  The oxytocin and dopamine produced in lovemaking would help to relax your muscles for a time, but when they fade so, too, would the relief.  Please.  Lay down and let me help you in another way.”  

Dean flopped onto the bed, stretching out on his back with his head pillowed on his hands.  Cas was laying the double entendre on pretty thick today, but it was kind of cute so what the hell.   He waggled his eyebrows.  “Okay, Cas.  Help me out in ‘another way’ then.”

Now Cas was annoyed,  “Roll over, Dean.”  

Dean had to bite down on a laugh as he rolled over.  “I’m not going to need a pillow to… “ he gasped at the sudden sensation of cold and liquid in the middle of his back.  “What the hell, Cas!?”  He started to roll back over but Castiel’s hands firmly held his shoulders in place. “That was… my mistake.  I should have put the lotion into my hands to warm it, I will do that in the future.”

Using the ball of one hand Cas smoothed the lotion up along the muscle that sat parallel to Dean’s spine while the other pushed down along the same muscle towards his buttocks.  Dean gasped at the sensation of that muscle being stretched.  “Too much pressure?”  Cas asked quietly?

Dean nodded.  “Yeah, man.  Slow down a little.”  

Cas continued to work the knots out of the muscles in Dean’s low and mid back, concentrating on each muscle group until they began to slacken.  He worked slowly up to Dean’s shoulders, finding knots from use and stress there.  As he finished working on each group there he dropped soft kisses on the now warm, red skin.  Castiel’s strong, capable hands, moved up to the shoulder joint that was giving Dean so much trouble and he worked on the muscles surrounding it, pulled the outer ones down to stretch them over the bicep and down further, all the way down to the palm of his hand, rubbing soft little circles right in the center of his hand.  

Dean made soft murmurs of pleasure throughout the process, at first erotic and then simple enjoyment.  By the time Castiel had gotten through the process with his left hand, Dean was snoring.  Cas settled on the bed stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair.  Even at the worst of times Dean looked so peaceful in sleep, and Castiel loved to see his face without the lines of worry and stress etched into it.  

After a time he got up and went back into the kitchen, where he picked up the paper again.  

Sam came bounding back in, freshly showered after his run.  “Is Dean still asleep?”  

Castiel smiled to himself, behind the paper, “Yes.  Dean is sleeping.”  

[howsmyhairlook]

Texts From Last Night Writing Prompt:

•Brand hosted events. When a baby influencer gets the invite to their first ever event, with all the swag and monogrammed gifts, that was when you knew your clout was climbing in the right direction. All those over-staged flat lays and maintaining the grid aesthetic had finally proven worth the effort.

My first brand hosted event was in NYC. I’d been invited to a few, but I still had some dignity, and took my desire to be a well respected influencer seriously, and so I had declined the ones that simply didn’t make sense for what I was trying to accomplish with my account. I was no sell out, Mr. Mhmm was not an easy buy bitch willing to promote shit I didn’t actually like. Flat tummy tea? Pfft. Hair gummies? Please. My locks were natural and salon maintained like they should be. I didn’t mess with the work of my stylist. He’d cut my ears off if I did.

I knew holding out on accepting events that didn’t necessarily match my vibe would delay the instant gratification everyone craved, but I actually wanted to stay true to what I had been building. It was a slow process and one that wasn’t without blood, sweat (ew) and a few tears. So when an up and coming clothing brand, owned by someone who was out and proudly queer invited me to a fashion show during Pride, I RSVP’d faster than I could deny the squeal of delight upon reading their email.

Attending an event like this was not just a fun weekend away, it was also work. Having my flight, hotel and of course all the food and drinks when I attended their events paid for wasn’t exactly “free”, I was expected to in return post no less than twenty stories highlighting the goings on through the weekend. At the time, I thought it was an easy price to pay. My insta was going to be a three day weekend promo. I had it all planned out, I’d be the best attendee they had ever extended an invite to.

The night was going perfectly. The food was delicious, drinks were flowing, and the first of three fashion shows scheduled for the weekend had me doing multiple double takes in the best possible way. I made sure to snap a photo of each piece I loved and gushed appropriately about it on my feed. My followers were loving it, and the brand had shared my stories on their stories. It felt like the perfect execution of how an influencer and a brand could collaborate together.

The second night was an early evening show that delved into menswear and BOY was I feeling it. This particular fashion show had the models mingling among the crowd allowing everyone to get a more up close look at the clothing. Let’s be honest, though, the man candy was where my eyes were landing. And, because I’m me, I dressed to impress.

Once or twice I was confused for being part of the show. It was quite the ego boost. Not to mention a compliment to the designer that my vintage Gucci suit jacket fit into the vibe well enough to have me being confused for a model. The only difference was that instead of wearing any kind of slacks like the models had on, I was wearing tailored shorts to show off my argyle socks which were being held up by leather garters. I never skipped an opportunity to show off such an underrated accessory.

I also didn’t skip an opportunity to enjoy the free drinks each time one of the waitstaff would pass by with a tray. Selfies were being taken, numbers were given out. People were telling others to slide into their DMs. I’d given my number to more than a handful of people I’d had conversations with. It was exactly as you’d imagine a gathering of tipsy people might progress.

When the evening seemed to be winding down and the room had thinned out, I decided it was time to head back to my suite for the night, grateful the fashion show had been held in the same hotel the brand had booked my room. As I waited for the elevator to arrive, my phone, which had been buzzing most of the night buzzed again, only this time, it vibrated in my pocket to indicate I’d received a text from an unknown number.

Swiping it open with my thumb I smiled upon reading the words.•

(870) It was great chatting with you tonight. Too bad you decided to leave…

•I’d spoken with so many people this evening, and given my number out to the majority of them, I had no idea who was on the other side. My response was a polite thank you before asking who it was. The speech bubble popped up, then disappeared for a couple of seconds before another text came through.•

(870) Also, wanted to tell you, I really liked those socks you were wearing.

•An odd compliment but I was happy to take it because I loved my socks. Then, another text came before I could reply to the still nameless person.•

(870) There’s something sensual about taking off a pair of socks.

•Um.

What?

The elevator had arrived but I ignored it, instead turning around and looking throughout the lobby to see if anyone had followed me. I wasn’t lucky enough to find my mystery texter giving me the obvious sock lover vibes so I replied again to ask who it was. Instead of an answer, another text came through.•

(870) A bunch of us have headed to the club down the road, you should join. I’ll tell you who I am if you show.

•I hesitated, but not for very long. The mystery was too much, I HAD to know. My reply was quick, telling them I was on my way. I kept my eyes on my phone as I made my way through the hotel lobby, but my unnamed texter left me on read. Tempting me even further to get there as quickly as I could. I didn’t even know the gender of the person I was going to meet, not that it mattered to me.

Maybe I was being foolish going out on my own to meet some person at a club in a city I didn’t really know that well, but my fearlessness was fuelled by alcohol and I’d most likely realize the error in judgement in the morning. For now, I was hailing a cab to take me a mere couple of blocks just so I could meet this person sooner, walking would only delay the reveal of what I was anticipating to be an Ah Ha moment. Any amount of patience I normally possessed had vacated my faculties quicker than my followers had liked my posts from the show earlier in the evening.

My arrival at the club was anti-climatic.

Nobody was waiting outside for me. Rude. Then again, I wasn’t some Pretty in Pink girl who was coming of age, I was a grown ass man following the request of a semi-weird text just to learn who the sender was. For the record, though, I could totally rock the colour pink, if I wanted. I wasn’t biased when it came to colours I’d wear.

By some kind of luck. No, actually, it was by the grace of New York clubbing standards, it was still early despite the actual time, and there was no line to get in. I found myself taking in the atmosphere and sounds while eyeballing every group of people I passed on my way to the bar, staring a little too hard at their faces, hoping one might strike as familiar. They didn’t.

I placed my request for a drink with the bartender, my buzz was fading and with it, my gusto to see this through. His smile was easy and friendly as he spoke.• “One Last Word for the dapper dresser.”

•He winked and I slid him some cash with one hand while the other lifted the glass so I could down the entire drink in a couple of gulps. The gin flowed effortlessly down my throat, and I tapped my fingers on the bartop, trying to decide if I wanted a second. As I was deciding, a deep raspy voice sounded from behind me.• “I’ll take a Pussyfoot, please and another here for Mr. Mhmm.”

•I froze. His voice. Oh my Gucci. My body had a visceral reaction to it as I felt the rumble along with the sound of it. I wanted to hear more, I didn’t even care that he had ordered the strangest sounding drink I’d ever heard. He moved to stand next to me, and I turned to get a look at who I assumed was my mystery texter.

He had been at the event earlier in the night, and we had spoken, though I didn’t recall giving him my number. My eyes scanned over his body and I could feel them growing wider the further they travelled. Long gone was his suit and tie. He’d made a costume change, and was now in full leather gear. Where his hair had been artfully tousled, it was now slicked back. More than all of that, which was QUITE the sight to behold on its own, from the lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows, I realized he was at least twenty-five years older than me. He chuckled deeply at my reaction and didn’t that sound just hit me right in the groin. I shifted from foot to foot, trying to shake off the reaction my body was having. It didn’t work.

I was TRULY speechless and this leather daddy was letting me suffer. He said nothing until our drinks had been made and delivered. I wanted to ask what was in his, but I was pretty sure I’d caught a glimpse of an egg yolk being dropped into his glass so I took my own and swallowed half before I could get my tongue to form proper words.•

I don’t remember giving you my number. Also, thank you for the drink. How did you get it?

•He grinned at my jumbled thoughts but seemed to make perfect sense of what I was trying to say. He took his time sipping at his drink before speaking, and I got the distinct impression he enjoyed making others squirm. The silence was killer but I resisted the urge to fill the space, willing to wait to hear his voice again. He didn’t disappoint.• “You’re welcome. A friend of mine passed your number on to me after I wouldn’t shut up about your garters.”

•The reminder of my beloved accessory had me looking down at them, and I laughed as I realized they were leather, no wonder he liked them so much.• Oh yes. Nobody likes slouchy socks, right?

•I snapped my mouth closed when his grin turned slow and lecherous. I’d said his magic words, apparently, and most likely reminded him of his text about how sensual sock removal could be. I held my breath waiting again for him to deem enough time had passed before he was ready to speak some more.• “I prefer them to be pulled as high as they can go so I can take my time removing them.”

•Yep. Definitely my mystery texter. But now what?!• What do you want with me? What’s your name? Do you have some kind of sock fetish? I’m not judging if you do, honest. I just can’t seem to shut my mouth up, this kind of thing has never happened to me.

•Instead of answering my twenty questions, he nudged my drink closer to me, picking up his own and then stepped away from the bar. When I grabbed the glass, he nodded his head for me to follow. OF COURSE, I was hot on his heels. I wanted all the answers. For how much he had no problem doing all the speaking during the text exchange, he was unsettlingly silent.

And yet, I followed him all the way to a curtained off area that was entirely private. There was a small table that sat low to the floor in front of a leather sofa. He sat down first, the leather of his pants creaking against the sofa. Then, he placed his drink on the table before tapping the spot beside him. I moved to sit, leaving some space between us. He grinned, not seeming to mind that I hadn’t landed my ass right where his hand had indicated I should be. Once I was seated did he decide to speak, answering only the questions he wanted to.•

“My name is Charles. You can call me Charlie. Or Daddy if you prefer.” •He winked at me before allowing his eyes to sweep over my body the way I had done to him at the bar. His eyes stayed on my socks as he continued.• “I really do love your socks. Can I see them closer?”

•My head tilted in confusion, first because I was not the type of person to call anyone daddy regardless of my wide open sexuality. Second because I was not really sure how much closer he wanted my socks to get when we were already only a couple of feet apart. He took my silence as hesitation and reached down to grab one of my feet, putting it in his lap and holding it there until he was certain I wasn’t going to pull my foot away.

Charlie began to run his hand up my shin, his fingers were light and gentle, tracing over the different coloured shapes. When he got to the top of the sock, his index finger dipped below the elastic, pulling it away from my skin and allowing it to lightly snap against my leg. Such an innocent act felt obscene and dirty.

I didn’t know whether or not I was turned on or off. I did know I wanted to see where he was going with this. Next his fingers moved to the garter at the top of my calf, he traced over it the same way he did my sock. Taking his time, studying the details. I took his low grunt as approval. I knew the leather was soft and supple, not to mention high quality and by the sound he had made, he knew it, too.

His other hand had moved to the lace on my shoe, pulling the bow loose and grabbing ahold of the heel to slip my shoe off completely. I thought maybe I might be getting lucky with a foot rub...

I was wrong.

SO very, very wrong.

I found myself full of shock when he leaned forward and put his mouth on my foot. Not a kiss, or anything sweet and simple, but completely wrapped his lips around my toes and filled his mouth with my foot. I felt his tongue through my sock trying to push between my toes, the fabric growing wet with his efforts. He moaned around my foot and I felt the vibrations all the way across my sole.

That was the moment I decided any chances of being turned on were long gone. Not even alcohol could help me be okay with this. I was not into this the way Charlie very clearly was. I pulled my foot back and sputtered as I shook my head.• Nope. No way. No. I’m sorry but no matter how hot you are, and how much my dick loves the sound of your voice, can I get on board with toe sucking.

•I stood, and stepped backward, abandoning my unfinished drink. He seemed to be expecting my reaction and I watched in horror as he grabbed my shoe and began to smell the inside of it. That definitively answered the fetish question he had ignored.

If anyone noticed I was all but running to the exit, they didn’t say anything, thankfully. I probably could have walked at a normal speed but I was not looking to find myself a new hook up or have any more drinks, and I certainly was not going to wait around for Charlie to finish enjoying himself with my shoe. Absolutely not.

As I settled into the cab, and gave the name of my hotel to the driver, I decided the separation of such an amazing pair of shoes was worth the loss just to bring the entire foot blowjob experience to an end. This was what I deserved for attempting to mix a working weekend with someone else’s pleasure. With a relieved sigh, I resigned myself that next time I received a mystery text, I was going to ignore it the way I had ignored all the signs Charlie had been giving me to indicate he had a foot fetish.•

[sacredandstrange]

Dark love is a stranger waving hello

A woman in ermine braving the snow

A crystal ball teardrop on a trembling lash

A tendril of incense smelling of ash

Forest gangbang Cernunnos thistle sun thistle moon

Piss whispers at midnight attic rat tricks at noon

Darkness creeps while you’re sleeping, seeping into your mask

It poses the questions your mirror can’t ask

Dark love is a tongue stretching out of the void

New stars are born, dead suns are destroyed

Its tip finds your pussy in Modesto, CA

Teaching you more than frail words can convey

The night licks your shadow, time dines on your pride

Pulls on your who-ness and pulls you inside out

Like the lining of a pink velvet glove

Mannequins cry as your eyes fill with love

Dark love is a hand turning over an ace

A crackerjack halo, planets grinding in space

A splash of black blood on white porcelain tiles

The shimmering skin of newborn reptiles

Ram’s horns are crushed as they rush in to kiss

The hem of an angel half hidden in mist

When you stroke your dark love your soul starts to shine

With a glow that is greater than God’s holy mind

Dark love is the song of a panther at night

The flap of a bat wing disappearing in light

The blasphemous panic of a back alley crone

Who lurks on your doorstep and chews on your bone

Her sudden appearance supplies quite a shock

Serving to unnerve like a Halloween knock

When you dive into darkness your lust is reborn

It drips from the tip of a unicorn’s horn

Dark love is the hole that gives birth to the ghost

The raging tsunami that erases the coast

A firefly glimpsed by a girl from the West

A tiny white hand in a doll maker’s chest

A dangling scarecrow in love with the moon

A wispy white sun that rises too soon

When you listen to darkness your soul starts to dance

It raves in the graveyard in a hollow eyed trance

Dark love is a footprint left draped on the stairs

A glassy eyed goon who mumbles and stares

The widening crack in a mockingbird’s egg

The shameful trickle that runs down your leg

The syncopated switch of a minotaur’s tail

The succulent ruckus when wizards prevail

When you clutch at dark love you touch the divine

Or wallow in filth like the Devil’s own swine

Dark love is the mole on a celluloid face

A mechanized dancer with music box grace

A golden key turns a pedestrian’s head

As you strut down the street decorated in red

Big icy goo burn flaming ravens below

Beyond blood beyond disco I am Satan hello

When you get lost in darkness, you find your true name

And savor the flavor of the ebony flame

Dark love is a scarab that clicks as it crawls

Through the sanctified stillness that breathes between walls

A prism speaks forth its eternal black prayer

A dragon drags daylight back to its lair

Phlegm evil Jesus dark love eat a cunt edelweiss

Razzmatazz ransom black avalanches black ice

When you fall prey to dark love you give vent to a sigh

And let warm hands caress you on the day that you die

Dark love is a doorway as slim as a slit

A Janus-faced actor reading from a ripped script

The curtain comes down at twilight’s last glow

A killer is laughing in the next to last row

Dark love sleazy blow kiss rubber raindrop at night

Kojak’s new hairdo what’s wrong is what’s right

You dream of darkness as day starts to fade

And replaces your face with a ubiquitous shade

Dark love is a magnet that pulls down the sky

Bends rainbows to snapping and blinds the mind’s eye

It twists in its grip the albino’s pale tail

Leaving welts on its pelt that can be read in Braille

Cunt swollen dark love stretches bets on a horn

Fly maggot pilots for freedom phantom steel in a storm

When you dine on dark love your fangs start to grow

With each flash of your teeth the blood starts to flow

Dark love has no edges, it won’t be tied down

It drifts past your window, a starry-eyed clown 

With lips the color of love and teeth made of glass

It chews on your shoes, leaves a crack in your ass

Bend over forever with your feet tied with twine

Chisel grease faster than the apostle of wine

When you smell dark love your nose starts to twitch

And you yearn for the burn of your Master’s quick switch

Dark love is a wire spitting out sparks

A whipping desire that leaves you covered in marks

Bleeding and pleading, not for mercy, but more

Your insatiable craving leaves a stain on the floor

You moon bathing worm, pucker your lips

Make your mouth as round as a solar eclipse

Keep your eyes peeled to behold the black sun

The Devil is clever but God won’t be outdone

Dark love is a wheel that sings as it turns

A black ray of sunshine that soothes as it burns

A slap on the ass, a flash in the pan

Red tape in the shape of the Boogie Man’s hand

When dark love decays its fruit grows more sweet

Its pure gold to behold and sheer heaven to eat

It drips from your lips and runs down your jaw

Filling your hollows with swallows and your dog bowl with awe

Dark love is the gap in a carnival tent

You wanted a ticket but your money was spent

On filth and chaos and darkness and lust

You ate so much pudding your belly might bust

And give birth to a brightly painted pinata

A statue of Pan that sings like Sinatra

With flames jumping out of his eyes, ears, and nose

As for what the Devil he’s up to, God only knows

Dark love is an expert at evoking your screams

Evoking strange scents from your brown tinted dreams

That fly hurry scurry into my beckoning nose

It’s a gift from the Devil as sweet as a rose

Vibe visor mud porpoise behind wide smiles

Scratch matches skin blister torn rectum profiles

You’re a slave to dark love until your skull turns to dust

And all of God’s angels hang their heads in disgust

Dark love turns you sideways, hides you in air

A stratum of atoms lifts up your hair

Lifts up your spirits, pulls down your skirt

Puts your curls in a whirl, puts your face in the dirt

Somewhere your tombstone is uprooted by rain

Your eyes float in a forest, your pain stains the grain

When you peer into darkness, you confront your worst fears

And shake hands with the man who manufactures your tears

[oddnub-eye]

Our Own Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is here! This is a long one, so there’ll be a read more for this one!

The trio continued their trek through the woods. The sun had gone down a few hours ago, and Rena felt like her legs were about to fall off. 

“You’re slowing down.” Bell said, quickening her pace to catch up to her. 

“I’m a little tired. We’ve been walking awhile.” Rena sighed.

“You want me to carry you?”

“No thanks. I don’t wanna be a bother.” 

“You won’t be, you’re not used to this kind of stuff yet,” Bell assured, stepping in front of Rena and crouching, “Hop on.”

Rena tentatively climbed up and Belle jogged in front of Artemis, saying, “You guard the flank, I’ve got the squirt.”

While she couldn’t turn her head far enough, Rena could feel Artemis’ eyes narrow.

“You’re training starts tomorrow.” Artemis said sternly.

Rena nodded. 

About an hour passed, when the trio stepped into a clearing. Rena peeked her head over Belle’s shoulder and what she saw caused her jaw to drop. A large grey castle stood in the clearing. A dark blue moat, ominous, yet beautiful, guarded the fortress. 

Belle set Rena down and the trio approached the moat. They came to a stop in front of the drawbridge. They stood there silently for at least a minute.

“You, uh, gonna ask her to let us in?” Rena asked to either of her companions.

Suddenly, the drawbridge feel with a heavy thunk. Standing in the gateway was a woman of average height with a mane of unkempt black hair. She wore an open vest that trailed to her ankles, and black pants. A gray crop top exposed her torso. 

“Artemis the huntress…” She drawled, “To what do I owe the pleasure.” 

“Morgan.” Artemis greeted sternly, before gesturing to Rena, “This is Little Red.”

Morgan’s eyes widened, and said quickly, “Come in. The summons will prepare your rooms.”

“Summons?” Rena asked as the trio crossed the drawbridge.

“Magic.” Belle explained, “Arty will probably explain it to you better when you start training, but long story short, Morgan’s main magic is conjuration, so she summons shit.”

Rena nodded, even though she was confused. Morgan lead them into the castle, where several ghostly black and white entities scurrying around, some shuffling, some floating, some bounding about on all fours.

Morgan lead the group up the stairs and into a hall, which lead to several rooms.

“This is where you’ll be staying for the night.” Morgan said, “I’m sure you’re all tired, so get a good night’s rest. Be ready for the best goddamn breakfast you’ll have in the morning.”

“Weird display of hubris, but go off.” Belle laughed.

“Hey I pride myself on being able to cook worth a piss alright.”

“Goodnight.” Artemis said curtly, before storming into her room. 

“Goodnight squirt.” Belle said, patting Rena’s head before jogging to her room and slamming the door behind her. Rena turned to look at Morgan, who waved her in the direction of a room.

Rena stumbled into her room, and her jaw continued to drop at the sheer luxury of Morgan’s castle. The bed wasn’t to big, but just looking at it made its clear it was comfortable. The room had an ambiance to it, and it was warmed by a gentle fire in the corner. A pair of pajamas rested on the bed. 

Rena quickly changed, the pajamas being a little to big, but still comfortable. The girl crawled under the sheets and instantly fell asleep. 

The sunlight peaked through the window as Belle slowly cracked open her eyes. The 20-year-old was normally a late-riser, but something compelled her to wake up. Pushing herself up, and pushing some hair out of her face, Belle quickly discovered what had compelled her to wake.

The smell of food cooking.

Belle climbed out of her bed and dressed quickly, pulling on her hoodie and strapping her tonfa to her thighs. Quietly exiting her room and making her way to the dining room, Belle quirked an eyebrow to see the shadowy creatures setting the table. Following the smell of food, Belle marched into the kitchen, catching Morgan flipping a pancake into the air.

“Didn’t take you for a chef type.” Belle joked, leaning against the door frame, “But hey, being able to cook is always a nice quality.”

Morgan laughed and turned to face Belle, “If that was your attempt at flirting, I can understand why you’re single.”

Belle’s face flushed red and she shot back, “I wasn’t flirting!”

Morgan snorted and said, “Sure you weren’t. How do you like your eggs?”

“Don’t eat eggs often.” 

“Not my question.”

“Over-easy on toast.”

Belle stood in the door frame awkwardly in silence, before saying, “Alright, if my flirting is so bad, how do I not suck.”

“Don’t be so obvious?” Morgan said it like it was common sense, “It just comes naturally for me, if you want an actual teacher, I know a guy.”

“Is he cute?” 

“To some,” Morgan smiled, “Depends on how he shows himself to you.”

Before Belle could respond, Morgan shoved a plate of food into her hands and gestured for her to go to the table. 

Belle sighed and made her way to the table, eating in silence. Morgan joined her a pile of pancakes on her plate. They ate in silence for a while, until Belle asked.

“Where are Arty and Rena?”

“Arty dragged her out for training at 4AM, barely convinced her to let the poor girl eat breakfast first.” 

Belle’s eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything, a boisterous voice greeted, “Hey Sis!”

Belle snapped her head up, seeing a tall man with feathery blond hair and sky blue eyes. He wore a golden vest with metallic shoulder pads and a matching cape. Hanging at his waist was a sword with a golden handle. He also wore glasses, not fancy ones, but surprisingly normal and almost geeky square glasses.

“Arthur?” Morgan gasped, “I wasn’t expecting you.” 

“King Arthur?” Belle gasped. Arthur turned his attention to her and gasped.

“BELLE!?” Arthur practically squeaked before running over, taking out a sheet of paper and a pen, “I loved your movie! Can I have your autograph!?”

Morgan smacked her head into her palm, “Arthur, just cause she’s Belle doesn’t mean she was the one from the Disney movie. You once ranted to me for 5 hours about how inaccurate The Sword in the Stone was, so I highly doubt that movie was accurate.”

Arthur’s face fell, “Oh.”

“No, no,” Belle interrupted, chuckling, “It’s okay! I’m honored, I’ve just never autographed anything before.”

Belle signed the paper and handed it back to Arthur, whose face lit up in joy. 

“Thank you!” He smiled, “I’m in your debt!” 

“It’s fine.” Belle laughed, slightly taken aback by Arthur’s childlike behavior. Morgan, on the other hand, noticed something peeking out from Arthur’s vest. 

“Arthur, did you get a tattoo?” Morgan asked, gesturing to a jagged black line just barely visible from the knight’s vest.

“No.” Arthur explained, “A couple months back I found that Charming bastard and fought him, he landed one blow, but he had to retreat. It hasn’t healed over yet, but it hasn’t caused any problems so…”

“Brother.” Morgan said, now deadly serious, “What did the sword look like?”

Arthur furrowed his brow, before slowly describing, “The blade was glassy, with a curved black hilt and a...golden pommel…”

Arthur’s eyes widened as a realization seemed to dawn on him. Arthur scrambled away from Belle, attempting to bolt for the doorway, but suddenly froze. The blond turned and his sky blue eyes had been replaced with a different shade of blue, one that felt artificial.

Belle had seen those eyes before. Those were Charming’s eyes.

“Ah Arthur.” Charming’s voice laughed from Arthur’s body, “A valorous, noble fool, emphasis on fool. Didn’t notice for months that he’d been my puppet. Now he’s led me right to who I need.”

“Give me my brother back.” Morgan’s voice turned hard and the room turned heavy with the sheer amount of magic power she excluded. 

Charming snickered through Arthur as he drew Arthur’s sword, the blade of which had a core of golden metal. 

“Excalibur,” Belle breathed. 

“Drop your weapon.” Artemis’ voice ordered, the goddess stepping out from behind a wall, bow drawn.

Charming smirked, and whirled around, swinging Excalibur. Artemis loosed her arrow, but as it approched Arthur, it turned into golden light and was absorbed into Excalibur. 

“The sword of Rulers.” Morgan cursed, “Absorbs all projectiles or magic thrown at it.” 

“So we just have to beat him into submission!” Belle roared, drawing her tonfa, and using a blast of fire to shoot herself at the king. Arthur brought his sword up to expertly block the blow, whipping his blade upward to send Belle flying backwards. 

Arthur whirled back around to face Artemis, swing his sword. Artemis brought up her bow to block but was still sent sprawling to the ground.

“You didn’t think this through Goddess.” Charming mocked, “You came too close to one of the greatest swordsman of the world with a bow. Even if I was complete ass with a sword, Arthur’s muscle memory would be more than enough to kill everyone in this room with all the mistakes you made!”

Artemis snarled, but everyone’s attention was drawn to a sudden burst of golden light. Morgan stood in a circle of bright golden light, chanting something in a language Belle vaguely recognized as Chinese.

The light faded, and Charming spat, “What was that supposed to summon? A dragon? A devil? Conjuration is about strength in numbers, bitch, no summon is worth that much.”

Morgan smirked, “Don’t tell me how to use my own magic, bitch. And I was summoning an old friend.” 

“Huh?”

The golden light erupted again, this time behind Morgan, whose smirk was still visible despite the blinding light. 

The light faded and standing behind Morgan was… a monkey. He stood at barely 4 feet tall, dressed in a sleeveless martial arts Gi with an orange and black hoodie tired around his waist. His tail was lashing behind him. Fluffy brown fur covered his body, a golden circlet keeping it from his face.

His face broke into a smirk, sharp fangs glimmering, eyes opening to reveal fiery red eyes with golden pupils.

“Allow me to introduce you all to my friend.” Morgan laughed, “Sun Wukong, the Handsome Monkey King. And I know he has a bone to pick with you, Charming.”

Constructive Criticism is always welcome!

[shardclan]

In the Summerlands, the first creeping light of dawn turned the sloping horizon to a faded chrome of pale blue and bronze.

In the Bramble Step Entertainment district, the light only managed to add a feeble gray ambiance to the near-solid haze. One that only became obvious as the neon lights went off, snatching back the saturated glow they cast into the gloom. The streets were empty at this hour. The working girls and boys would be curled up in their beds, the cleaners were already in their assigned buildings–washing away blood and spilled liquor and polishing the bars until they were like new for the coming business day. A few piles of ash settled at the ends of dark alleys, already cool and damp with morning mist. No one would miss whoever they used to be.

Well, they might, but the first rain or stiff breeze would assure there’d be nothing left of them to find on Caress’ turf.

This morning found the Bramble Step’s proprietress in a thoughtful but pleased mood. She was not an especially devout dragon, but her family had deep roots in the Tangled Wood. So it had not especially impressed her when her obscuring goblin had suddenly emitted a stream of ichor from its mouth and eyes and spoke in a voice like a thousand whispers behind a thousand closed doors:

You will care for this.

An egg had rolled out of the inky pool, and now it sat on a pedestal in her entertaining room. As far as Caress was concerned she’d never gotten any direction to hatch it so it would stay like that until further notice. The Shadowbinder’s ‘gifts’ always had another side to them, so she treated it more like an unexploded bomb than a gift from her deity. Still, the client she had seen last night was quite impressed by the story–eager, even, to network with her if she was so clearly trusted by their deity. A hasty man (in business and in pleasure) but useful at least.

Astrit lay sprawled on her favorite chaise lounge looking at it, nude as the day he was born save an admittedly flattering brandy-wine shawl and his coveted gold jewels. She couldn’t remember any VIP appointments on his calendar, which meant he’d likely spent another night sating Achilles’s nigh-unquenchable thirst.

“You know I hate when you sit naked on that,” she said with a lazy sort of reproach. “It’s a very hard to come by type of suede.”

“What is the worth of a lounge that can’t be lounged on?”

“The same as an assistant who can’t see the value of proper use and care. I haven’t become rich buying expensive things and then carelessly soiling them.” She shooed him. “Have the decency to at least freshen up before you slide your unwashed ass all over it. Or buy your own.”

He grinned and relaxed onto a slightly less luxurious pile of pillows. Part of him considered teasing that she never said anything to Dalma when he came and sat on it, but he knew his limits. Caress loved her husband immensely and while she tolerated Astrit with grace, charm, and his due respect as a denizen of the Tangled Wood for openly hoping to usurp her, they were absolutely not on close enough personal terms for him to say anything about Dalma. Not if he didn’t want her to crush him beneath her heel.

“Seems like everyone who intends to move into the new House has,” he said instead.

“Anyone of interest?”

“To you? Probably not.” He drummed his fingers along one thigh. “If anything you might be interested in who isn’t there. Hart isn’t going.”

Caress sat across the room in a plush chair that she all but melted into. Astrit was new enough to know the political bits of Hart not going, but even with the Starlight Museum up and running, he likely didn’t really understand how odd it was. Hart’s true name might be dead, but he was still the most Arcane dragon in the lair. He didn’t have magical pursuits, he wasn’t a mage or a scholar. But he was worldly and observing. His Arcane nature was innate and deft, like a farmer so long at their craft they no longer needed an almanac to know the coming seasons. If it came out that his bones were made of crystalspine, Caress would have believed it. He had charm, he had cheer, and Caress knew well that he knew how to treat a lady both in bed and out of it, but there was something vast and timeless about him.

His not going, even for political reasons, was keenly against his nature as far as Caress was concerned.

A knock interrupted her thoughts, and a young woman coated in dark lace and silk accented by silver finery entered without waiting. Despite her golden eyes, a shadow emblem glowed faintly above her head and she had the playful but sneaky expression typical of young shadowlings.

“Labrusca,” Caress said with warmth she would not have spared for anyone else who intruded at this hour. “Is something wrong?”

“Just the opposite; I have an idea that may interest you.” She sprawled herself across the chaise lounge, but immediately her nose wrinkled and she looked distastefully at Astrit. “Still no regard for nice things, I see.”

Astrit stretched himself out languidly and folded his arms behind the sprawl of her dark red hair with a grin. “I’m regarding you, am I not?”

She gave him a sneer so withering it could have stripped the paint from the walls. Labrusca was not unlike Stellaria–not quite an adult, but by no means some young fool. Sincere flattery hardly ever worked on her, much less when it was so flagrantly empty.

“I’m a lady,” she spat. “And don’t you forget it you cheap wanna-be.”

Caress sucked in her lips to keep from laughing. Astrit liked to tease, but Labrusca was impenetrable and she liked to hit back where she knew it would hurt. Caress could already see Astrit’s usually smug expression souring.

“Alright, alright,” she wheezed. “What idea did you want to propose?”

“I want to undergo a breed change to a pearlcatcher.”

The mirth left Caress as quickly as it had come. “What? Darling, why? Neither your father nor I are pearlcatchers. Did you want to leave the Step and go live in Aphaster proper? They would take you without the breed change.”

“No, I want to stay here, but I think it will be good for the district if it comes out that the next proprietress is a light dragon. Quiet down all those noisy light courts insisting to Lady Telos that she should reign us in, that it’s disgraceful to let a Shadow hub exist on Light territory, blah blah blah…”

“Next…” A smirk tickled the corner of Caress’ mouth. “Next proprietress? That’s quite presumptuous. You do know you’re not my heir, right?”

“Indeed I’m not.” Labrusca grinned, and the twinkle in her eye was not of Lightweaver. “I’ve no intention of you handing it over to me just because I’m your daughter. You’ll give it to me because I’m the best choice.” She held her hands up peaceably. “Of course, that’s a long way off. I have a lot to learn and I know you have no intention of stepping down any time soon.”

“And you have to contend with me,” Astrit growled.

“He’s right,” Caress warned. “I would never let him lay a finger on you if it was anything else, but if you choose direct competition with him–”

“It would tarnish your name and mine to be protected by you, yes. I’m aware. But I don’t intend to lose to an usurper who doesn’t even have the grace to wash his balls and put on a robe for a meeting with his manager. Winning by Shadow rules is part of my proving.”

Caress looked between her daughter and Astrit. The gap between them was wide. In many ways. But her daughter had been the one to throw down the gauntlet. It would be eons–maybe even a full age before she was ready to be a proprietress. But Astrit probably wasn’t going to wait around until she was a legitimate contender. Caress didn’t have to be worried about him because she was very much above his level. Labrusca was brassy, keen, and had the knowledge to pursue this path. But she was still young and without experience.

She leaned back in her chair, and twirled her thumbs. “…Were you intending to also become a courtesan?”

Only that gave Labrusca any kind of pause. Finally, she admitted: “I don’t know.”

Astrit snorted. “So this is nothing but a child’s dream. You have no plan!”

“I’ve already stated my plan, more or less.”

“How are you supposed to become proprietress if you aren’t a courtesan?”

“There’s nothing that says I have to.”

Astrit rolled his eyes and looked beseechingly at Caress, but she merely shrugged. “She’s right. You don’t need to be a courtesan to manage money, property, or workers. Successful networking is also a skill plenty of dragons have without being in the business.”

She rose from her chair and sat by Labrusca’s side on the lounge. Tenderly, she leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I only wanted to know you wouldn’t force yourself just for the position’s sake. The only reason you should make sex work a part of your plan is if you want to.”

Labrusca’s smile was soft and winning and filled with filial pride. “I know, mama. I promise I will be my own kind of proprietress. And whether I do or don’t become a courtesan, I’ll listen to the workers and make sure they continue to be cared for the way I would want to be.”

“Make me those promises later, once you’ve proved yourself. I’ll put out a procurement request for your breed change scroll.”

Labrusca excused herself, and Astrit rose to go after her. His expression betrayed little. He even looked slightly amused in a sort of exasperated way. Like he was about to deal with some minor annoyance that simply couldn’t be helped.  But there was a gleam in those eyes visible even in the near black of the room, and Caress felt a little reality check was due.

“Astrit,” she said just forcefully enough to make him stop. “Labrusca is on the edge of adulthood, but she is still considered juvenile–not even allowed in the district after sundown yet. I hope you’ll remember that and not get carried away. If you do…”

Her eyes took a distinct glow, small and sharp as the light of a cigarette appearing in a pool of shadow that didn’t seem to contain anyone before. A sharp and meaningful aura of animosity gripped Astrit, like a guillotine waiting above his neck on a tense string.

“Not even ash will be left of you.”

[superprincesspea]

The Honey House, Chapter 21

Breakfast

MASTERLIST

Negan rolled over in the bed, his voice thick with sleep as he mumbled “wrap me up in those long legs baby doll.”

Rae pressed herself against the warmth of him, happy to oblige as he eased her leg around his waist and her cheek found a home on his shoulder. She liked being the big spoon, squeezing Negan tight and hiding under the covers as a new day crept into the room. It was the morning after the night before and it felt good, better than she’d expected.

She brushed her fingertips through the soft hair of his chest, letting her breathing fall in sync with the rise and fall of Negan’s body. It was like any lazy Sunday with a new boyfriend, the only thing missing was breakfast in bed and a broadsheet she could pretend to be interested in while the radio hummed in the background.

“You hungry baby?” he said, as if reading her mind but more likely hearing the gurgling of her stomach. Last night Negan’s body had seemed to satisfy her every craving, this morning she needed fuel for that fire that had burned for him.

“Starving,” her teeth grazed his shoulder like she might eat him up and he moaned happily at the attention before rolling over to face her.

He made sure to keep her legs wrapped around him as he claimed a space for himself on her pillow, his face kissing distance to hers. “I could go for some bacon and eggs, coffee and bagels. What about you Red?”

Rae’s stomach rumbled even harder, she didn’t realise how much she missed the salt and grease until right now, “don’t tease me… I can’t remember the last time I had bacon.”

Negan’s grin slipped across his face, “that's so? Well, if you behave yourself Miss Honey I might think about bringing you some next time.”

Her mouth watered, her enthusiasm peaked, “you have bacon and you’re only telling me this now?”

“I have whatever the fuck you want baby doll,” he murmured as his lips devoured hers, his hand cupping her ass to bring her closer to him.

“Whatever I want?” she asked, brushing her nose along his while his erection pushed against her thigh.

“Anything,” Negan’s breathing deepened, curling hot on her neck as his kisses trailed to her collarbone while his hand ventured with an insatiable appetite of its own.

Rae’s stomach grumbled in protest and she laughed, batting his advances away and pulling the quilt all the way up to her chin with a mischievous smile, “what about the food in the car?”

“That your game Red?” he tickled her side, “get a man all worked up then ask him to run out in the goddamn cold to fetch you breakfast?”

“You got yourself worked up,” she teased, nestling further into the quilt. If he went to the car then he was a keeper, if not, then he was still great in bed.

Negan’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he scratched his beard like a dog with fleas before planting a sloppy kiss on her forehead and rolling out from the bed. He stood by the door without a stitch of clothing on his body as he stretched his arms out as lazy as a big cat with a yawn to match. She rolled onto her side, tangling her legs in the sheet, enjoying the view as he bent over to pick up his boxers and slide them over his ass with the twang of elastic slapping against his waist. With a boyish laugh he grabbed the fluffy pink robe from the peg on the back of her door and slipped it on like the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t think about moving a muscle from that bed,” he warned with a grin before ducking out of the door.

When she heard the door close, his footfalls down the hall stairs then the outside door slamming behind him she allowed herself to squeal, kicking her legs in the sheets like a crazy woman before jumping out of bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this, like she wanted to call her best friend and recount every detail of last night over a cup of coffee or a cocktail. She had no idea what had happened to her friends from her old life and the ones she had now were more interested in what supplies she’d found how much ammo was left in the stores.

She threw open the bedroom curtains and sat on the window sill like she’d done a hundred times before. Only instead of watching the world go by she watched Negan hurrying towards the car with barefeet and her robe. It suited him, she liked him like this. She liked herself like this, even with Jacob it had never been this relaxed, this normal feeling. It had always been frantic, pushed against a tree, two people desperate to feel anything at all. This didn’t feel desperate or rushed, it felt like forever.

Rae waited at the window until he was returning, his arms loaded with options and his smile devilish when he spotted her watching him, her nipples hard buds in the cold, her body completely bare at the windowpane.

“I told you to wait in bed,” he threw the snacks onto the nightstand, “you disobeying me woman? You know how that makes my palm as itchy as fuck.”

Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened and a tingle of excitement crept across her skin, “you wouldn’t dare.”

But of course he would.

///

All morning Negan couldn’t keep his hands off Rae. He didn’t want a inch of her to go untouched. She made him feel twenty years younger and a newlywed to boot and he’d been newlywed more times than he cared to think about. But not like this. He wanted to eat her with a spoon until he burst then he wanted to put all the pieces back together and burst again but no matter what either of them wanted even honeymoons had to end. It was already long past noon on day two of what should have been a couple of hours worth of scavenging.

“Grandma will skin us alive if we don’t go back,” Rae insisted, attempting to slip from the bed. He pulled her back, plastering her back against his front in a bear hug until she sagged against him in surrender.

“Then let's not go back.” Negan laughed it off like a joke but part of him meant it when he said, “runaway with me Red.”

She nestled the back of her head against his chest, her voice light with opportunity, “where would we run?”

“Somewhere hot,” he kissed the point where her shoulder curved into her neck, “with a nice beach. How’s that sound?”

Rae tilted her head to look at him, her lips quirking into a smile, “I burn like a lobster in the sun.”

He chuckled, his hand splaying across her stomach and all that alabaster skin, “then let's go to Alaska.”

Negan practically felt her shiver as she escaped from his hands, covering her arms across her chest with a “brrr… too cold.”

He hated the cold too, he liked a temperature where nobody had to wear clothes unless absolutely fucking necessary. He smiled to himself watching Rae pull on her bra like a strip tease in reverse as he quietly played out the fantasy of them just leaving the world behind with nothing but a sports car, a box of food and each other. “What about a national park, somewhere not too hot and not too fucking cold, how does that suit your majesty? We can be forest people.”

She raised one eyebrow, her jeans smoothing over her legs as she laughed at him, “and what exactly do you know about surviving in the forest?”

Truth was he knew very little, but he knew he could make it with Red if they had to. She was feisty, strong and that's what he loved about her. Loved, as soon as the word crossed his head it sounded off like an overbearing klaxon. His chest was tight, his face froze in a look that was probably half shock and half terror but his body snapped into action reaching for his own clothes, thrusting his feet through his jeans like he needed the protection.

Rae snorted, “I’ll take your silence to mean you don’t know a single thing about living in a forest.”

He buttoned his shirt, “you’re right, it was a stupid idea.”

Her smile faded a little, her arm brushing past him and reaching for her glock before holstering it in her belt. He watched every second of it, his heart pounding, before her eyes locked with his, “it’s not stupid. I think about running away all the time. It’s my guilty secret…” she laughed quietly, “one of them.”

Negan didn’t say anything. He stood as still as a fucking statue but his blood was pounding, his palms sweaty.

This wasn’t love. It was great sex. Great sex with a great girl when he hadn’t had either in a long time. Jesus fucking christ, run away with her, what the holy hell was he thinking?

Of course he knew exactly what he was thinking as she ran her fingers through her hair pulling it into a ponytail. He’d be fucked if he could keep his eyes off her for one goddamned second and fucked if he kept on watching.

“Actually,” she said like nothing had changed in the past two minutes, “I’ve been thinking about setting up this town like I wanted to before. With Jacob gone, there’s no reason not to. There’s plenty of room-”

Negan’s laugh was as loud as it was nervous, “I know I’m fucking awesome in the sack but let's not jump straight to fucking living together. Jesus fucking christ Red, you don’t need to tie me down and brand my ass.”

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Rae bit back with her fiery temper, her cheeks pink, “I’m not the kinda girl to go all goo goo eyes because we had one night.”

Negan held up his hands. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, at least his pride if nothing else. He laughed it off, “but it was some damn good sex.”

Her tempered simmered just a touch, enough to leave her with a smile at the ready but her eyes still sharp and so fucking green.

“What kind of girl are you Red?”

She rolled the idea around in her head. “I’m the kinda girl who liked sleeping in my own bed last night.”

She picked up the quilt, flipping it through the air where it spread out before settling over every corner of the mattress to erase any sign it had ever been slept in, or fucked all over. As she fluffed the pillows back into place she had a wry laugh, “you know, I share a bedroom with Grandma and Zuzu back home.”

“Jesus. Grandma and the kid?” Talk about a fucking cock block. Even if he wasn't sure about shacking up with Red, he was pretty damn sure he didn’t want to share a room with all three Honey’s. “You want this town baby just tell me whatever the fuck you need me to do and it's yours.”

She pressed her lips to his jaw, “you don’t need to do anything. This is my town, my people. And if you wanna move in then... I guess you’ll have to ask nicely.”

He cupped her cheek, what the hell had this woman done to him? Part of him knew it was time to walk away before he got any deeper, the other part refused to even remember he could walk. “I don’t ask nicely for any-fucking-thing.”

“When you want something bad enough you might have to learn to be nice.”

“I already got you, so I don’t have to be nice to any other fucker.” He kissed her, his tongue sinking into her mouth claiming his own defeat.

When they finally pulled into the match stick fort it was almost dark. Negan noticed Tim playing catch with Zuzu and using Negan's glove. That fucker. He fumbled the ball when he saw Rae, dropping it between his sneakers and never taking his eyes off her while he crouched down to pick it up.

If she had noticed the look Timmy was giving her then she did a good job of pretending she hadn’t. She called out for a couple of her people to help unload the car, leaving Negan to stand like a spare part with murder eyes directed to the fucker.

“You staying for supper?” Grandma Ellie’s voice almost made him jump but he kept his shit together, glancing her way with his smile at full grin before he caught the hard stare she was cutting him down with.

His grin faded, “was that an offer or a threat Grandma?”

Her hand rested in her hip, her shoulders squared with indignation, “you kept my child outside all night and I don’t appreciate that!”

Negan might have laughed if his throat wasn’t so damn dry, it reminded him of the time he was caught with his pants around his ankles in his girlfriend's bedroom when they were teenagers. “With all due respect sweetheart, your Granddaughter is a grown woman.”

“You remind me of my late husband,” she said in a way that let him know it wasn’t a good thing, “I hope you prove me wrong.” With no more explanation she turned on her heel, heading back inside with Zuzu chasing hot on her heels. Timmy was lurking behind to stand by the porch steps like a guard dog with the sniff of a crook.

Whatever Grandma thought he might have done he’d probably done far worse.

He spotted Rae heading right for him and he couldn’t ignore the fact that he had five wives back home. If Rae knew the truth… he couldn’t let it get that far.

“That should keep us going for an extra few days,” she smiled, slamming the hood of the trunk.

Negan grabbed Lucille from the footwell where she’d spent the entire night while he was with Rae, “I gotta go home baby.”

“But…” her eyes searched his, probably wondering why he was leaving like she’d done something wrong, “it's getting dark.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead, breathing her in before he let her go, “I know but I gotta get back.”

Rae sucked her bottom lip, her hand resting on her gun as her gaze drifted to his chest instead of his eyes.  Negan wondered what she would have said if he’d found the balls to tell her the truth, he wondered if it would have meant he could stay the night here and as many nights as he wanted to. Mostly he wondered how the hell she’d managed to bring him to this, to be a man standing with a woman and feeling something except completely fucking empty.

“Is it gonna be another month before I see you?” she said.

“I didn’t plan on that Red, shit happened. I’ll be back in a week. I promise. Just don’t

do anything stupid and remember my men are just over the field for whatever the fuck you need.”

“Okay,” her face was a little crestfallen and he reached for her hand, holding it in his before kissing the very tips of her fingers before letting them slide away.  He couldn’t ignore it any longer, he couldn’t keep putting things off, if he wanted Rae then he had to do something about his wives. Fucking hell, he had to do something about a lot of things but his wives would be first. Whether he liked it or not, whether he fucking wanted it or not, things had changed.

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[mirajens]

morning will come

an installment from I’ll crawl home to her.   paring: miraxus rating: m genre: romance found on ff.n

Love in the home of play-actors. (Or: how to fall out of love and pretend otherwise.)

She can feel him falling out of love with her.

It’s not something Mirajane notices suddenly; it’s a long creeping sentiment that finally comes to a solid conclusion one night while they two of them are having dinner in the apartment they share. She can’t tell what brings on the abrupt realization that the man she’s given everything to has stopped loving her. Could it be how they sit face to face but he feels lightyears away? Could it be how he’s tapping lazily at his phone instead of making conversation with her? Could it be the whole vibe he gives of wanting to be anywhere else but here? Mira can’t quite put a finger on it.

A woman just knows what she knows, she thinks to herself with no spike of dudgeon, just a sense of hopelessness she hasn’t felt in quite a while. She looks at Laxus, feels her desperation surge, and it’s not until he looks up from his own preoccupation and points out that she hasn’t eaten a single bite that she realizes she’s trying to memorize every small detail of his face as if he’ll fade away at any given moment.

It’s slow, so slow, how he lets her go. When Mirajane tries to wrap her arms around him, he’s stiff as if he wants to recoil. When she kisses him, he turns his head just a little away so her lips land the tail end of his scar. She always looks betrayed after such occurrences but just until a nanosecond later, when Laxus’ eyes find hers as if to check if he has hurt her too much- if he has finally pushed her over the edge.

But Mirajane’s expression has already been reeled in and she’s smiling that sweet little smile at him as if it doesn’t hurt, as if she’s not just waiting for him to dispose of her. She’s not going to be the one to draw the line; she’s not going to be the one to end what she can prolong.

He still fucks her, though.

I guess he hasn’t found that part about me repulsive yet.

They’ve know each other since childhood, been together for six years and living together for two. He’s never liked doing it in the shower until recently and Mirajane tries not to wonder too much on the why. Maybe he wants to wash you off him as soon as he’s done. His hands are on her tits, his lips on hers. Like this, she can still tell herself everything is okay and he’s still in love with me. His kiss is so tender, so loving. It almost feels like a mercy before death.

Then, he breaks away, turns her around and urges her to bend over. Mirajane presses her face against the wall and sighs when he slips inside. The slap of skin against skin echoes against the tiled room, coalescing with pleasure noise. Her moans climb when Laxus’s longest fingers find her clit and he rubs masterfully. It feels much too good so she comes in no time, crying out his name like back then when she still had to ask him to stay the night because leaving each other seemed detriment.

She speculates the possibility that he remembers feeling that way. Maybe he does. He’s holding me so close. It almost feels enough to balm over all the hurt.

But the false sense of hope doesn’t even take root before Laxus pulls out, grabbing her hips so he can turn her and says with a hoarse voice, “Mira, baby…” and she already knows what he wants.

He doesn’t even say please anymore. She gets on her knees and gets to work. His grip on her hair is never painful but it’s probably not out of consideration, more out of habit because she never continues when he pulls. He grunts and pants but he never says anything. When he comes in her mouth, he doesn’t even say thank you, or I’m sorry for being an asshole, sorry for not even trying to fix what’s broken, sorry I’m gonna leave you soon. Above her he just groans as his carnality ebbs into something indolent. She’s not even done wiping at her lips when he gives her an almost perfunctory kiss on the head, turns away and starts lathering his hair with shampoo.

When did they stop talking after this? When did sex start being just something convenient and stop being so romantic? When did he stop holding her after, covering her with kisses, singing her praises, telling her thank  you, I love you, I never want to not have my hands on you.

Mirajane stands on shaky legs, pushes for space under the shower’s spray and washes the last 10 minutes off her skin. They share a two foot width of legroom with miles between them until Laxus, as if he’s just noticing her for the first time tonight, looks at her and says, “Oh, Gramps wants to have dinner on Thursday. You free?”

With no strength to put up anymore pretense, no more desire to meet his gaze, Mira nods, hiding under the curtain of her hair. “Yes.”

Laxus has work that takes him away many days. Maybe this new job is what truly started taking his heart elsewhere and keeping it there. Mira conjures up possibilities of a “someone else” but nips the thought in the bud. She doesn’t need newfangled anxiety on top of existing anxiety right now. She doesn’t need to think of him having already found someone new, not when he’s about to go on another business trip.

Mirajane tries to be the one to take him to the airport as much as possible. It’s more time with him, just a few more moments with the man she still so badly loves, even if she has a fourteen hour shift at the hospital ahead of her, even if she suspects that another woman is going to be picking him up when he lands. She hazards in front of his terminal. Laxus inspects his bag one last time to check for the essentials (wallet, phone, ticket, and the passport Mira has stuck a post-it with I miss you already written on it, reeking of desperation). He’s talking as he fixes his jacket and reaches behind his seat for the small carry on with 3 days’ worth of clothes. Why can’t he stay still? Why is he trying to do everything at the same time? Is he is that much of a hurry to be rid of me? Mirajane can’t hear the reminders he prattles off (“I did the cheques for the bills last night so you can just drop them off.” “If the old man calls, tell him he can reach me on my cell.” “I picked up the dry cleaning last night. It’s still in my car, can you take them inside? I was in a hurry.”), so focused is she on the look of him: handsome, sharp, the only picture of romance that she has ever known. She brushes away the dastardly intrusive thought that she better take a good look because it’s the last time she can.

“You okay, Mira? Did you hear what I said?”

Mirajane doesn’t startle but she flushes at being caught so distracted. “Of course. Call me when you land, okay? And again when you get to the hotel.”

Laxus is simultaneously checking his watch, hefting his luggage and opening the car door. “I’ll see. I’ll be at dinner with Gajeel until late so you might be asleep by then.” He steps one foot out the car, clearly impatient.

Mirajane grips the steering wheel. At least promise you will. It’s not that hard to call. You know I’ll pick up despite anything, just to hear your voice. “Baby?”

Now he’s out of the car, ducking inside to grab his luggage, having foregone a kiss, a hug, any fucking show of gratitude that I made myself late for work just to drive you here. “Yeah, what? I need to get inside and check in.”

Pride is a bitter pill to swallow but at this point, Mirajane has none left. All she has is her ache for someone who’s right in front of her, and it bleeds out in her tone. “I’ll miss you. I love you so much.”

The play of expressions on Laxus’ face is easy to read: bafflement, irritation, and then guilt. He looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say back. He never used to need to, when his feelings were still genuine. “Yeah, love you. Thanks for the lift.”

He dives in to kiss her but it’s more of him just smashing his lips against hers and then the door closes in her face.

She meets up with Gray for coffee the next day Laxus is gone. She’s not sure why it took so long for her to seek out her most trusted friend, since she’s always valued his insight. She needs male perspective on her plight. And to tell the truth, she is lonely as well.

“At what point is it enough?” Mirajane asks. She’s expounded on her domestic issues to a silent Gray, who has had 3 refills of brewed coffee, two plates of eggs and bacon, and by the looks of it, he’s not going to be done any time soon.  Mira has ordered one cup of coffee since arriving and it’s gone cold since. She samples her tepid brew and thinks: the coffee is still shitty. At least time or change has not touched this place.

“Isn’t that up to your discretion?” Gray answers. He’s a man who answers questions with questions, always on the safe side of things with his lack of commitment. Love and care for his friend as he might, he never gives her any imposing input and Mirajane supposes that’s why she likes him so much.

“I’m asking you. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“I don’t know, Mira-chan. I’ve never had to put up with your hollow block of a boyfriend so I have no sage advice.”

Now Mira looks annoyed. While Gray’s unbiased opinion is appreciated most of the time, there are times like this when he is too infuriatingly unhelpful in his neutrality. “Are you telling me I’m paying for your caffeine fix and mammoth breakfast and you’re not even gonna give me a little input?”

Gray finishes chewing before he speaks. He sets Mira on edge as he swallows his food and chases it down with coffee.  “Okay. So if my man was treating me like a blowjob ATM and giving me the bare minimum of affection, I’d have long dumped his ass. But not before making sure he comes home to a trashed apartment and all his clothes down the garbage chute.” Gray drains his coffee and signals for another. Their regular waiter is prompt with the coffee pot. Mirajane declines with a polite smile. When the waiter leaves, Gray continues, “Babe, you weren’t born this hot to live off a man’s emotional scraps. You have to figure out if you still really love him and if all of this is worth it, or if it’s just Stockholm Syndrome now.”

The air goes quiet, stale with unshed tears Mirajane blinks away. Her eyes are red, glossy and burning and her throat hurts but she won’t cry. She allows her hands to shake, though. “I don’t know life without him, Gray. And I don’t think I want to find out.”

She’s seen Gray look disappointed before. But never like this. Never at her. “Then there’s nothing I can do to help you, Mira-chan.”

When Mira gets home, she tries his number. Just like yesterday, it goes straight to voicemail and she doesn’t want to remember the embarrassing amount of messages she has left asking him to call her back when he has the time. So far, all she has that indicates he’s still alive is the bare I’m here. Gajeel’s picking me up and we might be busy until I have to leave. Might extend my stay. I’ll call soon, which he sent five hours after his landing time, as if he just remembered there was someone waiting at home for him.

The thing about modern media is that it almost always fails to give the cheating thing any justice. Surely it’s a plot that’s been beaten dead since the beginning of literature but no one focuses on something that Mirajane figures out one day. No one tells you how disgusting it feels like to be cheated on.

Disregarding the awful sadness and the blinding rage, it’s so easy for a long lost sense of insecurity to show up and swallow one whole. Mirajane tries to remember the last time she indulged such an intrusive feeling and the last she can come up with is during high school when the regulated swimwear failed to hide her modesty by clinging to curves none of her classmates had yet.

She observes herself in front of a mirror, just fresh from the bath. Her figure is great but it’s not what Laxus committed to 6 years ago. Her breasts could be perkier and her thighs could be more toned. She’s softer in her belly since she started dedicating her hours to the hospital and all there was to eat there were miserable cafeteria food. There are bags under her eyes. Does that turn him off, seeing her so tired all the time? A nurse has small need for makeup so Mirajane wears none but tinted chapstick these days.

I bet the girls from his office wear makeup and do their hair and wear pretty clothes. Laxus used to tell me I looked nice when I put in effort back then.

Maybe she should bring that effort back. It wouldn’t hurt to line her lids or curl her pale lashes every now and then. Maybe with rouged cheeks, Laxus will love her again. Maybe if she wasn’t so bland, he wouldn’t leave.

The day Laxus comes home is a Saturday. It’s the busiest day in the hospital week but Mira begged off as ill (and perhaps she really was, with the way she persisted with a man who didn’t want her) just to see him come through the door.

When Laxus comes home, it’s five days after no calls, no messages, no emails, no nothing. For a moment, while sitting in the living room couch and casting glances at the door, she has a moment to ask herself, are you sure he’s gonna be back?  There has been no word of him at all. It was as if he stopped caring at all that she waits, that she holds on.

But the heavy load sitting on her shoulders ebb away lightning quick when the main locks sound and the door swings open. There was Laxus, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, but at least he was home. Finally home so that the constricts against Mirajane’s lungs could loosen even for just a bit.

When she rises to greet him, complete with a smile that swallows so much ego, Laxus has the courtesy to look ashamed of himself. But this is a house of play-actors so he reels it in, smiles like she does and pretends like she does.

“I’m home,” he says, as if that words still means anything to him, as if the dirty laundry in his bags don’t reek of someone else’s perfume,  as if this was going to be the last time he’d come home from an infidelity.

But if he knows Mira, he can do this again and again and again and again and he’d still come home to her open arms. This isn’t something he takes for granted. Or maybe if he does, it is to see how far he can push her until she shoves back. Over time, this reasoning seems to have lost the conviction it used to have so that Laxus himself can’t believe it anymore.

And Mira? She doesn’t seem to want to not believe it, if her gentle gaze is anything to go by.  “Welcome back.”

[vandalsandvagrants]

"He won't even look at me anymore," Suzy sobbed into the phone.

"Oh, stop it. You just delivered and you're hormonal. He's probably afraid you'll bite his head off."

"Gee, thanks."

"Oh, hell. Look, I'm at work. Freddy hasn't exactly been the man of steel of late, and I know where you're coming from. When I delivered Fred Jr., I put my teenage daughter to shame. And you know what a cock hound Rachel is."

"I'm dying, Brenda. I'm in such need of a good....fucking."

"Christ, Suze, what do you want me to do? Lez out on you or something?"

"No, I just wanted some sympathy, damn it!"

"Look, we got ten admissions going on, Doc Ritigliano is cursing me in Italian, the nurse just ran out in tears. The trash hasn't been emptied in a week. I can't spare you any sympathy right now. It's not that I don't care, but I'm not in a position where I can play girlfriend right now."

"All right."

"Oh, fuck, don't even give me that wounded puppy voice. I know Freddy and Steve are off to Lake Pickwick for a weekend fishing trip. I get off at ten, if I'm lucky. What say I grab a bag and I'll spend the weekend with you and the baby?"

"Mom has little Jimmy."

"Even better, I'll bring a fifth with me."

"I can't drink."

"Of course you can. You aren't pregnant any more."

"But I'm still breast feeding."

"So what? You got a pump. It'll all be out of your system before the rugrat is back."

"Brenda!"

"Oh, fuck. Look, I gotta go. See you around eleven."

Brenda Miles hung up and let out a big sigh. Being the admissions nurse at Baptist was bad enough, but on a Friday night, with a gang war going on and the janitorial staff on strike, it was sheer hell. She just didn't have time to stroke Suzy's ego tonight. Not that she felt bad about blowing her off, Suzy could be a real pain in the ass when she was in JAP mode. Which was all too often since she got pregnant.

Actually, Suzy was a high maintenance pain in the ass most of the time. She could also be the most kind, considerate and generous of friends. The problem was, she was strung tighter than a wasp waist corset. Brenda kept up the hope that she would eventually let her hair down and learn to enjoy life. It was a fading hope, as Suzy had become insufferable after the kid was born, obsessing over her weight, the kid, the house and Steve's seeming disinterest. Brenda hated to admit it, but she had been avoiding her friend. Suzy was just more emotionally draining than Brenda could handle at the moment.

She knew from Freddy that Steve was having his own problems with his wife. Brenda had coaxed Freddy into taking Steve out and giving him a talking to. The boy was getting desperate, and she couldn't deal with Suzy going through a divorce. But if the girl didn't lighten up, she was gonna drive Steve to it.

Brenda laughed out loud, causing several people to stare.

Good old Freddy. King of the horn dogs. His solution had been they try wife swapping. She wasn't that into Steve, but she had to admit, if anything would loosen Suze up, Freddy's cock would do it. Not only was he fantastically hung, but he knew how to use it, and imagining little Suzy with Freddy's black dick slamming her pussy was about the funniest thing she had thought of in a long time.

Actually, it wasn't just funny, it was kind of hot. Suze was a dish, even if she didn't know it. Back in their early swinging days, Brenda had been pretty naïve. Once she got started though, she had gone a little cunt crazy. She told herself it was just a passing thing, she hadn't been with another woman in a couple of years. The couples they regularly partnered with were pretty much straight. And none of the wives really did much for her anyway, but Suze? She had to admit, she could get into that.

Of course, it was all the more funny because Suze would never go for it. Steve would, Brenda had seen him surreptitiously checking out her tits and ass when they had pool parties. But Suze? Not with all the rum in Jamaica in her.

Brenda paused in the middle of her admission paper work and frowned. No, you couldn't get Suze liquored up enough. But what about drugged up? She pushed the thought from her mind and went back to her paper work, but it kept coming back. On her break, Brenda slipped into the pharmacy and perused the shelves.

Most of the tranquilizers were just too strong. And she wasn't real knowledgeable about the psychoactives. Several painkillers might work, but they might also make her sick. Brenda had only entered on a lark and was about to leave, chalking the whole crazy thought up to the bad idea column, when she saw the bottle of Cainockflorin. It was a new drug, and only Doc Ritigliano used it. He was still heavily loyal to the old country and the fact that an Italian firm had developed it made it good enough in his estimation.

He only gave it to the real whackos, but it really seemed to work on them. She had seen him calm a Schizoid-affective down from homicidal rage to sleepy and fuzzy with a single shot of the stuff. Curious, she grabbed the work up on it and took it back to the break room.

She read through all the cautions first and was surprised to find there were very few. She noted pregnant or nursing women wasn't among the proscribed patients list. The side effects were interesting as well.

Common side effects include: Drowsiness, dizziness, weakness, impaired judgment, impaired vision, confusion/disorientation, short term memory loss and impaired concentration.

Rare Side effects: Enhanced Tactile sensation (particularly in the extremities), Muscle soreness, breathing difficulty, Somnambulism, Hallucinations, Incontinence

In clinical trials one patient in 100,000 experienced an allergic reaction, which resulted in coma. Of these reactions .001 percent resulted in death. This side effect must be treated immediately with epinephrine delivered intravenously as well as antihistamines and oxygen.

Cainockflorin should not be administered to patients with Asthma or other breathing difficulty, taking Corticoid-steroids or opiate painkillers as either could result in breathing arrest.

Pretty powerful stuff. Brenda immediately discounted the coma and death warning. She had come to realize that was more legalese then medicalese. All the big pharmaceutical outfits were covering their asses now with such disclaimers. Even her birth control pills had such a warning, but when she asked, Dr. Palmer told her no one had ever died from them that he knew of. Suzy didn't have any breathing problems she was aware of, but it wasn't like Brenda knew her full medical history.

Brenda decided it was just a nutty idea and on her way back to the nurse's station, she stopped into the Pharmacy to return the paperwork to its cubby. She had intended to just leave, but she found herself alone and eyeing the two bottles of Cainockflorin. It only came in two oral doses, a .25 mg maintenance dose and a .5 mg intervention dosage. Anything more had to be given intravenously under a physician's supervision. The Doc eschewed the .5 mg dose, preferring to give the .25 incrementally until his patients calmed. Thus the .25 bottle was three quarters empty, but the .5 mg bottle was almost full.

Brenda found herself doing some quick arithmetic. Five hundred tablets, of which, maybe twenty were gone. That was over the roughly six months it had been available. Last inventory had been in April, so...roughly five more months till the admins got their panties in a wad or the state came in, necessitating a new inventory. Her hand was on the bottle and she was spilling two tabs out before she even really realized it. Stashing them in her coat pocket, she returned to the admissions desk and spent the rest of her shift debating the consequences of her crazy plan. ***

"Hey babe, miss you," Freddy's voice came over the line.

Brenda had just gotten in and was still half dressed when the phone rang. "Yeah, like I'm buying that. A weekend of fishing, lying and getting drunk is your idea of paradise," she replied, but there was no venom in her voice.

"Damn, woman, I can't even try to be nice to you, can I?" he chuckled.

"Sure you can, if Viagra is on sale."

"Ouch. Low blow there."

"You know I'm full of shit, babe."

"Yeah, but the dick jokes gotta stop. A man has his pride."

"So how's it going?" Brenda asked, as she tossed her eighteen-hour bra into the hamper.

"I....Look, I know she's your friend and all, but Stevie's mine. She's killing him, babe. She can't even loosen up a little bit. Even when he can get it, the sex is missionary only and she acts like it's a chore. It's just destroying his self-esteem. He loves her, but he's at the end of his rope."

"Damn."

"I even approached him about some swappin', but while he was hot as hell to get into your pants, he said there was no way she'd try it. I don't think this marriage is going to make it, babe. I'm sorry for that, she's a sweet girl sometimes, but I can't try to convince him to stay. Not after all he told me on the trip up."

Freddy..." she said, her tone turning icy.

"Awww, shit, don't do that, babe. I'm not gonna egg him on to leave her, but I just can't lean on him to stay. I know I'd be outta there in a heartbeat."

"If she loosened up some, do you think they would make it?" she said after a deep sigh.

"Sure. He's still in love with her, and he's about the proudest papa I ever did see. If she dropped the Princess crap and was even close to normal, he'd gut it out."

"All right, you tell Steve to hang in."

"I've heard that voice before. You about to read her the riot act?"

"No. I'm going to cut some corset strings and see what busts loose."

"Uh oh."

"What?"

"Nothing. I love you to death, babe, but I've heard that tone before. I know I wouldn't want any part of it. I'll keep Steve-o from bolting, but you have to tell me if nothing happens. I ain't sending the poor boy home to any more of what he's been gettin'."

**

Brenda pulled into the potholed parking lot and killed the engine. She checked her purse for the .32 she habitually carried, and took a deep breath. Getting out, she approached the garishly lit entrance and passed through the dilapidated door. Just inside, a kid with more tattoos and body piercings than a sideshow freak looked up from the book he was reading. She glanced at the title and laughed, Plato's the Republic. College kid, she decided.

"ID?" he inquired in a bored voice.

Brenda showed it to him and passed through the dark curtains and into the interior. She hadn't been to an adult store in ages, but they were all the same. She had picked this one, despite the bad neighborhood, because she knew one of the clerks. She just hoped Dana was on. She spotted her friend, helping a fat man in conservative business attire select a butt plug. Dana looked up, smiled and winked and went back to her customer. Once she had made the sale she came over and gave Brenda a hug.

"Fancy seeing you here, Freddy not living up to his rep?" the tall girl said as she hugged Brenda.

"He's still the man of the house," Brenda said with a laugh.

"So what brings you to Homo central?"

"I need some help."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I got a girlfriend who needs to get her ass laid, but good."

"You planning on doing the laying?"

"Yeah."

"Bren, I don't mean to be bitchy, but you aren't a top."

"Tonight I'm gonna be."

"Cool, what do you need?"

"Damned if I know, that's why I came to the expert."

"Well, tell me a bit about this girlfriend, then."

"She's a good girl, Dee. But she's about to loose her husband and a lot more. She's got some hang-up that keeps her from enjoying sex, and I think that's what has her so fucked up. She's a ball of stress and she won't relax or loosen up even a tiny bit. She's been playing princess for the past year or so, and it's just worn thin on everyone. I think she even knows it, but she seems incapable of stopping herself."

"So how you planning on bedding her? Think she might be a closet dyke?"

"No."

"Look, Bren, ain't none of my business, but if she's that fucked in the head, how you planning on getting her into the sack? I've bedded a few happily married women, but it's a damned frustrating deal getting them to lose the panties."

"She's going to lose them whether she likes it or not."

"Ooooo-Kay. I take it you aren't taking no for an answer."

"Damned skippy, I'm not."

"All right, well, let's see about some restraints then. You got a stick?"

"No."

"Well, we got some good harnesses," Dana said, leading Brenda over to one wall.

The tall butch selected a box and handed it to Brenda, who examined it curiously.

"How do you use it?"

"Self explanatory, no more difficult than putting on a pair of pants. It'll handle most any cock you choose."

As she spoke, Dana indicated a huge and bewildering array of dildos on the racks along the wall.

"Jesus H. Christ," Brenda whispered.

"Don't let the selection intimidate you. A dick's a dick's a dick. Choosing one is all about knowing what you want to do with it. Once you're clear on that, it practically picks itself," Dana said with an encouraging squeeze of Brenda's shoulder.

"I see."

"Just tell me what you want babe, I'm here to help."

Brenda thought about it for a few moments.

"I've gotta rock her world, Dee. She's gotta cum like she's never cum before, and she's gotta end up liking it."

"Petite girl? Big Girl? What?"

"Petite. Really petite."

"Experienced?"

"No. Not really."

Dana went to the rack and grabbed a monster dildo. Even Brenda, who was used to Freddy's horse dick balked.

"Most have funny names, puns and the like, or are modeled on porn stars. But this one, they just call it the Bitch Tamer. If you're dead set on fucking up her world view, this is the one you want."

"I don't think she can take that," Brenda said, hefting the thick and heavy dildo.

"Bullshit, Bren. Get her hot enough and she'll be begging for it. Unless you plan on some ass fucking, that's my recommendation."

"Hadn't thought about any ass fucking, but it might be just what she needs," Brenda said, still awed by the huge dildo.

Dana laughed and moved down the row, she came back with a long, thin and strangely shaped cock in clear latex. While she was away, Brenda considered the big dildo. It just looked too ridiculously large, but she decided she would trust Dana's judgment. She would only have one shot at this and it would be a shame to fail because she wasn't hung well enough.

"This will do for her backdoor. It was designed by a flaming queen of a doctor. It's scientifically contoured to give the most pleasure without doing any damage, so you can tear her up and not have to be worried about it." "All right. Dee?"

"Yeah?"

Brenda held up the Bitch Tamer and smiled.

"Does it come in black?"

***

Despite her detour, Brenda made it to Suzy's place with fifteen minutes to spare. She shouldered her overnight bag, but left the special bag on the car seat. She still wasn't sure she was going to go through with it, but she was prepared to take drastic action if discussion failed.

She knocked on the door and Suzy answered.

"Hey, Babe," Brenda said, barging in and giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Hey," her friend replied.

Brenda deposited her overnight bag on the sofa and hurried upstairs. She locked herself in the couple's bathroom and quickly scanned the medicine cabinet. When she had satisfied herself neither was using a rescue inhaler or taking anything more dangerous than aspirin, she relieved herself and went back downstairs. She smiled at Suzy and moved to the bar.

"So what's the plan?" Brenda asked as she fixed herself a rum and coke.

"I don't know. I can't get my mother on the phone to make sure the baby is all right and Steve hasn't called. I swear, I'm starting to think he's having an affair."

"Men are like that. If they aren't getting it at home, they go bird doggin'," Brenda said carefully.

It seemed like a good lead in. She was going to try to reason with Suzy first, but if that failed, she was now pretty much prepared to try the second option.

"That's not very nice."

"Oh, hell, Suzy. You gotta keep your man happy. I'm not going to lie to you."

"I've tried."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," she said defensively.

"So what have you tried?"

"The usual things."

"Get some sexy lingerie?"

"No, of course not."

"Meet him at the door naked and on your knees?"

"Brenda! There's no need to be so crude."

"Men like crude sometimes. You should try it."

"I'm not a whore!"

"I meet Freddy naked at the door, with a beer and a blow job at least once a month. You sayin' I'm a whore?" Brenda replied, her voice icy.

"No. You know I'm not. Let's change the subject, 'kay?"

"No, not yet. Just what have you tried, Suze?"

"Just regular stuff. You know, letting him know I would let him if he wanted to."

"Did you ever tell him you wanted to?"

"No, I'm not like that," she said blushing.

"Girl, a man's got a fragile ego. He has to feel wanted."

"I want him. I really do."

"But have you ever told him that?"

"No."

"Suze, you gotta loosen up. Nobody wants to be married to his mother in law."

"Bren, you're really pissing me off. Let's just drop it, okay? You just don't understand."

Oh, I understand perfectly, she thought. The only question is, can I make you see the light?

"All right, girlfriend, we'll drop it. I brought some flicks, you wanna make some popcorn?"

"Sure," she said, smiling.

That was the thing about Suze, Brenda mused. The redeeming quality that made putting up with her bullshit worth it. She had been hurt and upset, but she instantly forgave Brenda. She didn't have a vengeful bone in her body and didn't carry grudges. Beneath the puritanical attitude, she was genuinely sweet and loving. But that wouldn't be enough to save her marriage, and Brenda knew it.

"What can I get you?" Brenda asked, as casually as she could.

"Vodka Martini."

"That shit will rot your guts. How bout something less toxic?"

Brenda really didn't have anything against martinis, but she wanted something with some color to it.

"I dunno, have something you think would do me good?"

Oh yeah, that I do, she thought.

"How bout a Harvey Wallbanger? I see Steve picked up some Galliano."

"Never had one of those, sure," she replied.

"What kind of flick you feel like?" Brenda called.

She kept her eyes on the entrance to the kitchen as she mashed up the Cainockflorin into a powder and mixed it with the sugar she was adding to Suze's drink. She had it done and was carrying both drinks to the table when Suze came in with a bowl of popcorn. Brenda popped in a girly flick and sat back, sipping on her rum and coke. She watched from the corner of her eye as Suzy sipped the drink.

"Wow!" she exclaimed.

"Like it?'

"Yeah, it's sweet and kinda...I dunno..."

"Don't try to explain," Brenda laughed, "There are no words for how Galliano tastes. You either like it or hate it."

"I like it," Suzy said, taking a much larger sip.

Brenda paid no attention to the movie, but watched Suzy closely. At first there seemed to be no effect, but after a while she started to sway and her eyes dilated.

"Suzy?" Brenda asked.

When she didn't respond, Brenda put down her drink and moved next to her friend. She waved her hand in front of Suzy's face and snapped her fingers.

"Suzy!" she shouted.

"Huh? Ummmm... I'm feeling woozy...Feel..." her words trailed off into an incoherent mumbling.

"Feel like some serious fucking?" Brenda asked.

"Mmm...fucking..."

Well, the first part of her plan seemed to be working. Brenda knew she would have to hurry though. She had only used .5 mg and while the effects were stunning, she knew the intervention dosage was meant to be applied to someone who had already had a serious IV dose in their system. Left to her own devices, Suzy would fall asleep and wake with nothing worse than a drug hangover, and maybe some sore muscles. Brenda had no intention of leaving her to her own devices, however. Brenda hurried out to her car and got her gym bag. By the time she returned, Suzy was slumped over on the sofa and curled up. Brenda opened the bag and pulled out the restraints. She glanced around the room, her eyes finally settling on the coffee table. It was a stout piece of furniture, fashioned to resemble an old style cedar chest. The legs were squat, stout ovals and looked to be sturdy enough to handle the most violent struggles.

The restraints Dana had suggested were thick leather bands, with a double row of holes running down the length. One end held a heavy, stainless steel clip, the other a buckle. Their best feature, besides being incredibly strong, was their versatility. It took Brenda only a few minutes to attach one to each of the table legs and she left only about an inch of play in each. She looked in her bag, looked at Suzy's limp form and did what she promised herself she would.

She took a step back and really thought about what she was about to do. She wasn't too worried about the consequences if she failed. Suzy would never, under any circumstances, go to the cops. It might ruin their friendship, but Brenda was resigned to that anyway. If she took no action, Suze would move back to Peoria and her parents after Steve divorced her. They already hated Brenda's guts, for being black and their daughter's friend, among other things. So she would loose her friend in any scenario that didn't save her marriage.

If she succeeded, Suze would probably save her marriage. Of course, she might not be Suzy anymore. Realizing sex was fun did strange things to people. But that was a chance Brenda was willing to take.

Brenda kicked off her sandals and sat next to her friend. Her hands were shaking just a bit as she undid the pretty buttons on Suzy's blouse. Beneath it she wore a simple, white, full coverage, front closure bra. Brenda shook her head and unclasped it, her eyes sparkled as she got a good look at her friend's tits. They were small, but perfectly formed, and capped with small dusky aureoles and thick, stubby nipples. They were pert, rode high on her chest and the skin was creamy and flawless. Even with her pregnancy they were still barely a handful. Quite a contrast to Brenda's own dark bra busters. "Hmmm? Wha? Hmmm?" Suzy groggily moaned.

"Just relax, baby, just getting you a little more comfy. Nothing wrong with that, is there?" Brenda said in a soothing voice.

"Comprable," Suzy said, and then giggled.

Brenda slipped the bra off her shoulders and unbuttoned her jeans. She was hoping for something sexy, but as she tugged them down she saw Suzy wore simple white cotton granny panties.

"Damn, girl, why do you insist on wrapping this hot little body in such ugly underwear?"

Brenda didn't wait for a response, sliding her hands into the waistband and pulling the panties off. Suzy's pussy was very trim, the mount of Venus barely discernable. Golden red pubic curls hid her lips from view. Brenda tossed the panties and used her fingers to part the soft pubes. She felt a bit nervous when she saw that Suzy's lips were very delicate. She had the smallest, most dainty pussy Brenda had ever seen, and she wondered if taking Dana's advice on the bitch tamer had been a mistake after all.

"Nakey?" Suzy giggled drunkenly.

Brenda could see she was coming around. Already she had progressed from semi functional to that stage where everything was funny. She quickly removed the drinks and magazines and used Suzy's ugly panties to wipe down the tabletop. It took some effort to get the petite girl onto the table, she was small, but in her drugged state, her body was almost dead weight. Brenda stuffed a couch cushion under her tummy with some difficulty.

From her bag, Brenda grabbed four cuffs and tossed them on the floor. These were all made of thick black leather and lined with soft white fur. Each was adjustable and held closed by two thin leather straps and buckles. A heavy metal D ring was set into each.

Brenda attached one to each of Suzy's wrists and ankles, and then hooked the D rings into the straps. She stood back a moment to admire her handiwork. She hadn't started out with any thought of particularly enjoying what she was going to do, but the sight of petite little Suzy; naked, helpless, with her perfect little ass up thrust and her pussy exposed sent a thrill through Brenda that was undeniable. She was mildly surprised to realize she was getting damp. Even more, she was surprised to realize she was going to enjoy the hell out of this.

"Maybe I'm still a little cunt crazy," she said to herself.

"Cunt. Cunt, cunt, cunt," Suzy repeated in a little girl voice.

Brenda smiled and headed upstairs. She wanted to give Suze a little more time to come around and she also wanted to satisfy herself of a few things before she committed to this. In the bedroom, she breezed past the big bed and pulled open Suzy's dresser drawers. Beautiful clothes, expensive, carefully folded and neat. Dior, Ann Taylor, Talbot's. And fucking ugly underwear. All cotton, all granny cut. Bras all the same. Just fucking unbelievable, she thought. No nighties, no negligees, no outfits for role play, no stockings or garter belts, just control top hose. As if Suzy had anything that needed controlling. There was barely a hint of fat left from the pregnancy.

It was almost like she intentionally refused to wear anything even mildly provocative. The only exception to the procession of blah white panties was a pair of red cotton bikini briefs. These were laundered, but Brenda could tell they hadn't been worn much, if at all. She suddenly had an image of poor Steve, trying to get his wife something a little sexy and her never wearing them. No wonder the poor guy was ready to call it quits.

She padded through the rest of the house, to find everything immaculate. No dust anywhere, no clutter, a place for everything and everything in its place.

"Donna fucking Reed," Brenda said.

Heading back downstairs, she shed her blouse. The investigation upstairs had sealed the deal. Brenda unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled out of them, taking the black thong with them. She kept her bra on, for the present. From her bag, she grabbed the harness and gingerly shook it out. It looked for all the world like an oversized pair of edible undies. She stepped into the leg loops, and snugged up the Velcro of the waistband, then gave each of the tabs a pull, until she felt the leather cod piece settle over her pussy. She wasn't really sure she even had it on right and she had no idea of how tight it should be. A little experimentation followed, but she found herself sweating it more than she thought she would.

Brenda took out the Bitch Tamer, then eyed it. There was a small hole in the base, which seemed to be meant for the stud at the front of her harness. She lined them up and pressed it firmly to the stud that was seated over her clit and jutting out. With three audible clicks the huge toy seated and when she let it go, it simply drooped under its own weight. She jogged her hips, feeling the exciter on her side of the harness rub against her clitoral hood and watching in fascination as her cock bobbed and bounced. She felt a really weird sense of power and she could see why men were so fascinated with their willies.

"Well, Mrs. Cleaver, it's time for you to meet the neighbors," Brenda said, smiling at her own joke.

From her bag she took a thick tube of high tech lube. It was called Hyperglide, and had been developed by NASA as a waterproof lubricant for high performance equipment. Brenda squeezed a good amount into her hand and began to slick up the toy at her waist. It took two more squeezes of the tube and both hands, but she finally got the whole thing coated. From the bag, she then pulled out the set of kneepads Freddy wore when laying tile. She wasn't as young as she used to be, and she had anticipated the need to ease the pressure on her knees. She buckled them on, picked up the tube of lube and squeezed a good glob of it onto her hand, while kneeling at the foot of the table.

She put the kneepads up against the wood, and then cupped Suzy's pussy and began to work the lube in.

"Huh? What? Brenda?"

"Relax babe, it's just some lube."

"Lube?"

"Yeah, to get you all slick and ready."

"Ready for wha..." her question faded into a soft moan as Brenda found her entrance and introduced two slick fingers. She felt another pang of doubt as Suzy's pussy gripped her fingers. She was so tight Brenda had to muscle her way in, and that worried her. She hoped the Hyperglide would do the trick. At least she was sure Suzy hadn't been lying about one thing, her tight little pussy was gently massaging Brenda's fingers and it was obvious that she was in need of a good fucking.

Brenda eased her fingers out and used both hands to grip the shaft of her cock and hold it on target. This proved to be far more difficult than she had anticipated. While she had a good line of sight, the lack of feedback from the toy left her nervous and she moved with extreme care, lest she hurt Suzy. When it finally seated, she began to lean forward, letting her weight slowly settle in behind the thick toy. Suzy groaned raggedly.

"Stop! It hurts. Please, Brenda."

The dark-skinned woman ignored her and put more weight behind the toy. She was fascinated at the way it was stretching Suzy's pussy.

"Brenda? What are you doin..." her words were cut off by an 'oomph' as the head slipped past her outer ring of muscles and into her quivering pussy.

"Giving what you said you needed. A good hard fucking!" Brenda crowed.

Suzy seemed to become more aware and began to struggle, but the bonds held her fast. Brenda pressed forward slowly, then rocked back slightly, just like Freddy did with her. As she watched, an inch of the thick shaft, then another slowly sank into Suzy's tight channel.

"Stop it! This isn't funny," Suzy panted.

"You're right there, babe, it's hot as hell, but it damn sho ain't funny."

"Brenda, please, this is wrong!" Suzy cried as more of the thick intruder invaded her secret place.

"Shut up. Just shut up and enjoy it. You've been crying for days that you needed it, and now you're gonna get it in spades."

"Not from you!"

"Yes, from me!" Brenda said, thrusting forward to punctuate her words.

"Ohmigod! Please, it hurts," Suzy sobbed.

"Hurts so good, you mean. Don't try to lie to me. I can smell your pussy from here."

Brenda removed first one hand and then the other, eventually grasping Suzy's hips. All but the last inch of the wide base was now inside her whimpering lover, but Brenda wouldn't be satisfied with half measures tonight. She slid her knees out a little, to widen her base and get some purchase and then drove forward with all she had.

Suzy screamed, a piercing, keening cry that split the silence of the room. Brenda's hips bumped up tight against the bound woman's ass. She held still then, letting Suze adjust. Brenda could see the muscles in her butt and back twitching beneath her fine, alabaster skin.

"Take it out. Take it out, Please. Pretty please?"

"Sho thing, baby," Brenda said, withdrawing it by rocking her hips back.

She loved the way Suzy's lips seemed to be hanging on, like they were reluctant to let it escape. When she was about halfway out, Brenda drove it back in.

"No!" Suzy shouted.

She wiggled frantically in her bonds, plunging and rocking the stout table, but Brenda ignored her and continued trying to get the hang of it. Suzy screamed and shouted and threatened, but it made no impression. Brenda was having a ball. She had always assumed fucking was easy. After all, she had never had trouble mastering rhythm and stroke in femme superior, but she found life wasn't so easy from the other side of the dick. She could keep up a fairly even stroke, by alternately hunching her back and straightening up, but it was far too much work and didn't produce any of the variation in stroke she knew was so enjoyable. Not that little Suzy was complaining, she was huffing and puffing, whining and biting back on moans now. Only occasionally mustering a protest.

Over time, Brenda found, to her amusement, that it was all in her hips and legs, despite what "felt" right. She had always thought it felt like a pistoning motion and thus that it was all in your back, but the truth was, she got a smoother flow by rolling her hips. This method gave her a much smoother action, but in no time the muscles in her ass began to burn. Brenda then tried a more jerky motion, using her legs to drive, while keeping her ass out of it.

She drew back for a long stroke and the dong popped out of Suzy's pussy. Brenda was already thrusting back so her hips smacked Suzy's with an audible thwack. Brenda burst out laughing and grasped the toy with both hands. It was still a tight fit, but she had far less trouble getting it in this time.

She laughed in delight as she was able to watch her cock and how the different methods produced different visuals. She was so caught up in it she failed at first to even hear Suzy, but as she was contemplating the exact mechanics of the little rolling flourish Freddy sometimes used, the girl's words penetrated.

"Brenda? Please. Something's wrong. I f.f.f.feel strange."

Brenda didn't need more than a moment to ascertain what the strange feeling was, but it left her troubled. The muscles in Suzy's legs and back were rippling and tensing, the aroma from her pussy had become much stronger and her juices now coated the toy hammering into her. Her labored breathing, and the frequent squeaks all pointed to an orgasm. It was hard for Brenda to comprehend those wonderful warning signs being scary or strange.

"Suzy? Haven't you ever cum real hard?" she asked quizzically.

"N...n...no..."

"Well, get ready girl, cause you're taking a trip on the Nirvana express," Brenda said, grasping the girl's hips more firmly and reverting to the rolling of her hips.

"No, please, this isn't supposed to happen," she whined.

Brenda ignored her, using her legs now and her back, throwing herself forward with each lunge. The big cock made obscene slurping noises as it slammed into Suzy's soaked pussy.

"Cum for me, baby," Brenda urged through clenched teeth.

Sweat poured off her forehead and burned her eyes. It also rolled down her chest, soaking into the silk demi cup bra she had neglected to remove earlier. The muscles in her ass were burning, like they did near the end of an aerobics class, but she kept on pounding into Suzy. Kept on delivering the stimulation, even thought she could see Suzy was fighting it with all she had.

Brenda could have warned her it was useless to fight, but she didn't. She knew the longer Suzy held out, the better it would feel when it came. With that in mind she slowed her stroke, and lengthened it, letting some of the tension in her captive dissipate. And thus it went for well over an hour. Brenda was experimenting, getting comfortable with the motions and the physics. Poor Suzy was struggling just to cope with the relentless pounding her tender pussy was getting.

Brenda decided she had built it up enough. She wanted the first one to rock Suzy's world, but she also knew that the first was never the best and she intended to orgasm her friend until she passed out. Brenda pulled herself tightly to Suzy's butt and began to use short, rapid strokes. Suzy was grunting and groaning, but as time passed, she still hadn't come. It suddenly occurred to Brenda that perhaps, Suzy's problem was a medical one. Maybe she just couldn't orgasm. It would certainly explain her seeming aversion to sex for fun. It would also mean this had been a monumental mistake on her part.

Spurred on by that fear, Brenda threw everything she had into it. The muscles in her stout thighs stood out, as did those in her ass. She could feel the fire, the burning sensation that told her she was pushing past the point where her body was comfortable, but she ignored it. She was really worried now and she began to will Suzy to come. Gritting her teeth against the discomfort as she slammed the thick cock into Suze.

Suzy was making the most incredibly sexy noises now, little whimpers and moans, punctuated by occasional squeaks and barks. Her body was tensed and Brenda found almost as much relief as she did satisfaction when Suze cried out and her body came unglued. She plunged and jerked, thrusting back as best she could to meet Brenda's lunges. She screamed, the sound raw and feral, but softening towards the end into a delicious moan.

Brenda kept driving into her, until Suze lay still. She was babbling now, soft incoherent murmurs. Brenda pulled out, and sat back on her heels, breathing a big sigh of relief. She caught her breath, let her heart rate get back to normal and then carefully stood. Her legs protested, but not badly, and she wandered into the kitchen where she began to rummage around. She found exactly what she wanted in a drawer, a wooden sauce spoon. It was light, but sturdy and stung when she slapped it onto her palm.

She returned to the living room and took up a place behind her bound friend. Suze's ass was still up turned, ripe, pale and vulnerable. Brenda brought the spoon down on it hard. The resultant sound was neither a smack, nor a splat, but a mixture of both. Suze screeched and threw herself forward, actually sliding the table a few inches along the carpeted floor.

"No!"

Brenda ignored her, watching the skin become pink. She smacked the other cheek and Suze reacted violently again. Satisfied that the spoon wasn't doing any real damage, she began to rapidly spank her smaller friend. Brenda applied the spoon to each cheek, alternating and aiming for any spot she hadn't hit yet. Suzy's skin went from pale, to pink to rosy and then to an angry red. Protests, threats and curses gradually gave way to pleading and begging. Brenda ignored it and continued, until she could place her hand near her friend's ass and feel the fierce heat radiating outward.

Suze drooped in her bonds, letting the straps go slack as Brenda put the spoon down. Her victim was panting, and sobbing now, but Brenda was too busy to worry about it. It took a lot of work to get the slippery toy to disconnect from her harness. Her hands kept slipping off and she found there wasn't really anything to hold onto. Eventually, she hit upon getting her fingers under the base, and with some effort, it finally came free.

From her bag, she took the anal toy and attached it with little difficulty. More hyperglide was used as she slicked it up. Brenda scooted behind her reluctant lover and slowly worked some of the lube into the crack between Suzy's scarlet cheeks.

"Ohhhh."

"Feel good, baby?" Brenda said in a soothing voice.

"Yes, it's so cool," Suzy sniffled.

Brenda smiled, applied some more and let her finger settle on Suzy's rear entrance. With infinite care she worked it in, pushing a gob of the hyperglide before it.

"What are you doing?" Suzy cried in alarm.

"Just getting this fine ass ready for some action," Brenda replied.

"Action?...Oh No! Brenda you can't!"

"Watch me," the novice top replied, scooting into position and holding the toy before her.

Brenda was unprepared for what happened next. Suzy went absolutely apeshit. She screamed for help, threw her body violently forward and struggled mightily against her bonds. Brenda actually released the toy and tried to calm Suzy down. She was afraid the girl would hurt herself in her wild bid to escape. The table held, as did the bonds and after a while, Suzy wore herself out. As she lay there, panting Brenda took the opportunity to line her cock up and press it forward. The flared tip penetrated and Suzy went berserk again, bu When Suzy's hysterical strength failed a second time, Brenda was able to get her weight behind the toy. She had both hands on Suzy's trim waist, bearing down with her weight, which kept the girl from wiggling.

Brenda had intended to go very slowly, she knew how painful anal could be if done wrong and she had no intention of hurting her friend, but she hadn't counted on the design of the toy, nor had she factored in Suzy's strong reaction to the muscle relaxant in the drug. The thin toy shot into Suzy's ass in a rush, driving deeply enough that Brenda's hips bumped the girl's ass.

"Ow!" Suzy cried, but it was almost as if she was more surprised than hurt.

"Did that hurt?" Brenda asked.

"Yes."

"You okay?"

"No."

"Suze, unless you want another ass tanning, don't fuck with me. Now are you all right?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

The reply was so soft it was almost inaudible, but Brenda smiled.

"It gets a lot better, girlfriend," Brenda said, as she began to carefully fuck Suzy's gorgeous ass.

The experience was grand, but frustrating. It was a whole new angle, a whole new approach, and it took her much longer to establish a rhythm she liked. Once she did, Brenda really poured it on and Suzy's moans and cries let her know it was a mutually enjoyable cadence. When she got really comfortable, she reached around Suzy's hip and began to tease her clit. The small woman gasped, but moved slightly to give Brenda better access.

"Feels good, don't it?' she whispered.

"Yes," Suzy replied in a sexy, breathless, but somehow sheepish voice.

"You're about to cum again, aren't you?"

"I think so."

"Don't fight it, babe, just let it come."

"Okay," she replied unsurely.

Brenda was unsure if Suzy's sudden acquiescence was a product of the drug's side effects or of her monster orgasm. Whichever was the case, the dark girl decided to take full advantage of it. Her questing fingers found Suzy's little bud and began to really work on it as her hips kept the dildo working in long, even strokes. Suzy moaned, then gasped and with another wild lunge she came. Brenda was a little taken aback, she wondered if all Suzy's orgasms were going to be so violent. Her own experience was that they ebbed and flowed, some strong, some weak, but maybe that didn't apply here.

Or maybe she's just so frustrated that she's built up a lot of need, Brenda thought.

Brenda kept plowing into her lover's ass and continued to manipulate her clit. A second orgasm quickly followed, and a third and then.

"Wow" Brenda said in amazement as Suzy went into another paroxysm while gurgling happily.

Sensing the time was right, Brenda pulled out and fought her way out of the harness. She hurried to the dinette, grabbed a chair and put it right next to the head of the table. She ten straddled the table, lowered her ass to the edge of it, and leaned back on the chair. This placed her pussy right in Suzy's face, while giving her some stability.

The small girl looked up dazedly and wrinkled her nose.

"Bren?" she asked.

"Eat my pussy, baby," Brenda coaxed.

"But...."

"No buts. Just do it, baby,"

She looked confused, but shrugged and closed her eyes. Brenda nearly came when she saw Suzy's little pink tongue slip from between her lips. Brenda used her hands to pry her sticky lips apart and scooted a little closer. The first contact of Suzy's velvety tongue on her pussy sent a jolt though her like none she could remember. It only got better as the small girl began to lap at her pussy like a kitten would.

Brenda had always loved getting head. Male or female, it made no difference to her enjoyment. She found women usually had better technique, but it was far from an absolute. Suzy had none. In this case though, that lack of technique had absolutely no correlation to the pleasure. Just watching her was driving Brenda to distraction. As the bound girl got used to the aroma and taste, she seemed to lose some of her hesitancy. When Brenda began to moan and grind her hips, Suzy became bolder and more vigorous. Brenda held off as long as she could, but when she finally gave in and came, the orgasm was astounding.

It wasn't as physically powerful as some she had experienced, but in her head, the mental turn on made it uniquely pleasurable. The bursts of pleasure soon carried her away and when she looked down she was holding Suzy's head tightly to her pussy. She let go and found Suzy watching her curiously.

"What?" Brenda asked.

"Why?" she asked, tears forming in her big brown eyes.

Brenda smiled as encouragingly as she could and leaned in close. She had possessed herself of Suzy's body by force, but she dreaded this, the really brutal part.

"Steve's going to ask you for a divorce, baby. Not because he doesn't love you, but because you've become an insufferable bitch since you got pregnant. You're wound so tight I couldn't force a nail up your ass with a trip hammer. You're alienating everyone, with your constant whining and need for attention. God love you, baby, you're as sweet as the day is long, but you couldn't be destroying your life any more thoroughly if you were trying."

"I'm not trying," she said, tears streaming from her eyes.

"I know, baby."

"Besides," she sniffled, "What has that got to do with this?"

"You suck at sex. I felt like that was the root of your problems. You were frustrated, and afraid and your lack of desire for him was causing Steve problems that were just adding to the overall stress level around here. You didn't know how to enjoy getting down, and no matter what happens now, you can't say it ain't good, can you?"

"No," she admitted, "But you didn't have to give a demonstration, did you? You could have just told me."

"I've tried to just tell you. I've tried to help, but every time I go there, you clam up or get pissed."

"So you think that's an excuse to rape me?" she cried.

"Ouch. I probably deserved that, but I won't apologize. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I only saw one chance to keep you from making a huge mistake. I did what I had to do."

"So you're saying this was a public service? That you didn't enjoy it?"

"No, baby, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it," Brenda admitted.

Suzy's face went from furious to relieved before Brenda's stunned eyes.

"Good. At least it wasn't a chore," she said softly.

"What on earth would make you think it was a chore? You're dead sexy."

"Am I?"

"Of course you are," Brenda replied.

She hadn't anticipated the conversation going like this and it was rapidly taking on a surreal quality she couldn't fathom.

"Do you mind letting me up? I'm starting to cramp."

"I will, if you promise to let me tie you down again," Brenda said with a half smile.

"Deal." ***

"That's some fucked up shit," Brenda said as she sipped her coffee.

"I guess, but if you're raised in it, you don't know any better."

"So when your momma gave you the birds and bees speech all she told you about was the pain and suffering?"

"Yeah. Scare tactics, I guess. Or maybe she really believes it. God knows she and Daddy never showed any interest in each other."

"I can't believe that shit still goes on in the modern day."

"You haven't ever left the city, Bren. There are communities out west that might as well still be in the last century. And there are some where people like Pastor Wiggins are God on earth in all but name."

"Why didn't you tell Steve?"

"Because I didn't know! I was raised that way. I just assumed everyone was that way."

"Everyone 'cept me."

"You're black," she said apologetically, "you're supposed to be depraved."

"Damn."

"Give me a little credit. I got past that part of my upbringing without any help," she said, sipping a bottled water.

"Sounds like some kind of cult or something."

"Not really. Just a very insular community. It got better when we moved to the city."

"Peoria's a city? Since when?" Brenda asked sarcastically.

"It's a lot bigger than Wigginsville."

"So this fucked up religious guy owns the whole town?"

"Not all of it, just the good parts. His father bought all the property up and laid out the town. Some kind of commune experiment back in the sixties, I think. The son got into fundamentalist religion and ran all the ex-hippies out when his dad passed. He owns the whole commercial district, so if you want to have a store there, you play his way. Same for the subdivisions. If you want to buy a house, you have to meet his demands. He won't allow any other church to move in and he's Mayor, as well as Pastor and Chairman of the board and Justice of the Peace and...you name it."

"Someone ought to sue."

"They have, but he's a big contributor to all the local and state politicos. Someone will get around to filing a federal suit, but you gotta understand something, Bren. The people who live there like it just the way it is. My folks only moved cause Daddy got a better job and they were forever pining for "home". They'll move back as soon as dad retires. Some people just like it all laid out for them."

"All right, so you're upbringing was fucked, still, you had to have known, girl. I mean, you watch the tube, go to the movies, read magazines. You just can't possibly have been totally in the dark."

"No, not totally, but you have to understand. This was something I was raised to believe. It takes a lot to get past it. Even harder than the race thing. At least there, I had the evidence of my experiences to help me take the blinders off. With this...Steve was my first and only. And my first time was just as painful and awful as mom said it would be. I really wanted to believe it was fun and romantic and wonderful and all that, but every time we tried it, it wasn't."

"You have to put something into it for it to be fun."

"You tell me that now and I've got....some pretty incredible proof it can be fun," she said with a pretty blush, "If you told me that last Friday, it would have been against my experience."

"That's just too out there for me, like something from the twilight zone or the outer limits. The girl who couldn't cum or some shit like that"

"Yeah, well. Getting fucked silly by my best friend is pretty out there for me," Suzy observed.

"Fair enough. But you ain't pissed at me or nothing, right?"

"I'm not real thrilled that you decided on this method. It's pretty humiliating," she said archly, but her face softened, "On the other hand, I don't think anything short of cumming like I did would have given me any chance of getting past it. Now that I've experienced what it can feel like, there's really no way I can go back to believing it's an unpleasant obligation. So I should be thanking you, but I'm not there yet. I still feel like I ought to be pissed, but what I really feel is relief."

Brenda had to smile at that, and Suzy smiled back.

"So now what?" Suzy asked.

"Well," Brenda said, drawing the word out, "We got till Monday before the boys get back and I was just starting to enjoy having a dick."

"So, what?"

"So, I think it's time to take your hot little ass upstairs and get back to fucking."

"I guess I could use some more practice," she said gravely, but Brenda could see the smile in her eyes.

[finallygaveintothesirencall]

#idk man i find it so funny he's all mad cause rook interrupted his ritual#despite not telling ANYONE what it was meant for#can you imagine if he'd given a heads up to inky#this fade egg i love his prideful ass so much tags via @roguelioness

Solas: doesn't tell his friends anyone about his plans

Also Solas: why did you ruin my perfectly good plan!?