#too young to hang out with anybody older than me

[area51-escapee]

Pre holiday depression

[l1tw1ck]

dean winchester consumes my mind LAWDDD I beg for anything with that man, surviving off of scraps looking for more top male reader x dean 🤕

- 🛸

No Longer a Mentor

Sub!Bottom Dean Winchester x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,512 ☆

After spending his young adult years with you, his mentor, more than his father, Dean found himself falling for you. He eventually made a move and forever changed the dynamic of your relationship

🕯️: well luckily for u, i just finished this draft :3

CW: Age Gap, First Time Bottoming, Blowjob, Fingering, Frottage (Sort Of), Creampie

Dean’s known you for a couple years, you're a friend of his dad’s and a fellow hunter. You became his mentor in place of his father, who often hunted on his own and left Dean in your care. You liked to stay in your state since the area was basically a supernatural magnet while his father preferred to travel the country so he chose you to finally allow Dean to stay in one place for more than a week. If you were anybody else, Dean would've been annoyed that his dad didn't take him along despite his age and experience. Instead of going to college, Dean spent those years learning to hunt with his father and mostly you. Thanks to all the time you spend with each other, his allegiance to you is almost stronger than his allegiance to his father. He hangs on your every word and treats you like a god. It's thanks to you that he finally accepted his bisexuality. But he doesn't want to tell you that.

He first started feeling differently towards you when you started to become more physical with him. You often hold onto his shoulder with your strong hand or pull him out of the way by his waist and it drives him crazy. He so desperately wants to feel your hands on other parts of his body and vice versa. Your voice makes him weak in the knees and you sound especially attractive when you've found your prey. You're much older than him but he can't get rid of his feelings for you. He tries his best to be content with just having a crush.

After you two had dinner, you decided to drink with him. The two of you laughed and talked over a few cans of beer and deepened your relationship further.

“You ever been in a relationship, [Name]?” Dean asks, slightly tipsy.

“A few. I mostly slept around in my college years and experimented a bit with other hunters but in the end I decided to marry my job instead.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to marry someone I could tell everything to so I tried dating within my circle but none of the hunters seemed to click with me in the ways that really matter.”

“That makes sense…then you probably haven't…” He trails off.

“I probably haven't what?”

“Had sex…lately……”

You laugh. “No, I haven't. Honestly, I think getting laid would really help me. It's been a rough couple weeks.”

“I…” Dean gulps. “I could help with that….if you don't mind…….being with a guy..”

You look at him in surprise. “You're drunk.”

“I’ve only had two cans and a half…You know I don't get drunk that fast.”

You look at him differently, no longer with the eyes of a mentor. “You’ll bottom?”

Dean nods.

You smile in amusement. “I might be a little rough, can you handle that?”

He nods again, more enthusiastically this time.

“Come here.” You motion for him to come over to your side of the table. He stands in front of you. “Kneel.” You order. Dean immediately kneels, his cock steadily growing in size. You unbuckle your belt and pull down your underwear. Dean stares at your cock in awe, body heating up as he watches you jerk it to its true size.

“Fuck. You’re big.” He breathes out.

“Too big?”

“I can handle it.” He says, licking his lips.

“Attaboy.” You run your hands through his hair. Dean blushes. “Ever done this before?”

“Never..” His eyes are trained on your length.

“Is this your first time with a man?”

“Yeah…”

Your gaze changes. Dean shivers in arousal. “How long have you wanted this?”

“A long time…I’ve been…fingering myself, in case we….” He looks away.

You grin, turned on by the thought of that. “You'll have to show me that some day.”

Dean’s face gets redder.

“Now, let me see how you suck cock.”

He's so hard right now. He opens his mouth and slowly swallows your length. He makes a dragged out moan in pleasure as he feels your thickness enter him. Pre cum leaks out of his cock as he imagines how it’ll feel in his ass. He bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, mimicking his past girlfriends by simultaneously swirling his tongue around your shaft.

“Fuck–” You moan. “That's it– good boy.”

Words can't express how happy Dean gets when you praise him.

“You're better at this than I expected, baby.” You smile at his cuteness. He can't hide how pleased he is. “You like sucking dick, don't you? I never thought you’d be a cock slut, Dean.”

He moans. He’ll happily be your cock slut. He pulls away and licks your length in a very sexy way, gaining more confidence thanks to his elevated horniess. “I love your cock, sir.”

“Of course, you’re my cock slut.” You press your hand against his cheek. “Stand up and take your clothes off, I wanna use your other hole.”

Dean’s cock throbs even more. He stands up and quickly removes his clothes, shivering under your hungry and lustful gaze. You pat your lap and he quickly sits on top of you, your shafts pressed against each other.

You grope his ass. “I don’t have any lube..” You trail off, mesmerized by his soft butt.

“I already fingered myself earlier.” He smiles.

“Good boy.” You praise him. “Then spit’ll be enough. Say ‘ah’.” You bring two fingers into Dean’s mouth. He sucks on your fingers in the sluttiest way he can before you take them out and gently push one of your saliva covered fingers inside his soft hole. You give him a moment before adding the second, then you start to finger him.

Dean lets out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard. “[Name]~” He arches his back and subconsciously thrusts his hips, his cock rubbing against yours. “Your- yours feel so- fuck~” He groans. “So much better!”

You moan as well thanks to the sudden friction. You bring him into a sloppy kiss, the temperature between the two of you steadily rising. Dean pulls away first, more desperate for air, and presses his forehead against your shoulder. “Don't stop– mm- gonna come~” He whimpers. Your fingers find his prostate, an immediate gasp of pleasure leaving Dean’s lips. He throws his head back. “There! Yes!” He moans, grinding against your cock even faster. The combination of his moans, his expression, and his cock against yours all contribute to bringing you to closer your orgasm.

Dean comes first, cum splattering over the two of you. Yours comes second thanks to the amazing look on Dean’s face.

“You're so fucking sexy, Dean, you know that?” You take your fingers out and knead his ass.

“I know.” He gives you a kiss. “I want you inside me.”

You lift Dean up and slowly lower him down on your cock. You both let out noises of pleasure as you penetrate him. He bites down on his lip, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his ass stretching to accommodate your girth. Once you bottom out, you give him time to get used to it. “Your cunt feels fucking amazing.” You groan. It's hard to hold yourself back but thankfully for you, Dean has no intention of waiting any longer. He places his hands on your shoulders and starts riding you. He quickly loses his momentum as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. You help him out by grabbing his waist and doing the work for him, allowing Dean to fully enjoy himself.

He knew anal sex would feel good, especially because it's anal sex with you, but he never really had an idea of how good it’d feel until now. Now he's completely blissed out and only able to moan like a slut. It's especially thanks to your quick and rough speed that he's unable to think properly. You couldn't get yourself to go slower even if you tried. His ass just feels way too good.

“Your ass is perfect, Dean–” You groan. “So fucking good-” You hold him and stand up then gently place him on the table after clearing it of the empty cans. You rut into him like a monster, so horny that you feel like you could fuck him all night. You can never get enough of him.

Dean arches his back and shakes as ropes of cum spurt out of his dick. You know you should stop, or at least slow down, but you can't. “‘M sorry baby, fuck–” You moan, hanging your head low as you find your orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come inside, okay? Gonna fill up your tight fucking cunt with my seed–”

Dean’s conscious enough to understand you. “Ye- yes!” He grins. He's been wanting to know what it feels like to get creampied. “Co- come inside!”

Encouraged by his words, you spill your cum into his warm and welcoming hole. Your thrusts come to a stop and the two of you start to catch your breaths.

“That…was so fucking good.” Dean says, leaning back.

[doverstar]

I'd love to defend Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life for a minute (I don't usually make long posts and may delete this later for that reason) because I feel like writing something inconsequential.

Other people get lots of comfort watching the original show (especially in the fall). I feel cozier watching AYITL. The characters are much older; the dizzy, flighty, still-growing-up feelings for Lorelai and Rory have faded, and it's full of moments that make it clear that certain things in their lives are definitely always going to be there. Constants. Luke, Stars Hollow, family, Kirk, Taylor, the changing of the seasons. Now - for my defense. (I'm rambling.)

Okay, many, many people don't like the revival. I understand. It's different in a lot of ways from the original show, and lots of expectations were not met. When I first saw it, it threw me too. But I didn't dislike it. In fact, the more I rewatched it, the more I thought it was almost better than the first show. The leading ladies are not flashy young stars anymore - Rory is Lorelai's age when the OG show first began, and Lorelai is gracefully and fabulously careening toward grandma times with all her wit and charm, all her most comfy habits, and it makes me want to hang out with her more than Season 1 of the show ever did. And I think the fact that ASP came back to write for these characters again and end it on her terms, at last, was an absolute win, and I love how she did it because it fixed so many things I thought were wrong in the show.

Lorelai is self-centered, terrified of commitment, and has no idea how to put others before herself and not run away during the hard times - unless something involves Rory.

Rory is self-centered, thinks she is special, and has no idea how to deal with not getting what she wants. The consequences of her actions almost never directly affect her, and when they do, said consequences are quickly stamped on and snuffed out by her mother/friends/family.

Emily is self-centered, desperate to be in control, and finds her worth in what other people think, in how things look, and that includes what Richard thinks.

In the show, Lorelai has moments where she learns to stay and learns to put other people who are not Rory before herself. Those moments don't last. She definitely has good intentions, but they're all conditional. She only has good intentions up to a point - and that point is usually when someone or something threatens her happiness and feeling of safety, or Rory's happiness and feelings of safety (understandable; that's her child).

In the show, Rory is told she is the sweetest kid in the whole world. Rory is told she'd never do anything to hurt anybody. Rory is told she's special, she's smarter than her peers, she's not like other girls. Rory 100% believes that. She also probably has a bit of a problem with living up to that image - she wants to be all of those things, and thinks she is, and can't handle it when it seems like people think she's not. (That may or may not have something to do with Christopher, who always had somewhere more important to be, or with Lorelai, who was so cool and strong and sure of Rory.)

And the show has moments, too, where Lorelai has to face the music and see that she's screwed up or is hurting someone with her behavior (Max, Chris, Luke, Jason, Emily, Richard, Sookie), but very very often, Lorelai breezes her way through that music and keeps moving, and flits to the next thing or person that will make her happy, because she does not know how to stay and stand and fix what she's broken. Because it only matters if she is happy and if Rory is happy. (The same thing goes for Rory in the show - consequences come, but Rory rarely has to properly deal with them herself. She is coddled and propped up the whole way.)

Now, to my point!

I watched AYITL and noticed something was different right away. Lorelai is with Luke (she should be), who is the opposite of her - constant, loyal, selfless, determined to stay no matter how hard things get. But they're not married. Lorelai is scared to really commit, and marriage is one of the hardest things you can commit to - ever. And Lorelai is not happy. Rory, for her part, is not perfectly settled as a reporter or a journalist or any of the things she was always told she could be. And she's not happy. And Emily, bless her, has lost her husband and her false sense of control is spinning away, and of course, she is not happy.

And A Year In The Life takes the show's clumsy half-arc of these three Gilmore women and perfectly completes it.

Lorelai's fear of commitment and habit of bolting when things get hard drives her to push every new chef out of the Dragonfly, refuse to expand the inn to better accommodate Michel's needs, shun Rory's tell-all of her past mistakes, shame Richard at his funeral and break Emily's heart, and worst of all, nearly wreck the closest thing to a proper relationship she's ever had: the one she has with Luke. She can't face that she misses her father, loved her father, and that maybe her mother is right about her relationship status. She can't face that people might read Rory's writing and see all her flaws and all her mistakes growing up in printed ink, and she can't run from that. And when Rory insists, Lorelai cuts ties. Lorelai has spent years avoiding marriage with Luke. She has spent years hurting her mother in an effort to defend herself at all costs. And she has spent years ensuring the Dragonfly Inn is exactly what she wants it to be; because changing it would be uncomfortable, and as a result, she won't commit to a new chef, she won't expand, and she's about to lose Michel the way she lost Sookie.

Rory's bubble of self-centeredness and assurance that she's special is popped with the needle of reality at last: she is not special. She's a young woman who has to actually work hard to find a job and make some money, like everyone her age. She is talented and she is smart, but she's not God's gift to journalism, and people keep saying no, and people keep asking her to prove her skills and her merit, and she doesn't know how to deal with that because everyone has always told her she can do anything she wants and she's the best. She wants a distinguished career and can't find anyone who will take her on; she tries to write for a raging batty feminist (hello Alex Kingston I love your work) and that goes sideways; she wants Logan Huntzberger but she turned down his proposal and now he's engaged and it has to be a secret; she wants somewhere to live - just not Stars Hollow because she's better than the thirty-somethings stuck back home. She wants Lorelai to approve of her book and insists her mother give her this, as if Lorelai hasn't always given her whatever she could. And when Lorelai says no, Rory does what she wants anyway and almost fractures their relationship over it.

Emily's control is completely gone - she can't control her emotions, she can't control her tongue, she can't control her maid or her maid's handy family, she can't even control a stupid painting of her late husband. She's on a downward spiral and her anchor is dead. She tries to regain a sense of worth, because surely that will bring happiness back. She tries to gain it from how many possessions she has, that doesn't work. She tries to gain it from Jack, who is not well-suited to her but he makes a matching accessory to the life other people will see. That doesn’t work. She tries to gain it from therapy with Lorelai, control her daughter at last, that doesn't work. She tries to control Richard's headstone, that doesn't work. She even tries to find solace with her beloved D.A.R, and she finds that emptiest of all.

A Year In The Life has these women finally face their flaws head-on and grow. The way characters should.

Rory: Rory is confronted with the fact that she is not special and has to move home like everyone else her age and get a job she does not want, because that's life, and that's what everyone else has to do in the real world. And when she's at her lowest, pouting, she gets advice from someone who has faced his own flaws long ago and has grown and who knows her at her best, and encourages her to get up and work hard (Jess Mariano, ladies and gentlemen). And she does. Rory hits bottom and takes Jess's advice and works at understanding her mother, who is not perfect, and even goes to interview her father, who is also not perfect. She fights with Lorelai over the book and insists on her own way, and when Lorelai refuses, Rory can only blame herself. She has a rabble-rousing night with her LaDB boys and winds up sleeping with Logan in one more bubble of fantasy, one more umbrella-jump of escapism, like the old days, because Logan is her weakness. And when she wakes up the next morning, Rory turns and walks away from Logan and the affair and her insistence on having what she wants regardless of who she hurts (hello, Dean Forrester and her affinity for taking spoken-for men) for the final time. And the consequences of her desires? She’s pregnant. (Come on, we all know the baby is Logan’s; Rory’s life rhymes with Lorelai’s.) She goes to Christopher to interview him for the book and is subtly asking her father why he wasn’t in her life, because she needs to know what to do with her baby and her lover. She didn’t go to Lorelai to figure that out. She went to her dad, because the truth is, Rory didn’t have her father, and part of dealing with the consequences of her actions is to work out how to take care of this baby and whether or not that means involving the father. She’s owning up. She goes to Lorelai and offers to give up this book; she doesn’t make excuses or whine, she wrote the book anyway because she believes in it, but when she’s gotten three chapters in, she respectfully goes to her mother and asks her to read it and then, for the sake of Lorelai, not herself, Rory promises to quit and throw the book out if Lorelai does not approve. Because Lorelai is more important to her than herself. Rory has worked hard and made mistakes and gotten pregnant and she has stared the world in the eyes and seen she’s not special. And she has to deal with that. And she does, finally, deal with it. And she’s happy.

Emily: Emily is confronted with the fact that nothing is inside her control—except what she does. Worth does not come from what she owns or who she’s with or what she’s wearing, and it didn’t come from her marriage, either. That wasn’t why she married Richard anyway. She is miserable and alone, and part of that is her fault. She married Richard because she loved him, and she keeps coming back to Lorelai because she loves her, and she opens up her house to Rory when Rory needs a place to write because she loves her. Emily looks around at what she has and recognizes what has worth and what doesn’t, maybe for the first time, with clear vision. She recognizes that she can’t control everything. At first, that fact keeps her down. She forgets what day it is, the curtains are closed, and she doesn’t get up in the morning. No Richard, no Lorelai, no reason to move. And then Lorelai calls her, and tells her about who Richard was and what Richard did and how it mattered, and that inspires Emily. She can get up. She buys a place on Cape Cod, totally opposite of the sort of life everyone admires and expects to have worth, and she does what she’s really always been best at—she loves. She takes care. She took care of Richard, she took care of Lorelai and Rory when they needed it, and she takes care of Berta and her wonderful family, instead of having a maid take care of her needs. She packs up and moves out, she sends Jack away, she reveals the D.A.R. for what it is and quits them forever, and she takes a job at a whaling museum because she just likes it. It’s nothing fancy, and neither is her oceanic house or the music she plays in it or the clothing she wears, because none of that is worth anything anyway. Her family is. Her friends are. She gets the painting of Richard done right and brings it with her, and she gives up attempting control of everything and only takes control of how she behaves. She gives Lorelai what Lorelai needs for the Dragonfly, and her only stipulation is that she gets to spend more time with her daughter and Luke. She loves, she takes care of others, she helps. And she’s happy. And now, the best for last. The star.

Lorelai: Lorelai sits in that stupid Stars Hollow Musical and hears a song that perfectly describes her problem—it’s never or now. Make a commitment. Do something hard. Make your life about something other than your momentary present happiness and comfort, the way you do with just Rory, sometimes, but make it a permanent change. Make change permanent! Don’t run away! …And then she runs away. She’s been miserable, she’s hit bottom, like her mother before her and her daughter after her. She’s losing friends, she’s losing Luke, she’s losing Emily, she’s losing Rory over the manuscript, and it’s all her fault. Lorelai tries to breeze past it. She does Wild. She does what she’s never done before, she does something hard and uncomfortable, but she does it for herself, and therefore it doesn’t quite work. She tries to hike, Dipper Pines won’t let her hike, she meets other women her age who think this hike is gonna fix things, it doesn’t, and she gives up and goes to get coffee because that’s her go-to. (Coffee is speedy, bad for you, and only a temporary rush—kind of everything Lorelai clings to, actually.) But the coffee shop is closed, and when Lorelai is denied that allegorical Band Aid, she goes around back and sees a great view and finally finds clarity. She didn’t need the hike—she needed to think. She needed a moment of silence and introspection to gain the insane courage to finally stop moving, stick around, and face her fears. To put her eyes on herself and then take her eyes off herself and onto other people—namely the people she loves. Lorelai calls Emily and cries, because it’s hard to do this, it hurts, but with one story, she proves she loved her father, and she knows her father loved her, and the fact that she’s calling shows that she knows Emily loves her too, and she loves Emily, and has loved them both all along. It gives Emily the strength she needs to get out of bed. That was hard, but Lorelai did it. And now she’s going to do more hard things—she’s going to commit. It’s never or now, and Lorelai chooses now. She goes home and the first thing she does is propose to Luke and become Lorelai Danes overnight. Hard. Scary. Just right. She patches things up with her daughter, and chooses Rory over herself—for the hundredth time, yes, but when it’s at its hardest for her to do. “I’ll read it when it’s done.” Lorelai expands the Dragonfly. She goes to Emily for help, which is also super hard, but this time it’s not for Rory – it’s for her, and it’s for Michel, and it’s for the Dragonfly. And she accepts Emily’s affectionate terms. Lorelai chooses Rory, Luke, Emily, and Michel over herself, and commits, and she doesn’t run away. And she’s happy.

And all of it is earned. Finally earned.

I could talk more about the incredible writing, about ASP at her best, about the perfect themes and scenery and the very intentional end to Paris, Lane, Kirk, Taylor, Dean, Jess, Logan, Chris, and the general cast’s stories, but I’ve already rambled for too long.

Suffice it to say: A Year in the Life is my Gilmore Girls. It’s best version of the story. I think it was expertly done. Not perfect, but an ending that was earned.

[the-cleaning-guy]

Howdy!

My name is Bruce and I'm Princeton-Plainsboro's janitor, nothing too special. I keep the hospital clean and occasionally bring in my dogs to help the patients.

I've been told to include some things about myself so here ya go:

Age- 25 (April 21, 1979)

Pronouns- He/Him

Sexuality- Fag

I have 4 dogs, a truck almost as old as me, I can play the guitar, harmonica, and drum on buckets. Feel free to ask me something or talk to me I'm all ears buddy!

Some information about him!

Bruce grew up in a trailer park with his parents and older brother. His dad worked a blue collar job and his mom was a bartender. His brother is 6 years older than him, he wasnt home often so theyre not very close. He still goes to see his parents, he'll stop by and have dinner with them every so often. All of them were really distant growing up (still are) but they care about eachother in their own ways.

He started using drugs around 14 and it got really bad from 16-20. He originally got the job at PPTH at 19 but a year later got sent to rehab because he almost OD-ed. Cuddy gave him the job back because he was a good worker and his recovery was going really well. Hes relapsed a few times and had to stay inpatient at PPTH.

He has a slight southern accent that comes out with certain words but its not super obvious. His right eye is a very light grey/blue, his left eye is an olive green. He has tattoos all over his body (including a tramp stamp he got at 16). He has a labret, a septum, a tongue, 10 ear (3 on top, 2 on bottom), and a belly button piercing. Him and his brother both have moles under their eye but on opposite sides.

He owns an old red pickup truck from the 80s. Lives in a small rundown apartment 40 minutes from PPTH. He has four dogs (two pit bulls, a german shepherd, and an australian shepard). One pit bull (named Bones but he calls him Baby) is a trained therapy dog who helps him with his addiction and anxiety. He plans on getting his german shepherd (Jack <- named after jack twist from brokeback mountain) trained to be a therapy dog too. He learned to play guitar, harmonica, and bucket drums as a young teen practically on the streets.

He gets along with most people really well since hes easy to talk to. He has resting bitchface but when he talks to people hes very polite and friendly which makes up for it. Kids tend to like him so he carries candy in his pockets for them. He has sort of a random country uncle feel to him? Hes very charismatic but you also wouldnt want to get in a fight with him. He looks like someone you'd see at a bar drinking beers and watching the game on tv. Though hes not really a fan of sports other than hockey or fighting. He seems older than he really is both physically and mentally. He'll bring in Bones for the patients to hang out with when hes allowed to. He enjoys talking about music, movies/shows, history, dogs, etc. People tend to talk to him about their drama so he knows everyones business, hes a good listener!

He likes men but he doesnt really talk about it often. He grew up getting called 'fag' by most of the people around him (even if they got along) so he usually just calls himself that. He isnt currently into anybody but he gets around. Hes a cis guy but doesnt care about gender much so its never really on his mind, he probably doesnt know what being trans is but he doesnt give a shit either way.

Hello!! im ghost (@ghostboyhood) the person behind this blog. Sorry the information above is so all over the place i have a rough time wording things 😭 I'll usually talk ooc in specified tags unless youre specifically asking ME something and not Bruce -> [#ooc- blahblahblah]

This is my House Md oc Bruce N. Valentine!! Feel free to ask him things and talk to him, he'd love to listen. Hes up for answering almost anything just be smart about what you ask <3

Go check out the other people hes surrounded by at @ppth-staff !!

[visenyasdragon]

Sea Dragon Queen

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen. Many more to come in future chapters.

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: An AU where Targaryens have braincells <3 they still have their flaws and prejudices, but not to dynasty-ending levels. No Dance, Rhaenyra never marries Laenor because Corlys has the sense to not marry off his clearly gay son. A fix it fic, if you will. I hope you'll enjoy it <3

Content warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Author's note: This is my first fanfiction and non-academic writing I've done since like 2009, so please be kind to me! English is also my second language.

Next chapter

Read on Ao3

Rhaenyra I

112AC

“I intend to marry… the Lady Laena Velaryon” the king said in a quiet, clear voice, “though not a day before her fifteenth nameday”.

Ser Otto did his best to conceal his astonishment. All his efforts thwarted, his daughter’s reputation soiled to no avail. “A wise choice, my king. In these times of peril and uncertainty from the east, a strong alliance with Driftmark is paramount. The Hand is ready to steadfastly support the Crown in all his endeavors.” There he is, ready to ingratiate himself further into my father’s graces despite his defeat, ever the cunning politician, she thought with irritation. Rhaenyra found it difficult not to laugh at just how predictable Ser Otto Hightower was. If only her uncle Daemon were here, to share this moment with her!

At the opposite end of the table, Lord Corlys looked as if he had just won a naval battle, been granted a son, and triumphed in cyvasse all at once. There is scarce a happier man in all of King’s Landing, Rhaenyra thought. She did not yet know whether she felt happy or anxious at the prospect of a stepmother younger than herself, and so soon after her own lady mother’s death. The time for sorting out my feelings will come later, she told herself, making an effort to steady her face. Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, but her friend’s countenance might as well have been a porcelain mask.

“My King, allow me to express my gratitude and happiness for honoring my House with your choice”, the master of ships stated in a glad tone, rising from his seat. “The centuries-old alliance between the last two pillars of Old Valyria will thrive once more. If I may be allowed to make a suggestion… there is not the slightest need for you to defer the wedding, Your Grace. I must confer with my lady wife on this matter, but I believe it is best that the preparations for the union begin at once”.

A gleaming black raven quorked loudly three times while perching on the red sandstone parapet. His piercing, jet-black eyes met Rhaenyra’s, sending an odd feeling down her spine. Grand Maester Mellos chuckled just in the right moment, as was often his way, preventing anybody else from speaking. He was a weathered veteran of a thousand small council sessions, after all. “It is the solemn belief of the Maesters of the Citadel that in order for a marriage to be fruitful, it ought not take place when the bride is too young to bear healthy heirs. The Lady Laena is but a girl of twelve, and I find it most judicious that His Grace elected to delay the wedding for three years.”

Rhaenyra swallowed quietly, trying to hold back her tears. The name of Aemma Arryn seemed to hang in the room and on everyone’s lips, yet none dared speak it. It has only been a few moons since the queen’s passing, and King Viserys’s enduring grief was plain for all to see. He flustered at the maester’s polite words, instantly brought back to the distant, sunny day at the Eyrie when he was but a young man of sixteen, wedded at Queen Alysanne’s instigation to a surpassingly beautiful girl not much older than Laena herself. Rhaenyra felt she could almost read the thoughts in her father’s mind at that moment. He will always love mother best of everyone, she thought. Even more than herself, though it did not wound her. Her late mother was the gentlest creature House Targaryen had yet seen, and she knew all the love and honor in the world would not be enough to match her merits. Despite her younger age, she had made him and molded him into the man he was, for better or for worse, everyone in her family said. She felt a heavy, choking feeling in her chest at the sudden understanding that it was his affection for his dead wife and the child-bride she had been to defer the marriage the realm so desperately needed. Maybe this is his apology to her in a way, Rhaenyra thought. He says, look Aemma, I must do my duty, but I will always love you. I will always honor your memory, in everything that I do.

Ser Otto’s voice broke her out of her reverie.

“As much as I value and respect any maester’s opinion, here is where I must disagree” he protested. Rhaenyra felt as if she could say his next words herself, so little a surprise they were for her. “The realm urgently needs a queen to provide the king with further heirs as soon as possible. Much as young Lady Laena Velaryon surely is, she is of Targaryen blood and will certainly do her duty splendidly. I propose the wedding takes place within a moon’s turn, or else as soon as the preparations can be completed.” Ser Otto finished his speech with the ludicrous confidence of a man who has the matter well at hand. He looked as if he were about to order Alicent’s wedding gown right where he sat. He means for little Laena to die in childbirth not having reached her fourteenth nameday, and for Alicent to take her place instead, Rhaenyra thought angrily.

The king listened to his Hand’s advice with a blank expression. What he said next surprised not only Ser Otto.

“Nevertheless, this is a matter where I resolve to be firm. I respect my future wife too much to bargain with her health and safety. This meeting is at an end.” Viserys rose from his seat at the head of the table, sending the rest of his small council to their feet. In his haste Lord Lyman Beesbury sent his gold-and-onyx council egg scuttering to the floor. “Apologies, my lords” he breathed, trying to recover his symbol of office from beneath the table, but Ser Harrold Westerling was ahead of him, restoring the sphere to its rightful place. The councilmen withdrew from the room one by one. Lord Corlys and King Viserys moved to the latter’s private apartments to discuss the upcoming nuptials and the crown’s response to the trouble in the Stepstones. Alicent meekly followed her visibly discontented father, her gaze firmly set on the floor beneath her. Rhaenyra wanted more than anything to take her into the godswood and talk for hours about the events of the day as they so often did, but she sensed that would have to wait. Her friend walked away sparing not a single glance for her, already engaged in a conversation of sharp, quiet whispers with Ser Otto. She felt a pang of pity towards Alicent. I would give much for her to be daughter to any other man in the realm, she thought. Rhaenyra was the last to depart the small council chamber, her feet unconsciously leading her toward the Dragonpit and Syrax.

The following days and weeks upended Rhaenyra’s world upside down. One by one, reluctantly, as if the king feared her dragon-temper, the startling news reached her, by way of Septa Marlow and Ser Criston Cole and Annara and other servants whose names she did not know, anybody but her father. She was to be fostered at Driftmark and henceforth divide her time equally between the court and High Tide; Alicent was not permitted by the Hand to go with her as her companion; Laenor Velaryon was to serve as the king’s squire and second cupbearer when she was not present; her uncle Daemon was to lead the Royal Fleet alongside Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys into the Stepstones as soon as the troops and supplies for war were prepared. On top of that, when the war was done, it was decided Rhaenyra and Laena were to go on a royal progress throughout the realm, from the Arbor to Winterfell, the two queens to be. It was as if the gods themselves were unsure whether the death of Queen Aemma did not send Rhaenyra a strong enough message that her childhood was at an end. Now was the time to enter the dangerous world of politics and diplomacy, one that Rhaenyra only knew by proxy.

“Perhaps it will be better for you”, said Alicent softly one warm spring afternoon, as they were luxuriating in their favorite spot beneath the weirwood tree, “You will get out of this place, all of these intrigues, whereas I am stuck here as long as my father can keep his chain of Handship. You will see High Tide and the world beyond King’s Landing. And the people will receive an opportunity to see their future queen. I’m sure they will come to love you in no time.”

“Just as you have?” asked Rhaenyra teasingly, planting a soft kiss upon her friend’s cheek. Her skin immediately took on a very pretty pink color. ”I do not mind the travel. In fact, I think it will do Syrax good to stretch her legs and work for her next meal, she has grown rather spoiled as of late. What I do mind is that none of this is my choice. It was not even discussed by the small council at any length. Septa Marlow said that it was all decided by my father and Lord Corlys after the betrothal was agreed upon.”

“And if you were given a choice, you’re certain you wouldn’t have chosen exactly this? You’ve always spoken about wanting to see the wonders across the narrow sea. Well, think of it as the next best thing. You’ll see the wonders across the Blackwater Rush”. They both laughed. For all her love of romance and books, Alicent had a charming way of making Rhaenyra laugh in the most unexpected moments.

“What good can those wonders do to me if I don't have my dear Alicent next to me to tell me their histories? Do you remember when we were walking through the Kingswood a few years ago, during this royal hunt or other, and you corrected our septas repeatedly about the history of the forest? Something about an Andal warlord who vanquished a First Man king there millenia ago? The poor woman got it completely confused with the Faith Militant uprising. How red her face was!”

“Well, septas are not exactly educated to be solemn historians, their duty was foremost to look after us and safeguard our reputation. And you really were very rude and impertinent that day. Septas work very hard, you know” Alicent said with a sweet smile, but Rhaenyra could see that she was flattered to be complimented on her knowledge and intelligence, but her impeccable Hightower breeding would not allow her to disparage sworn members of the Faith. “Besides, I’m sure you will have plenty of people around you to relay you the histories of the various castles and towns you’ll be visiting. Multiple times, even.”

Rhaenyra sighed with irritation. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll be very entertained while various men who’d never met me before will try to charm their way into wedding me. Those men won’t fawn over me. They only want my name and my Valyrian blood for their offspring!” She threw away the three blades of fresh grass she’s been braiding with annoyance.

“Well, I think it’s rather romantic,” Alicent said dreamily, looking into the far distance. She looked her most beautiful in such moments. “It is rare for girls in this realm to get a choice between two suitors, no less two score of them. To have one’s favor sought during tourneys, name made immortal in songs sung by countless bards, to be able to choose the bravest and comeliest of the knights in the lists, to be made the lady of his hearth and home…”

“Yes, yes,” Rhaenyra said impatiently. “I am very lucky to be able to make my choice. You’ve made your point very clear. I am very lucky to live the life I do, with an indulgent father and a kingdom for an inheritance. I know.”

Alicent smiled both sweetly and slyly, now assured she drove her point home and made her beloved friend understand her unusual privilege. “But?”

“But I wish things were… I don’t know, different! I wish I was permitted to see uncle Daemon again. I wish I didn’t have to think about my suitor’s castle size or the number of his armies when choosing a husband. I wish I didn’t have to tour every corner of the realm to make the lords of the realm accept me as their future ruler. My father certainly never did. He’s never been further west than Stonebridge, he told me himself. He was made the future king by the great council and that was the end of it. Why can’t it be the same for me?!”

“Because you are a woman and King Viserys is a man,” Alicent said calmly.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra agreed bitterly. “Because I am a woman and he is a man”.

[chevvy-yates]

Why is it so hard to find people to go to party with me?

I am not a party animal myself but sometimes I wish I to go outside at night, attend a cool party and hopefully meet new people through it because I can't have only online friends living far away from me.

a long rant under the read more tag.

I mean I would go alone but going alone is not so easy anymore. Here in my area I would take the risk but where this one is I do not dare to go as it's Frankfurt/Offenbach area.

Anyhow, I recently asked a friend living in Frankfurt has time on the 24th August (Saturday) for a party starting 11pm and they just wrote me they aren't so sure if they have energy left after the first work week with first-graders in school to go and party through the night (which is entirely understandable!). Instead they suggested to look for an open air or something similar instead (which also would be totally okay) bc during afternoon/evening they would have time but no much more energy left (bc of kids the days before). Well it's still 2 weeks before the party but some people know their body energy well, okay, fine. I can live with that too.

But here is the thing: I searched the date for school enrollment after Summer holidays in Hesse and it's on the 26th August (Only NRW is the week before and she does not live in NRW and works in Frankfurt which is in Hesse). So either she's lying to me in the first place, the school she works in uses a different date for whatever reasons or she did mistake the date of school enrollment. I hope it's the second or third. Otherwise I am done with asking her about party topics and only proceed to meet during day time for hanging out a bit.

Also jsut 3 days prior I asked a colleague in my team for how about going to a 3 days festival next year and do camping together. The answer I get: I don't want to plan so far into the future bc me and my boyfriend we don't know what we gonna do yet. BRU, it's just a fUCKING LONG WEEKEND. You would have to take 2 Days off max. We got 30 days each year. I am sure u can have plenty time with your bf.

You can also tell me you do not want to go with me. I am fine with it, I do not break. I am not made of sugar, ich accept a 'no'. FUCKING HELL!

So tell me WHERE do I find people who are not like this? Why am I always around people who are like this? Is it bc they got their bf/gf/wife/husband and are not single or what the fuck is it that they all like that? Srsly.

U know? sometimes I sit here and think about maybe all the people around me just tolerate my presence but in reality none wants to have to do anything with me bc I am, idk, a too odd? with my weird interests? because I am single? because I don't look and act my age? because I don't have a kid/family to take care of? bc of my temper? my character?

Noone tells me: no I don't want to be more friends wth you than I must. JUST FUCKING TELL ME and I won't ask anymore and stay the fuck alone in my 4 walls and thats it. The amount of me asking people and always getting such excuses is already too much to say it's random. It starts to hurt me the more I try and ask anyone.

It's just at this age I do not see myself as someone who just sits at home watch tv and play games. I am still young enough to go out and do something cool, live my fucking life, alright? I don't want to waste my time every weekend at home. It's already sad enough I do not have anybody that does biking, skying or just wandering around with me in nature EXCEPT my parents. Did my parents raise me maybe wrong or what is it that my generation and the one after that are such couchpotato pussys already? I mean I am DONE and entirely wasted after a party as well and it won't get better with getting older each day either.

Mann, mann, mann.

I better stop now bc I feel the rage sitting in my throat.

[dizzyaddy]

drowning - naruto x oc pt. 1

(i do not own any naruto characters, only the original character)

life was a blur before i met him.

the rising sun adorning the pastel sky greeted me with a new day. i exhaled a shaky breath as i treaded down the dirt path, the morning dew still evident on the nearby patches of grass. i had been up all night training and it was only now taking a toll on me. my eyelids felt heavy as did my feet below me, which were slowly but surely starting to drag behind me.

as much as i loved konohagakure, sometimes it simply feels suffocating. the infamous nine tails attack had devastated the village, leaving many people with little to no family. thanks to my older sister, we both somehow managed to survive. that being said, the rest of our clan along with our parents had perished along with half of the village.

i was simply too young to remember such an event, though to this day it still took a toll on my elder sister. she was once a proud shinobi, willing to put her life on the line for anybody and everybody. sometimes she will tell me old stories of her battles and how strong she used to be. nowadays, she can’t do much physically but still tries her best to keep the lighthearted spirit hanging in the air.

it makes me feel guilty, really, for being so able bodied and still feeling so useless. even in her state, she managed to raise me and continuously care and watch over me. her strength truly is something i admire most about her, her unwillingness to give up in defeat. now every time i feel like throwing in the towel, i’m reminded of all that she was and all that she continues to be.

hence, why i’m walking through the village at dawn to locate her pain medicine. my muscles trembled and ached, the exhaustion finally weaving its way through my body as i continued to push myself through the square. i had been back from my B ranked mission for a few days, and i was instructed to take this time to recuperate and replenish myself. as much as i would like to listen, my stubbornness deemed it impossible as i found any opportunity to make myself stronger.

coming up on the shop, i exhaled a breath of relief as i saw they had just opened. my rhythmic steps had picked up their pace as i was overcome with joy that i would be able to do something for my sister. my hand was about to touch the door handle before-

“hey!” a perky voice greeted me, taking my attention away from the door to this mysterious person. my eyes locked with his sky blue eyes as i felt myself stop breathing. i had lived in kohonagakure all my life, but never have i ever seen eyes that bright. eyes that held so much emotion, so much passion, so much optimism.

“sorry, can i help you?” i asked, trying to find the courage in my words. it wasn’t often that i spoke to people other than my sister. even if i did, it was always me doing someone a favor or-

“yeah about that, i noticed you were about to walk in here. you see, i just got back from training with my sensei for an overly long amount of time and i was instructed to pick up some medicine for him. you see, i kinda really hurt him awhile back and now he-“ he rambled as he sheepishly pushed through the words, his arm retracted behind his head as he rubbed it awkwardly.

“you need to go in front of me? i won’t mind,” i cut him off, his ramblings instantly quieting as he nodded eagerly. my, how can someone have this much energy in the morning?

“yes actually that would help out a lot, im sorry i know we both have places to be but-“ he started again before i politely held my hand in front of me and shook my head, signaling that it truly was okay.

“no no, it’s okay. i hope you find what you’re looking for,” i meekly said, my hand finally wrapping around the handle and opening it for him to walk through. he continued to stand there, dumbfounded at my actions while he stared at me with curiosity. i could feel my knees buckle with anxiety, hoping he would walk through quickly so i can get home.

“geez, you’re really nice you know that?” he said with a smile before walking through the open door. i felt a small smile creep up on my face before i followed him into the shop. he waltzed toward the counter as i kept my distance behind him, not wanting to impose on his privacy. the man working the counter quickly took his order before returning to the back to rummage for whatever it is he needed.

“so what’re you doing here this early?” he asked, catching me off guard. my eyes left my feet and collided with his, which were once again already looking at me. and i going to feel this winded every time?

“i just got finished training, i have to pick up some medicine for my sister,” i sheepishly said, my fingers intertwining with another as i stood there under his gaze. he was tall and built, his shaggy blonde hair firmly sweeping over his headband in all the right ways. his bright blue eyes still holding as much warmth as they did before as i noticed he had cat like whiskers on both sides of his cheeks. before he could add on to my statement, i asked,” what about you? as you said, it is quite early.”

he looked at me for another moment before a grin swept across his features, momentarily entrancing me.

“i just got back from training with my sensei, i’ve been gone for three whole years and now i’m finally back home!” he brought his fist up and pumped it in the air as he spoke. his enthusiasm brought a smile to my face as i stood there listening to his every word.

“i’m sorry, i forgot you already said that,” i spoke with a slight chuckle. “three years of training? geez, i’m sincerely happy you’re back home. i hope you can make the most of it,” i said with a smile, his confidence keenly rubbing off on me.

“order up!” the man behind the counter announced as he set the bag of medicine on the counter. the boy in front of me quickly turned around and exchanged some coins for the bag before he picked it up and turned around to face me.

“gee, thanks! i’ve really gotta get going or else i’m gonna be in trouble, but thanks for talking to me!” he waved a grandiose goodbye before rushing out of the store, quickly leaving me behind. moments after her left, my heart was still racing as i was left there staring after him. i probably would have stood there longer if it weren’t for the polite man behind the counter looking at me expectantly.

“the usual?” he asked before i nodded, not wanting to keep my sister waiting any longer. he nodded in acknowledgment before he swiftly reached down and pulled out the bag of medicine i’ve become too keen on seeing.

“you know, you’ve been coming in here more often lately. i could always up the dosage so she doesn’t go through so much,” he offered. i dug out the coins in my pouch before softly putting them in his rough hand.

“thank you for the offer, i would have to talk to her first but i will definitely keep that in mind. thank you, again, i hope you have a great day!” i said before making my way toward the exit. he looked at me with pity before putting on a smile and waving me off.

my smile immediately dropped when i exited the shop. i knew what he was saying was true, but it doesn’t mean i have to heed it in this moment. the birds vibrant songs had become more prominent than when i had entered the store. the sky’s candy colors faded into a mesmerizing blue as i stared up at it for a few moments before counting my journey home.

[lovemelikeyoulovedthesun]

there was a boy; i met him on july 2015, exactly 8 yrs ago. i was just 14 and he was 2 yrs older than me. we met on twitter but his very first dm was him asking me if i had a tumblr account , which is why i am ranting about it here today. i know there isn’t anybody here to read this , even if it’s like talking to myself when i already know the story , i just wanted to do it. anyway— we talked for 4 months , we were flirting of course- almost dating [ thats what i thought ] but i was too young to know about all that flirting stuff. we were just talking and i just had feelings for him. all i wanted was to hang out with him at that time. i would always daydream about us hanging out , doing fun stuff. but of course , since i was too young to change cities to meet up with a boy , it never happened. after the last day of 2015 , we never spoke. except for just couple of words after a month- it was me celebrating his bday and him thanking me , that was it. we stopped talking and unfollowed each other on social media in time. every year i “stalked” him on social media here and there , to have a little idea about how he was doing. after a year while looking through his twitter account i saw that he started going to the uni he once told me he wanted. i was happy for him, i wanted to reach out and say how proud and happy i was for him, but didn’t have the guts , and just closed his profile.

after some time , one day when i was stalking him again , i saw that he changed the name of the uni on his bio to the one in my city. meaning he changed schools and now he was in my city??? just like that?? later on i saw his photos taken in my city on his insta. he was really here. i was totally shocked , excited and confused all at the same time. because we used to be in different cities back in the day , and i knew that he never visited my city before. [ mind you , the city he used to live in is closer to mine than the one that he went to uni for ]. . when i saw his bio i couldn’t believe my eyes because that meant i could possibly see him any day? unfortunately , that didn’t ever happen for years. even if i was always in the crowded parts of the city i had never seen him; until one very random day after 4 whole years. . it had been 4 years since we stopped talking. and since i naturally stopped wondering if i’d see him or not, i wasn’t ready to see him. at all. . one day on november 2019 , i was casually studying with my friend at a cafe when i saw him; right across me , sitting down with his friend. i was shocked. at first i wasn’t quite sure out of shock but it was really him. the boy i was dying to see 4 years ago , was sitting right in front of me. . but of course , nothing happened. the whole time we were sitting down , it was just me talking about him with my friend , my friend turning back and looking at them; him talking to his friend about me , and his friend turning around to look at us. we both could hear each other talking about each other even , we both were sure , but nothing happened. he didn’t come and talk to me. i didn’t go and talk to him either. nothing.

on my bday , an empty / fake/ burner account, whatever you call— dmed me on instagram saying “22 days went by so fast :,) , happy bday” i couldn’t accept and answer it during the class , and they deleted it when i checked it again. i was shocked , and never ever thought it could be him , until i counted days after i saw him. 22. it was 22.

after weeks , even though all of my classes are at evenings , i had to attend to one morning class and -this one was more shocking to me- i was just standing in front of the building , smoking and waiting for the class to start with my friends. i just looked up and saw him right in front of me.. this was more shocking to me than the first time i saw him at the cafe. because , in that huge campus , out of all the buildings.. we were literally studying in the same building. . ? it was maybe the 4th or 5th month of the first term, we had been studying in the same. building. just in different hours— and so again, nothing happened. it was just for a minute, we looked at each other in the eye and he just walked pass me to go to his class. after this one, i never saw him, neither in real life nor social media. since then, even now- i don’t have any idea about what he’s doing nor where he is. i don’t know if he stayed in my city after finishing uni, or if he went back to his fam, or leave the country, or something totally different. i don’t know.

it’s been 4 yrs since i saw him irl. and 8 yrs since we met & stopped talking. i don’t have any of his social media because i stopped stalking couple of yrs ago, and he’d always change accounts so there’s no trace of him. until last year i still had his tumblr blog left from 2014-2017, i used to visit his blog, look at the posts that reminded me of those times and him. listen to his playlist attached to his blog that had the same impact on me. now i can’t find it either. i am left with his name and the memories only.

i don’t know what this is. i don’t think it’s love. .? i don’t have romantic feelings for him, duh. i can’t feel romantic feelings for someone i haven’t talked in 8 whole years. i of course had many people in my life after him. i was never like “i have to find him. i am madly in love with him, i can’t be with anyone else. he is the love of my life.” no— i don’t know, but maybe it is that he is my comfort person? i am a very — and i mean, very — nostalgic person myself. i always find myself reminiscing old times that bring me comfort. 2014 tumblr is one of them which is why i redownloaded it after years and followed bunch of accounts who also miss and post just like 2014-15 tumblr. i come here whenever i need to feel comfort and peace through those posts. so, since he was involved in those times that bring me comfort, since i have memories with him from 2014, maybe me still remembering him with a smile on my face and softness in my heart, still wanting to talk to him about the past one day, is because of this?. . today i came here again to feel that comfort and saw this post. immediately after i read this, it made me think of the fact that it’s really been almost ten years. . and made me wonder if he remembers me really. . it is like my inner voice wrote this thing on the picture. does he remember me? maybe he is not that emotional and nostalgic person as me, maybe seeing the tv programs we used to talk about while watching them, listening to arctic monkeys’ 2014 songs, seeing 2014 tumblr posts doesn’t remind him of me— maybe he doesn’t even look at those posts, but still, i wonder if he ever goes “oh.. there was this girl back in the day” and remember the days we spent together [ through social media ].

i really want to be able to sit down and talk to him about the past one day. this hasn’t changed in years. i wrote so many pages like this past 8 years, many that i couldn’t count— and they all ended with the same sentence; “i hope i can sit down and talk to you about the past one day” and i really do. we both grew up now and involved into whole new, much more different personalities than we were back in the time. maybe we can be good friends? you can never know what future holds. maybe we’ll never see each other, maybe we will— but won’t have the chance to talk to each other like the previous occasions. maybe we will see each other and actually speak this time, maybe we’ll see that we are soulmates. maybe we are gonna have romance between us. or we are gonna laugh it all off and simply become good friends? i don’t know. i just hope that we don’t lose the chance to speak to each other the next time our eyes meet.

i hope you’re doing good, F. i hope you’re in a good place in your life. . thank you for coming into mine one random day in 2015 and giving me all these memories. i really hope to see you again. it has almost been 10 years— and i still remember you.

24th of august, 2023. E.

[notsoslimmshady]

𝐎𝐨𝐨 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲

Chapter 1: Setting Sun

One week before the crash

Amelia County, Wyoming, Acosta Family Ranch

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

“Mari!” Roman, her older brother by 10 years helplessly, called out to her in the dark. They were both in the shed, along with her second oldest brother, Richard, who was named after their father and grandfather. Richard was only seven years older than her, but he was by far the most sensitive sibling of the three present. “Shut the hell up, Ro! You're gonna wake up Grandpa and Grandma. Is that what you want?  Do you want them to come out here and see this shit? Because we both know that grandma won't hesitate to call the police… no matter who it is.” Marceline huffed as she grabbed the foot that was hanging out from underneath the dark blue tarp in the back of Richard’s pickup truck. Her boyfriend of five years, Perry, steps out of the passenger side, clearly panicking.

Marceline had met Perry in high school and had a crush on him for a while before he had met his then girlfriend, Rebecca. The two had a child together before Rebecca had eventually left, leaving a heartbroken Perry and a motherless nine month old Amy. Perry and Mari hadn't gotten together until Amy was around two years old. The young girl is now seven and looks at Mari as her mother figure.

Thinking about her sweet Amy had made Mari pull the now deceased man out of the trunk, wanting to keep this situation hidden so she would be able to stay with her father. She makes sure to keep the tarp over him as best as she could as she did not wish to see the dead man's face because she had once known him. “What happened?” her older brother Roman asked as he grabbed the man's upper half and helped his younger sister set him on the ground. He sounded breathless, from the fear of the situation or from having to set the large man on the ground, she didn’t know. Once the man is set on the ground, she wipes her hands on her jeans and looks up at the second oldest and her long-term boyfriend.

“‘S an accident…” was all her boyfriend had managed to muster up as he looked down effectively, hiding his eyes underneath the rim of his  cowboy hat. He stood there, eyes downcast and hands nervously stuffed into his front pockets. “An accident?!” Mari looks at Perry in disbelief,  not knowing what to say and not wanting to hurt his feelings, knowing how sensitive her boyfriend tends to be. She couldn't say she was surprised that this had happened, she knows that her boyfriend has had some “anger issues” in the past but she never would have thought that he would have actually killed anybody. If she was being completely honest, she would have thought that it would've been her 24 year old sister, Mireya, or her father. “How was this an accident, Perry? How do you accidently kill somebody? You have a daughter, y'know? You can't go around doing this kind of shit anymore!” She told him her voice slightly rising at the end as he still hadn't managed to look her in the eye. This only seemed to anger her more, but she bit her tongue. She knew that this had been a terrifying experience for him, so she took a deep breath and turned around to once again look at the covered body.

“It was my fault!” Richard had suddenly spoken up, taking too long to make it believable. Roman scoffed under his breath and shook his head in disbelief, not wasting any time by trying to argue with his younger brother. He looked over at Mari and nodded his head towards the unmoving body. “What are we gonna do with it?” he asked her. She shook her head as she paced back and forth for a few seconds. “Wrap ‘em up real good… Use some rope… Ro, you're gonna come with me, get your horse ready. Perry and Rich are gonna clean out the back of the truck and wait for us until we get back. Got it.” She instructed them, not waiting for their response as she went to get her horse,Miguel.

After the body is set onto the back of her horse, the two siblings take off, head towards the trail that leads up the mountain. The limp body bounces along with the horses movement as they head deep enough into the mountains before they break right and head as far from the main trail as possible. They dump the body, taking them tarp with them before they head back towards the ranch. The ride back is silent, both of them thinking about what had happened and what they had just done... How they know this will change them forever... they had returned close to midnight. 

When they arrived, Richard and Perry were sitting on the hay strewn across the shed, their heads in their hands as the gravity of what they had done had finally been made clear to them. Marceline looked at the man she loved dearly and took a seat next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder to offer him some sense of comfort. “What happened, baby?” She quietly asks him, not wanting to startle the shaken man any further. He shakily explained the situation with the help of her second oldest brother. Mari had guessed correctly. His anger had gotten the best of him, and she didn’t know what to say.

“Did anyone see you two alone with him…Did anyone see what had happened?” She had asked, nervously wringing her hands together as she thought about the deceased man's two brothers finding out. She didn't have much time to humor that thought before the loud sound of metal banging and the whir of multiple engines could be heard. His brothers had arrived. 

Needless to say that this random Tuesday night had ended with blood, multiple wounds, two dead bodies, and a lot of explaining to her grandfather and father. Marceline had just killed someone… for the first time since she had left the military. She had killed the dead man's, Trevor, older sister, Amelia. She had sat in silence next to her lover, surrounded by the men of her family. Roman had taken the second body as deep into the mountains as the other one. her father had since taken off to go track down the other two boys that had gotten away. He would take care of that… it was nothing that she needed to worry about… that they needed to worry about. Her father could handle it. “The rain should wash away the tracks… any evidence that was left behind… It should be clean… like they were just left there. There wouldn't be any evidence pointing back to us, right?” She asked no one in particular. Her questions were met with silence.

That night Perry and Mari had headed back to his family ranch in a tense silence, neither of them knowing what to say. 

“We should go… somewhere far from here. We can tell them that we are taking a vacation or something; Amy's 8th birthday is coming up after all. She's always talking about going to Australia, and then we can go to L.A. or New York. We don't have to tell anyone about that.” She says as she gets comfortable on her side of the bed. Perry seems to perk up at her suggestion and for the first time since the incident earlier he had smiled and it did nothing but fill her chest with love for him and pride that she was able to make him smile. “Yeah, we could do that…” He softly agreed, his country accent filling the space between them as he got into bed beside her.

By lunch, the next day, three tickets to Sydney Airport had been booked, and they had decided to surprise Amy at dinner, not daring to mention the real reason for their spontaneous birthday trip. The young girl was excited, to say the least, as she happily jumped and skipped across the dining room. Marceline lovingly smiled at the young girl she considered her own daughter and smiled at her boyfriend. “Well, we leave tomorrow. We stay for three days, spend your birthday in Sydney, and leave the day after for another super secret surprise.” Mari dramatically says. No matter how happy she is for Amy, her stomach is twisting itself into knots from how nervous and anxious she is.

She hopes everything goes well. 

[marvelslegacies]

Stats:

Name: Biron James Bostaligni

Nickname: B; Raphael

Alias: Gargoyle

Affiliation: Team Legacy

Position: Team Member

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Age / Birthday: 30 / June 20th

Sexuality: Heterosexual, Biromantic

Hometown: Los Angelos, California

Zodiac: Gemini

Quote: “It’s funnier if you shut the fuck up and let me tell it.” -Biron Bostaligni

Personality:

Biron doesn’t have a minute to waste on being serious. He says his brother was serious enough for the both of them, and he kicked the bucket pretty early so that shit can’t be good for a person. Biron is a pathological liar with narcissistic tendencies. He thinks he’s the coolest, smartest, most important man alive and he always has to be in the know. Biron loves to screw around, crack jokes, and play games… almost as much as he loves teasing and poking fun at others. He can’t stand being given orders and loves to push the envelope, he keeps his emotions completely hidden and relishes in watching others fall victim to their own emotional outbursts. Although it’s hard to tell, Biron doesn’t have it out for anyone, he just cares about himself significantly more than anybody else on the planet.

Biography:

Biron grew up on the streets of L.A. and lived with his older brother for most of his life. His parents were petty criminals always in and out of court rooms for hearings over petty infractions and never employed. He and his brother were made to fend for themselves at a young age, and so the life of crime found them in a way. They began practicing the art of pickpocketing and eventually began orchestrating incredibly well thought out acts and cons. They called themselves street performers, but only because words like “theif” and “criminal” reminded them of their parents, and they were better than their parents.

As they got older, their reputation grew and people told wild and mystical stories about the misadventures and heists of the Bostaligni Brothers. They were well known by many city police officers but all their evidence was circumstantial, it would never hold up in court. Biron and his brother thought they were invisible, they lived like kings, feeding off of their own hype. Biron even acquired a very expensive taste in fashion while his brother preferred to accessorize with priceless jewelry. Rumors spread, as per usual, of the brother’s next big heist. But unfortunately, somebody with a loose tongue spoke too much and their heist was thwarted. The brothers were apprehended and each given a light sentence of 4 years in a maximum security prison.

While in prison, the Bostaligni brothers were targeted by a hispanic prison gang. When three of these gang members attempted to jump Biron in the showers is when he discovered his ability of Gargoyle Mimicry. Being startled by the feel of a man grabbing him from behind and pressing a makeshift shiv to his neck caused him to instantly take his gargoyle form which, being a bit larger than his human form, knocked the assailant back. Biron turned around in confusion, not sure what was going on until he caught his reflection in the mirror and studied his new stone body. Biron wasn’t one to get scared or panic, so he adjusted rather quickly and tested his new strength and durability on the gangsters who had made enemies of him.

After word spread among the inmates of a mutant in their prison, no one dared to mess with Biron or his brother. Unfortunately, Biron made the mistake of letting his new dominance go to his head. He ruled the prison with an iron fist (literally) and built up his underground empire. He always extended his benefits and special treatment to his brother, Alec, who was less than pleased with the path his baby brother was heading down. Biron and his brother grew apart considerably over the next two years but Biron was lost in his new world and couldn’t see the clear depression his brother was going through. When Alec was found hanging from his bedsheets, fastened to the middle bar of his cell window… Biron was so shocked he stopped speaking for weeks.

Biron was allowed special leave from prison in order to attend his brother’s funeral. Seeing his mother and father again for the first time in years was more than tense, it was terrible. Upon seeing Biron, his mother slapped him across the face and told him that Alec’s death was his fault. The rage that consumed Biron triggered his gargoyle form and after crushing his parents’ car and throwing Alec’s coffin into its grave, he flew away.

Later he joined up with Alfie, Cecil, and Sonya: a group of mutants much like himself. They had all lost their ways in the world, felt lost and alone, and the stayed together for support and mutual understanding. They weren’t a team of villains or heroes, they just wanted to be safe and live. But the sudden death of Sonya, Alfie’s fraternal twin sister, took a tragic tole on the makeshift family and drove Cecil down a dark path. Biron and Alfie sought help from Jarome and his team in order to overcome Cecil and has been living in the Legacy house ever since.

Powers:

Stone Physiology:

Biron is able to shift the composition of his body into stone. His stone form is 2.5x the size of his human form and he takes the form of a Gargoyle with large wings, a dinosaur-like tail, and a monstrous face, exerting energy to do so. Although he has wings he is only able to hover above the ground for a few passing moments and uses this to gain height over an opponent. Biron’s stone form is slower than he is but much stronger and yields maximum damage.

Spark-Life Creation:

Biron is able to “animate” small objects and items by giving them a simple command. To compliment this power, Biron’s hobbies include origami, whittling, and collecting small toys so that he has various object to do simple tasks such as: flipping a switch, holding or carrying an object, pulling a lever or string, or delivering a letter with a message.

Skills:

Lock-Picking or Pocket-Picking: Biron is a master lock pick and can crack almost any safe, he also able to slip small items from someone’s person such as keys, wallets, watches, and other small jewelry. Having been a thief in his younger years, he hasn’t forgotten his sleight of hand, he’s simply traded in the thieves’ tools for a deck of card and magic tricks.

Knowledge of Organized Crime - Biron’s past sources of income included pedaling hard drugs and dealing in illegal firearms. Having been to prison, Biron has plenty of useful knowledge about how organized crime works and the mentally of an individual involved in this kind of work.

Family:

Angela Cook - Angela "Angie" Cook (mother) and Morgan Bostaligni (father) were never married but together they had two sons: Alec, the oldest, and Biron, the youngest. Angie and Morgan were career criminals with a screwed up moral code (or lack there of). They raised their sons to lie, cheat, and steal and their parenting lived up to the saying, "wrong is right". At a young age, Biron learned to shoplift and pickpocket, he also acquired a fake ID and began drinking at age 14. His mother especially set an example of abusing substances, defying authority figures, and general dishonesty. Biron learned well what his parents had to teach.

Morgan Bostaligni - Angela "Angie" Cook (mother) and Morgan Bostaligni (father) were never married but together they had two sons: Alec, the oldest, and Biron, the youngest. Angie and Morgan were career criminals with a screwed up moral code (or lack there of). They raised their sons to lie, cheat, and steal and their parenting lived up to the saying, "wrong is right". At a young age, Biron learned to shoplift and pickpocket, he also acquired a fake ID and began drinking at age 14. His mother especially set an example of abusing substances, defying authority figures, and general dishonesty. Biron learned well what his parents had to teach.

Alec Bostaligni - Biron has one older brother, Alec, who was his one true aly, his confidant, and his best friend. They grew up together and rebelled against the world, and their own parents, together. While Biron was incarcerated, Alec committed suicide, leaving behind a girlfriend and young daughter, Biron's niece whom he first met at Alec's funeral, having been granted temporary release to attend it. [DECEASED]

Saffron Leveran - Biron’s brother had a girlfriend before he passed, and now, despite their being no blood relation, Biron is desperately clinging to contact with Saffron and her daughter, his niece.

Sage Bostaligni - The daughter of Saffron and Biron’s brother Alec, Biron’s niece. The most precious thing in the world to Biron is Sage.

Team Mates:

Jarome Blakely - The unopposed Leader of Team Legacy, Biron respects him as the strategist as the group. Jarome is the one who found Biron and effectively saved him from himself that fateful night.

Cassius Murdock - Second-In-Command for good reason, Cass also could sense Biron’s pain and anguish and played a major diplomatic role in Biron’s acceptance onto the team.

Noah Dupont - Noah and Biron became fast friends, quickly bonding over shared vices and messy pasts, even a little something more sparked between them yet it fizzled out just as quickly as it arose.

Allies:

Sage Razin-Pavlov - Biron’s current drug dealer who has become a close friend over time. Biron, for a time, felt romantic feelings for Sage but kept this a secret and allowed them to fade away, never acting on them.

Adrian McClure - Biron's old friend, whom he did the job with, and took the fall for when arrested. Adrian is the one who had the gun that night, but Biron took the gun charge and Adrian got off scot free. (never incarcerated)

Lovers:

Sloan Jacobson - Biron’s serious girlfriend since the age of sixteen, Sloan and Biron went through a more-or-less mutual break up shortly after he began his prison sentence and went no-contact until his release 4 years later. After his release, Sloan and Biron fell back in love and began the hard work of mending their relationship. This led to great success and happiness for both of them.

Enemies:

Artemis - Originally Biron's heroin supplier (to sell) and leader of the Aryan Brotherhood in the streets (never incarcerated)

Apollo - kingpin and leader of the Aryan Brotherhood prison faction (currently incarcerated)

Getulio - Biron's firearms supplier and highly ranked in the Mexican Cartel on the outside of prison (previously incarcerated)

Guillermo - leader of the Mexican Cartel's prison faction (currently incarcerated)

Verses:

Earth!616 | DC | The Boys | Invincible

Tags:

Head Canons | Quotes | Music | Face

Other Muses:

Jarome | Cass | Noah

[christinepanas]

The Bear

The Bear

That morning, the entire neighborhood was bubbling with the news that a dead bear was hanging under the carport in front of the King family’s base housing unit. There was always some kind of stir at the King’s, but a dead bear was big news. My older brother was itching to go see it, hardly able to sit still at breakfast. Our parents shook their heads. No dead bear looking today. It was Sunday.

We were crestfallen, not just because of the interdiction on bear looking. It was also late summer, almost fall. This dead bear might be our last chance for some summer excitement on Cannon Air Force Base. Despite the warm weather during the day, the nights were becoming chilly. We would be back in school in a week. There would be no more long days at the pool. Many of our friends were moving away because their fathers had received transfer orders. New families were moving in. And everybody who was anybody was going to check out the dead bear.

The whole idea of a dead bear hanging from the King’s carport was too great a distraction for my brother. All through Mass, I could see him fidgeting with his rosary beads, the missal, the hymnals, the buttons on his shirt, the little donation envelope he held in his hand. He looked like he might pass out from the anticipation. Neither of us wanted to be the only kid who hadn’t seen the bear.  

After Mass, our parents decided to skip the catechism and go directly to lunch, claiming that our two-and-a-half-year-old baby brother was just too hyper to sit still any longer. That was partly true. He was always hyper. But I could tell by the way our father chewed at the end of his unlit cigar that this lunch was not about the hyper baby brother.

We climbed into the back seat of the family station wagon, and my brother elbowed me in the ribs.

“Ask dad if we can go see the bear,” he whispered in my ear.

My brother had, over time, worked out that we got better results if he sent me in for the ask. But before I could say anything, our father announced, “we’re going to the China Inn.”

My brother looked at me with wide eyes, then leaned back in the seat. This was big news. Our father grinned as he started the car, the cigar still in the corner of his mouth, and chuckled. And then our mother turned around and smiled and said, “Oh, how nice, the China Inn. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

The news that we were going to the China Inn silenced any talk about the dead bear. Going to the China Inn was a big event. It was our opportunity to try something new without fear. We usually knew about it days in advance. There was planning. Excitement.

“Everybody ready?” our father asked as we pulled out of the church parking lot.

Our little brother, still on the pacifier, climbed onto my lap and put his face to mine, then bumped his head against my nose a few times, and pulled at my hair. I took the pacifier out of his mouth and made him repeat the alphabet to me in exchange for a piece of candy. It was serious business. He liked candy.

 The China Inn was our favorite restaurant. Hands down. No one ever complained. Our father was friendly with the owners, the skinny Mr. Fong and his barrel shaped wife Consuela. They greeted us like friends and sat us at my father’s favorite table. They had special booster chairs for us, and a highchair that pressed right up to the table so that we were all the same height.

We examined the book-length menu, grinning with happiness. Our father seemed extra happy as he looked around the room. At one point, I thought he might invite a couple seated nearby to join us. He knew the young Airman, whom he called Perkins.

“You two having fun, Perkins?” our father asked.

“Yes, sir, Sarge, we sure are,” the Airman replied. The young woman smiled as she played with the long, brightly colored scarf that held back her long hair.

Soon, we had a table full of food served family style, more than we could eat, and my father seemed to want to order more, as if he never wanted to leave the place. Finally, after our little brother shouted to the room, “I gotta go poopies”, Mr. Fong packed up our leftovers, and then we watched as our father left a hefty tip under the bottle of La Choy soy sauce.

“Let’s take a drive,” our father said as we piled back into the car. Poopies would have to wait until the gas station.

We headed north out of town, windows down, on a road we seldom travelled. The radio was tuned to an FM station that played the old-fashioned rock and roll our father loved. Our baby brother was back in my lap as we headed away from the bear, destination unknown.

We were quiet. Our father was humming along to the music, the unlit cigar still in the corner of his mouth. Our mother had put on her big sunglasses, her hair now protected by a lemon-yellow head scarf secured in a bow beneath her chin. And then there was that aroma. Our baby brother had already done his poopies. It was time for a diaper change.  

“Pew,” I said to him. He grinned and sucked at his pacifier.

“Gross” my older brother said. A few seconds later, he elbowed me in the ribs again and whispered that I should ask where we were going. He was fixating on the dead bear again, I could tell. I ignored him. He elbowed me again. “Ask him!”

“No,” I whispered to him. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” he pressed.

I really couldn’t say why not. All I knew was that I didn’t want to. He glared at me, but he didn’t ask, either. We rode on in silence for what seemed hours, lost in thought like all scheming children. I felt sleepy, sitting there listening to the radio playing against the wind as it rushed into the car. I was drifting off, until our mother switched off the radio and started talking.

“You need to make a right here,” she said. “Did you hear me, honey? I said a right. A right.  Here. Here!”

The car made a last minute hard right off the highway, and as soon as we got on the feeder road, we saw it, the Stuckey’s, sitting right there next to a stand of trees. Stuckey’s meant one thing: pecan logs.

Our father pulled up to the gas pumps and told us to get out and stretch our legs, which meant that he wanted to talk to our mother alone. And so there we were, the bright New Mexico sun peering down on us as we loitered, first by the pumps, then by the front door of the Stuckey’s.  

Our mother got out of the car and took our baby brother inside to deal with the poopies. I thought about following her, but instead I just stood there, looking at the ground, watching thousands of ants stream in and out an anthill. And then I saw a horny toad flip out its tongue and grab an ant, and then another.

“Look,” I said to my brother, and I pointed to the horny toad, actually a lizard, but not the kind that loses a tail during escapes. An armored lizard, a mini stegosaurus.

“Cool,” my brother said.

We watched the horny toad, observing as it ate a few more ants, and each time my brother would say “cool.”

I was about to reach down and try to scoop up the creature when an ancient old man shouted at me, “don’t touch it!”

My brother immediately disappeared into a shadow while I stood my ground, hands on hips, all eight years of me ready to defy this man.

“I can if I want,” I said.

He smiled at me, kind of toothless smile, and leaned down to put his face next to mine.

“I reckon you like this little horned toad,” he said. “Well, if you like him, you leave him be. You take him home in your pocket, he’ll die. This is his home. He’ll die in yours. Is that what you want?”

I shook my head, but still held his gaze. He stood up and scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“You don’t take what you don’t need,” he said as he wagged a finger at me. “Them’s words to live by.”

Just then our father approached to see what was happening and after a brief survey of the situation told me to leave the horny toad alone and go inside and help my mother. “And wash your hands,” he said.

 Later, as the afternoon began to dissolve into early evening, my brother again began plotting how we could get outside to go see the dead bear. He came up with a plan. I figured prominently in this plan, as did our baby brother, a stroller, and Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.

Once again, the plan was that I would ask our father, who was now enjoying a salad of tomatoes and cucumbers. But again, I didn’t want to ask him. It was never a good idea to interrupt him in his enthusiastic devouring of food. But it just felt wrong. Bringing up the Kings and the bear at the dinner table just seemed like a bad thing to do.

I knew that our father did not like Mr. King. And we didn’t like his children. They were bullies, all four of them, like their father, the king of bullies. Mr. King was the only parent who would stand outside in a t-shirt and fatigue pants, yelling at his kids to beat up other kids. He called the smaller boys sissies and wimps. My father hated that more than anything and had more than once warned us to stay away from the Kings.

As much as I wanted to see the bear, I did not want to upset our father. So, I sat and watched him as he enjoyed that salad, wondering what I could possibly say that would get us to the bear. I gave up. There was no moment, no opportunity to make the case for bear looking.

At some point, my father noticed me staring at him, and asked, “are you gonna eat that?” He pointed his fork at the fish sticks on my plate, now arranged into a parallelogram. I probably wasn’t going to eat them, but before I could answer he reached over and stabbed two of them with his fork. I watched him eat the fish sticks, then go in for the other two.

“Daughter,” he said as he looked for something else to eat, “what’s on your mind?”

“Daddy, what did that man mean today?” I asked.

“What man?” he asked, now all ears.

“That man who yelled at me not to touch the horny toad.”

“He meant you had no business messing with it,” he replied.

“What does it mean, taking what you don’t need?”

Our father chewed away at something as he surveyed each of us. My older brother squirmed in his chair. He had been done eating for too long.

“It means,” my father said,” that you don’t need a lizard. You might want a lizard. But you don’t need a lizard. Sometimes it’s best to leave the lizard alone. How would you like to be picked up and carried far away from your home? You gotta respect animals. They have lives. Families. They’re not just for your entertainment.”

We had watched enough episodes of Wild Kingdom to know that nature was serious business. And no one on that show seemed to want to hunt down an animal just to shoot it to death and then hang it from the carport.

“Why did Mr. King kill the bear?” I asked.

There was a moment of silence. My father had stopped chewing. He held his fork in his fist, its prongs pointing upward.  

“Because, daughter, he’s not a good man,” he said.

“Now, honey,” my mother said. “Remember what father Lambert said today in the homily.”

“No,” our father said. “I’m gonna say it. I’m tired of pussy footing around. Sargent King is not a good man. Never has been.”

He looked down at his empty dinner plate, then reached for a slice of bread. We stared at him.

“He killed that bear,” he said, “for his own pride, just so he could string it up like that. Like he’s some big man.”

“Honey,” my mother said, touching his arm, “don’t…”

“No,” he said, “I’m saying it. He’s not a good man. The crew in Saigon knew it. Everyone knows it. He’s one sorry SOB. Hanging that bear up like that. Just for the spectacle. It’s against regulations. That doesn’t matter to him. He’s mean as snot. That’s all he is.”

“Yes, I suppose he is,” our mother said. “Some people just aren’t nice. That’s why we don’t like you two going over there.”

Our father looked down at his plate, then fiddled with his napkin as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. The joy of his salad was gone from his eyes. And then he said in a somber tone, “Anyway, he’s getting discharged.”

My brother leaned back in his chair, leaving his fork on the plate. He was looking down at his hands, which sat in his lap, unsure of themselves. It was not like our father to speak in such a way, certainly not about a man we knew, and knew to avoid.

 After dinner, our father, now ready to settle down for a Sunday night television feast, called us into the living room.

“You can go see the bear,” he said. “Be back in ten minutes. Don’t make me come looking for you. If you see a King, leave.”

And so now, with much less enthusiasm and wonder, we got the permission we had been so eager to receive. The walk from our housing unit on Bataan Court to the King’s seemed long and dreary. From time to time my brother sighed but did not speak. I looked out across the dry fields, now sure of disappointment.

The sun glinted wildly off every shiny surface, adding to the strangeness of the moment. A kid we knew flew by us on his bicycle, ringing his bell as he went. A car door opened and closed.

Then we saw it, hanging there, upside down, the dead bear, its nose a few feet from the ground. It seemed small. We could tell that it had been shot in the back. Crimson wounds stood out from the brown fur. As we got closer, we could see the bear’s open eyes, staring into a pool of its own blood. Flies buzzed all around it. Everything about it seemed sad.

From across the dry fields, we heard the calls of the bobwhites, and then the sound of a jet taking off. The early evening was upon us, the cool breeze causing the bear to move ever so slightly, its pungent odors wafting into our faces.  

“Let’s go,” my brother said after examining one of the bear’s paws. He frowned.

We turned and left, retracing our steps, our pace quicker now. Halfway home I spied another horny toad, again standing next to an anthill, just standing there, waiting for the ants to go by just to grab them at random. But I said nothing, and we continued walking, and with each step, I felt more and more upset that the bear had been killed by Mr. King. It was a meaningless end to its life.

That night, I prayed for the soul of the bear. It would be a long time before I would be able to pray for the soul of Mr. King.

[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ The kid in Ramshackle Dorm

Gender neutral, platonic

- order 52 | Headcanon | Octavinelle

They’re the only dorm that doesn’t really think about stuff like why they’re letting a child attend high school.

Maybe Azul is like “It’s strange that such a young child is staying here.”

Jade and Floyd agree but nothing more than that.

Floyd Leech

The nickname Little Shrimpy really makes sense since you’re little. You’re old enough to know some sort of common sense but anything below 15 is considered little children to him.

He either babies you, like giving you crayons and the kids menu when you visit Mostro Lounge. He doesn’t understand why you don’t want to color in the fun little whales and sharks?

Or he just shows you things completely above your level.

“Hey, Little Shrimpy, can you solve this formula?”

“Floyd, what is that??”

“Calculus!”

He does it on purpose, then he tries to teach you it. But there are just some stuff you can’t teach a child.

Honestly it just looks like scribbles to you. Floyd is surprisingly smart but only when he wants to be.

Jade Leech

He doesn’t treat you that differently actually. He treats you the same way he would treat a person but if they were short.

He can be a bit snarky about it though.

“Oh I’m sorry. I couldn’t see you so far down.”

“One day, I’m gonna be taller than you.”

He knows kids can be cruel since they’re still in their growing stages, he’s technically a kid too but he’s still at a different point in life.

But you’re actually pretty average. You’re not mean but just moody, mostly because lack of sleep. An unhealthy sleep schedule isn’t good. He tells you that but you take it as just him making fun of you but it’s an actual piece of advice.

He usually gives you tea with some sleeping medicine so you can get those hours in, but you just think that tea in Twisted Wonderland makes you sleepy. But nah, it’s regular tea but with sleeping medicine.

He turns into an unintentional older brother figure. He doesn’t mean to do all these nice things for you like carry you to bed or help you with your homework but it’s like a natural instinct for him.

Azul Ashengrotto

Scared of you. He doesn’t like kids. Might be that way cause he was bullied, and you can be a lil mean.

His fear of you is sorta irrational and people try to tell him that but he’s not hearing anybody out. He wouldn’t straight up avoid you/run away. but he would act a differently around you.

There would eventually be a time where he realizes that you’re not really all that evil. In fact, maybe you were like him back then. The one getting bullied. Maybe then he would show some care towards you. He would actually get really attached to you if you seem impressed about what he does.

He’s gonna start teaching you about business and stocks. In other words, he might accidentally make you his mini me. Some people (Heartslabyul + Savannaclaw) might not like how you started talking like a smartass to everyone ever since you started hanging around Azul.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Party of one, two, three?

Pre-serum Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FTM reader

I wrote this months ago, long before i made this blog and i accidentally found it when going through my things. I still enjoy the concept so i wanted to post it here. Tell me what you guys think, maybe ill write more for it, if its something you all want.

I know very little about the time period around WW2 in Brooklyn USA. So, this is just based off what I’ve read in fics and heard in videos about the time. This includes the treatment of the poorer people and the Irish. In my hc Steve is Irish and the Barnes family are Jewish and second-generation Romani, I don’t know much about Romani people in general. It’s not really mentioned a lot but it’s still a hc of mine.

Tw: Unsafe binding, Dysphoria

In his bathroom stood Y/N. He stared intently at himself, eyes glaring at the body he saw. His ribs and chest were faintly discoloured and ached from the pressure of the many layers he wrapped around it on an everyday basis. There were times he would even sleep with the tight layers, when he couldn’t bear to look down and see a body that didn’t fit.

Y/N felt his eyes heat and dampen as his lip wobbled when he couldn’t will his body to change on the spot. He hated his body, how it didn’t look right, how it didn’t feel right. It just wasn’t right, and because of this body so many people would call him a ‘she’ or a ‘her’, even when he told them that wasn’t right. He had demanded people call him a man when he was still small, but his parents had been horrified and made him never say that again. Now his parents weren’t around to demand he be a lady anymore.

Y/N snorted to himself as he picked up the wide bandages, starting to wind them tightly around his chest in multiple layers. A small huff pulled itself from his chest at the tightening feeling, taking smaller breaths as he couldn’t take deep ones anymore. The older people who were like him always told him not to bind to tightly, and to take breaks at least one day a week. Of course, Y/N didn’t listen and did it every day. He had to work every day or go into public, so of course he had to make his chest flat.

It was Saturday, and his friends finally had a day off from work. Steve and Bucky had apparently set up a triple date for them, or rather Bucky had set up the date for all of them. So, Y/N expected it would end up Steve and himself walking together as Bucky had three girls hanging off his arms like always. Y/N normally didn’t mind of course, as he liked spending time with Steve. But quelling the jealous fire the burned in his stomach whenever Bucky would hold the random lady close and whisper in her ear, could be a struggle. Y/N knew Steve felt the same way, and Steve knew Y/N felt this way too, but neither spoke about it because that’s not something you could talk about.

Tightening the bandages one last time, Y/N stepped back from the mirror and out of the tiny bathroom and into his small bedroom. On his bed laid his clothes, which he made quick work of putting on. A white undershirt, a faded pale button up and baggy pants in dark grey. Pulling on the scratchy clothes, Y/N sat down on his bed and pulled on his socks and shoes, which were dark boots he had been given by one of the older people like him. Apparently, it made them feel bigger and stronger than they looked.

With a sigh Y/N shoved himself to his feet with a grunt, grabbing his keys and wallet off his dresser and shoving them in his pockets. He walked to his front door, grabbing the dark grey newsboy cap from the hook and pulling it on. Bucky once said it made him look handsome, back when they were still young, so Y/N had worn it almost every day since. Not that he would ever tell anybody that.

Locking the door behind him, Y/N made his way down the stairs of the apartment building he lived in. When he got outside, he looked at his watch to make sure he was on time and made his way towards the place he was meeting his ‘date’. It was a dancing hall, with a large area to dance for the couples, an area to sit where of course you could buy drinks, and a stage with a live band most nights. At least that’s what Bucky said when he tried to convince his two friends to go.

When Y/N reached the location, he was supposed to go, he saw his two friends and the three women. They were pretty, as always, but Y/N didn’t feel the kind of attraction to them that other men seemed to have. Steve looked uncomfortable as he made small talk with whom Y/N assumed was his date. The thump of Y/Ns heavy boots seemed to catch his friend’s attention and Bucky looked up, a grin lighting up on his face as his eyes fell on the shape of his second friend.

Y/N gave a small smirk in greeting, giving a two fingered salute as he walked over. The one girl who wasn’t with either of his friends smiled sweetly at him, which he returned. Bucky made quick work of introducing the women to him. Betty, who was Bucky’s date, Mary, who was Steve’s date, and Helen, who would be his date. Y/N made sure to shake all their hands, and complimented Helen on her dress, which was a pretty blue colour.

They hadn’t been able to start up much of a conversation before Bucky pulled their group inside of the dance hall. Now, Y/N couldn’t dance for the life of him, neither could Steve if he was being honest. The only one with their feet screwed on right was Bucky, he had already swooped his date away to start swinging and twirling her around the dance floor.

The evening went on at a snail’s pace if you asked Y/N, and his chest had started to ache as his date and himself kept up dancing. At times he had to excuse himself to cough and wheeze in the restroom which made him lightheaded, the edges of his vision painting black for few moments at a time. Y/N splashed water in his face and shook his head to clear it, he wouldn’t let that get in the way, Bucky seemed to be having such a good time, and Helen seemed to even enjoy his company.

When he excited the bathroom, his eyes searched for his date. When he found her, he chuckled to himself, as he saw not only Betty, but Mary and Helen were dancing with Bucky. Seemed like he had swooped in again to knock their dates off their feet. Y/N shook his head slightly with a huff, turning to look for his blonde friend, whom he found sitting at one of the tables furthest away from the dancing floor.

Y/N coughed into his sleeve, his vision blurring for a short while and his face feeling warm. Damn he hated this, his chest ached, and his throat hurt but he didn’t let it show, he couldn’t. Shaking his head Y/N made his way over to the table where Steve was sitting, looking less excited than average. But that was expected, seeing as Steve never really enjoyed these triple dates.

Giving a whistle to catch Steve’s attention, Y/N sat himself down at the table where his blonde friend was placed. Y/N grinned at his friend in a half joking manner, snickering out loud as Steve rolled his eyes in a slightly annoyed manner. They both knew they didn’t really want to be here, but only did it to make Bucky happy. Steve took a gulp of the drink Y/N had just noticed he was drinking.

The smaller of the two held the drink out to Y/N, who took it and threw back a huge gulp. He started coughing as the liquid passed down his throat, burning on the way down. Y/N covered his face with his arm, coughing roughly at not just the drink but the pain that was blooming in his chest again. Steve laughed, assuming his friend had drunk more than he had wanted too.

As the coughing finally stopped, Y/N started laughing along having always been influenced by his friend’s mood. He gave a huff as he placed the now almost empty drink on the table, shaking his head as they both finally calmed down from their snickering fit. They both glanced around them, just to make sure no one was staring at them weirdly for being two men snickering like schoolchildren. When they saw no one, they turned to look at one another again.

“Why am I not surprised you´re over here sulking, Rogers?” Y/N stated, placing his elbow on the table, and leaning into his hand as he sent a jokingly judgemental look at his friend. Steve scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he sent a just as judgemental look at Y/N. “You´re one to talk, from what I see you ran away from that poor girl the first chance you got”. The two stared intently at one another, before breaking into chuckles again.

“But to be honest, I don’t think she was ever really interested in me. I’m guessing she thought Bucky’s friend would look like him, and not be some short scrawny punk like me.” Steve sighed, his expression crumbling a bit as he leant backwards in his seat. This was how it always went when they were on triple dates. Steve and Y/N´s dates always seemed disappointed when they showed up, Steve more than Y/N, and would end up on Bucky’s arms late that night.

This of course meant Y/N got to spend more time with Steve, which made him happy. He wished Bucky would be there too, but it would also be suspicious if a group of three men sat as close and gossiped as they tended to do at times. If all three came in with a girl, and those girls just happened to gravitate towards Bucky, what could the other two do.

Y/N made a face as his friend put himself down, which sadly wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Leaning forward, he reached over and placed a hand on Steve´s shoulder. “Oi, don’t put yourself down like that. If those girls don’t want you, they aren’t good enough for you. They don’t know what they’re missing out on” he said, voice sure and unwavering.

Steve stared at Y/N a faint colouring rising to his cheeks, his mouth opened and closed a few times like he didn’t know how to form words, like he was speechless. Seeming to realise his Y/N ripped his hand away from Steve´s shoulder, shoving them into his pockets as he felt his own face heat up in embarrassment. He glanced off to the side, catching Bucky twirling one of the girls around, whilst the other two seemed to be giggling together.

“I´m uh… I´m gonna go outside, its late so I should probably be going home anyways” Y/N muttered, just barely audible to Steve, as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet, shoving both his hands deep into his pockets. Steve pushed himself up too with a quickness, stumbling over some words about him going too so they should go together. Y/N tried to suppress the warmth that spread in his chest, as he nodded his head and seemingly curling in on himself as the two went outside.

Normally they´d tell Bucky they were leaving, but they caught his eye before they went outside, the tallest of the group grinning at them with that cocky grin of his, that always made Y/N weak in the knees. Together Steve and Y/N walked in the direction of their houses, which just so happened to be in the same direction, so they could go together instead of having to split up.

They stayed silent for a good while, seemingly both not knowing what to say or not daring to say anything. Y/N opened his mouth, but closed it quickly again, beating himself over the head for even thinking about saying anything. He couldn’t dare say what he wanted to say, to let the warm bubbling feeling in his chest form into words and burst forth. He didn’t want to somehow lose the only friendship he had, as he bit his tongue and buried his face in the collar of his shirt.

[blue-sterling0357]

I heard you were looking for requests so allow me 🙏 could you do a black butler bard x fem reader where reader is in her mid 20s working as a very capable servant in the manor, but is not a fighter, getting trained by bard and him fighting his feelings for the young woman while sparring/training with her ? I imagine he’d be like “no way this young filly likes me get your head out of the gutter bard” but the reader does in fact like him that way *eyebrow wiggle* as flirty or suggestive as you are willing to make it. Please and thank you!!!

(Warning: A little bit suggestive||Also the setup is done by our cupid makers, Sebastian and Ciel who are too tired to see you both flirt with each-other but it just goes above both of your heads..... Also not proof-read....)

Fight back you idiot, otherwise...!

▧ The hanging burn of your shoulder from constantly throwing punches at Bard was getting really tiring. You had asked Bard to train you in case something happens you will be able to protect the young master and yourself and also because Sebastian refuses to train you himself or lets anybody other than Bard to do so, don’t know why though.

It was starting out good as he was helping you polish your punches as he continued to defend them and he teaches you how to defend others punches as well. Honestly you were going to ask Sebastian for it as you also always got distracted due to Bard’s handsome face and his cute cheeks and his amazing body and he’s also funny and nice and sweet and and and...Did you describe him as funny? But seeing as Sebastian was a bit busy and was being an asshole, not letting anyone else other than bard train you including himself, you had no choice but to ask him, you knew he had feelings for you, but you still couldn’t have the courage to ask him…And Bard himself on the other hand was having an existential crisis because the lady he loves is in front of him and in shorter clothing as it is easier to move and fight in them…and you know how he gets, yet you still decided to do this?...

Why, you don’t even realize how flustered he is when the top buttons of your shirt is torn mid fight and his gaze just isn’t moving from your chest….He was thinking about how it would feel to sleep in between them as he continued to block your attack and then there was you who tried your best as to not show too much as it would be weird to Tanaka who was watching you both practice cause well Bard’s older than you and it would be weird.

As you continued to fight, Tanaka luckily had to leave as Ciel called for, but you and Bard both unluckily slipped while sparring and continued to fight and ended up in a position which would make even the most of innocent person think you both did something unholy, his hand was holding your leg while you shirt was torn form the top and some buttons were undone, both of your hairs were messy and undone and so was his outfit which was messy and undone.

Upon being in this positions, you both froze and became as red as raspberries (because tomatoes aren’t red enough), as you both stayed in the position and as your shirt was almost fully torn, which would almost be revealing everything including your very small and revealing corset to him, the tension was getting a bit strong for you both.

As you squeezed your eyes shut, before you felt his grip on your thigh and waist (which was also dangerously close to your breast) tighten and as you felt his soft lips on yours, in a few seconds you let go of his collars and had one of your hand on his cheeks with the other being in his hair as your lips moved in sync, as you both continued kissing with your tongues exploring each other’s mouth, as you felt his hands travel from your waist to your pants waistband, before it slipped in as you felt his hands gliding on your thigh before it reached inside your panties and near your clit before he……

“Bard, I think I told you to train the young lady, not have sex with her….” You both froze in your places before Bard’s hand came out of your pants when you heard a deep, velvety voice say, you both knew it was Sebastian and he was mad. You both knew he was going to give you both a long lecture of your indecent behavior, “Well, at-least they finally did it before they did anything to remove our sanity, leave them be for now Sebastian…” You heard the young master say, as you and Bard tried  to quickly scramble to your feet, “Well, it’s true your master, but as you wish I will surely give them a lecture later, I think it’s about time we leave them be and you both…” He said to the young master before turning to you both with a scowl “Please do it in your room and not somewhere in the manor…” As he and young master left the room.

As you followed them, flustered and gripping your shirt tight to cover yourself before quickly saying goodbye to Bard and running off. As Bard saw you run of, he touched his warm face and wiped the little bit of drool on his lip before smirking and following you out of the room.

Maybe what Sebastian asked Bard to do would take a bit of time to complete as he had to do the latter and she wouldn’t be able to walk correctly, so it would take for them to heal before she finished her training ♡~

[jangofctts]

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit 

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?  

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish​ FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA 

It's curious. 

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is. 

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.  

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.        

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos. 

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.     

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought  it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.     

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.     

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

 And yes, you tried to slip by for this one. 

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.    

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye. 

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?" 

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but— 

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut. 

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit." 

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?" 

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information. 

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.” 

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.” 

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.” 

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting. 

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.” 

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height. 

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces. 

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed." 

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder. 

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well. 

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.  

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.  

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me." 

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts. 

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this? 

This is too good. 

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.  

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions." 

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…  

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.  

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don���t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that." 

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.  

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride. 

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest. 

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.   

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you." 

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.” 

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left. 

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.  

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet. 

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.  

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss. 

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this. 

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.   

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything. 

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.     

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin. 

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.      

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this? 

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.   

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.  

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—” 

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name. 

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.” 

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it. 

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.” 

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones. 

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate. 

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part. 

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.   

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.” 

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.” 

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away. 

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit. 

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly— 

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands. 

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here. 

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.” 

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him. 

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.” 

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages. 

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin. 

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you. 

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.   

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever. 

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

[bokugaos]

blessed is the man.

characters: konoha, bokuto

length: 2.3k

tw — incest, alcohol, aphrodisiacs, voyeurism, oral (m. receiving), nipple play, lactation

summary: konoha slips something in your sake and things don’t go as planned, however it looks more than either of you can handle.

Working for the Bokuto family is not all bad. They pay well. Coming from old money means they are rather influential as they have roots in most businesses and fields, guaranteeing that they stay in the top 5% of the country. Any illegal activities they do are actually rather negligible.

Most of the dirty work is still handled by the head of the clan and his son, leaving his grandchildren out of the misery of the business world domination. The two eldest granddaughters have been following the exact footsteps as they have come of age, each in charge of a different branch of the oligarchy.

The title of the future successor would eventually fall on the only grandson, who is actually a great authoritative figure when given the right moment and opportunity, granted, if there are no distractions around. One would argue that as the youngest of the family, you’re the one most neglected, unbound by any responsibilities and most family matters.

The empire’s grandchildren are a feat to be ogled—though that one is not necessarily described by the person who introduced Konoha to the job. Rather, it is a quiet perk that he comes to realize as soon as he steps foot in the estate, catching eyes full of you walking along the hallway with your kimono restricting wide movements, and he follows your shadow as you move rather eloquently under the moonlight.

He goes back to the same wing the following night, and the night after that, and after, but he doesn’t get to see you. Instead, what he has been getting is the sight of the grandson drunkenly stumbling in after a night in town, clothes hanging off of him sticky with spilled alcohol.

Bokuto is easy, open with affection, most often drunk and not caring as long as he gets to have fun with his friends or his bodyguards. Konoha doesn’t understand how the assigned right hand of his, Akaashi, he remembers his name, puts up with the young master. But Bokuto is actually bearable, he supposes, he is just ridiculously energetic and bubbly and up to anything that even remotely promises to take him away from handling his actual duties as the future heir.

His little sister, on the other hand…

Konoha can tell that you are just as slutty, but just more stingy about it. Under the second eldest daughter’s provision, your older sister who quite naturally drinks sake every night just because it’s her hobby—routine, as she calls it—you get drunk, too, but in the confines of your room where your kimono will slip deeper and deeper off your shoulders until it is hanging off of you sloppily and showing off the curves of your tits.

Sometimes you’ll stumble your way out into the gardens where you will lie in the wet grass, legs spread and giving anybody walking past a nice view of your luscious thighs because of course the youngest in the Bokuto empire is a raging slut that does not make a habit out of wearing underwear.

But—you’re as oblivious about those tender, smooth skin as you are about everything else in your goddamn life.

It is your own fault, really, what is happening to you. You’re forcing their hands on the issue—if only you had been more forthcoming with spreading your legs, and the staff wouldn’t have had to resort to such dire measures…

Only that’s not true. Not really. Of course they could have just let the issue lie and watch you come out of hiding; waiting until you’re in a drunken stupor so they can creep out and jerk off on you; maybe drape you around their shoulders like some perverse hunting trophy, showing your tight little ass off to a camera and spreading your cheeks wide so they can take pictures of the cunt you’re so stingy with.

The truth of the matter is, though, that Konoha doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want you to be a lewd little fuck doll, head lolling and drooling onto your own tits. He wants you aware and needy, begging for his cock and whining for his cum, crying in despair when you’ve can’t have either of them because he’ll deny you as fucking long as he can before he’ll fuck your cunt loose and sloppy.

It’s absolutely, hilariously easy to do. He gets the substance on his errand out into the city, buying them from a seedy mechanic in between jobs of collecting extortion money and fixing spare parts.

Then he mixes them into the order of sake, preferring to make sure you will be too drunk to care about any taste that might be skewered by the added dose of a chemical cocktail.

Lucky for him, you’re actually drinking alone tonight, no patronizing older sister in sight. So he, finally, brings the bottle to you, already sitting with your legs spread wide, kimono rucked up on your thighs.

And then—he just has to wait for it to hit your bloodstream. For you to get squirmy and short of breath, hips fucking helplessly into the air and nipples hard and escaping from the heavy folds of your kimono.

He waits for you to get hot and needy, to call for someone to alleviate the heat surging in your little body, and then he will descend upon you like a vulture, urging your thighs apart and fucking you until your pretty cunt is a sloppy, gaping hole—

You do get restless. Your shoulders are trembling, and your nipples plump up into fat little nubs that beg for some sharp teeth to bite and pull at them—but when you start to sing, drunkenly crawling around the tatami mats of your floor on all fours, crying like a cat in heat, you do not call for a servant to alleviate your need.

You call for your brother.

And Bokuto Koutarou, dutiful now as Konoha has never quite seen elsewhere, comes running. He watches, dismayed, horrified and horny, as your brother takes the situation in and just… has at it.

In his eyes, you can’t be more than drunk; his slut of a sister that calls for a fuck once the alcohol has finally reached a threshold that makes your inhibitions slip like the heavy fabric of your kimono slides down your shoulders. He doesn’t know about the thing Konoha has slipped you; doesn’t know that the latter has primed you to spread your legs for him so he can pull you on his cock and make you piss yourself with how good you think you’re getting it.

So in Bokuto’s mind, he has to simply be a deviant that takes advantage of his drunk little sister—and Konoha wonders if that is even worse than what he has been planning to do to you.

“Imouto,” Bokuto croons, hands hovering over your naked shoulders as you become aware of your visitor and turn around, glassy eyes fixing on him with desperate intensity. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling for me?”

There’s a sweaty sheen crawling up down from your hairline and up from your collar, making you feel so stuffy that you can’t keep your eyes open fully—but Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even seem to take notice, because he has a goal; a mission—and that is to get in his little sister’s cunt, free and unhindered, no inhibition.

You are uncoordinated, but fuelled with hot, needy determination, you manage to grab at his pants and drag them down his thighs. Bokuto’s cock is nice and plump already, and fills easily enough as you croon at it, lipping sloppily at the shaft while leaning your head against his thigh.

It looks like the two of you have done this a million times. Bokuto’s hand falls into your hair, idly stroking through it and untangling the little tie from the ends so he can muss it properly. There is no hesitation; no awkwardness. Just Bokuto tilting his hips forward a little and using his grip on your hair to guide your mouth along his rapidly fattening cock.

Bokuto is using you like a whore he’s paid for the night. He tightens his grip in your hair, pulling you away far enough that he can start to pop just the tip of his cock between your plump lips, then pull it away from you again after just a few desperate suckles and uncoordinated lashes of your slippery tongue.

“Damn… you’re drooling so much today.” He whispers when he sees the steady drip down your chin. You just stare at him, looking brain dead and horny, whining when you paw the folds of your kimono aside and show him your pussy shyly, hoping he’d do something about how incredibly wet it has become.

It’s only then that Bokuto starts to pause and question the situation. Crooning at you and pushing you to lie on you back; asking you if you’re not feeling well, but also not stopping to touch you, gently slapping at your cheek to make you open your eyes and stare at him blearily as his other hand travels down and gropes your tits.

Apparently the young master has some standards that involve his hopelessly drunk play things not being absolutely comatose as he fucks them. You are gurgling breathlessly, mindlessly arching your tits into his hand, your hips grinding up happily from where the folds of your kimono are parted, dripping steadily and stickily.

Bokuto has taken to caging you between his knees, holding your jaw in a tight grip to make sure you keep staring at him while he pinches your nipples mean enough to make you cry out even in your drunken, aphrodisiac stupor.

He feels something warm and wet hit his chest, and he looks down in confusion, mouth dropping open on a soft, mesmerized ‘o’ as he sees the quite literally milky liquid slide down his pecs where it hit him. His eyes travel to his hand, thumb and forefinger still pinched around your swollen nipple.

Your wet swollen nipple.

“What the fuck, are you...?” Bokuto’s voice breaks, higher and a little panicked. He lets go of your jaw with his other hand, grabbing at your tits and squeezing until you’re whining and squirming. Milking you. Losing his goddamn mind as liquid starts rolling from your ripe teats as you sob and artlessly fuck the air.

“Niichan, please..!” Voice trembling, you defeatedly move one of your hands over his, placed over your swollen nipple, the area puffy and supple under his fingers.

Konoha wanted to curse; Bokuto’s hands grabbing at your tits were a big obstruction to his view enough, and now your hand just adds to his frustration. He watches closely as Bokuto pinches your nubs and you moan, open mouthed and filthy, your head tipping back as milk squirts onto his hand. The sweet scent intensifies and you shudder at the feel of warm liquid trickling down his arm.

Not even pausing to think about it, Bokuto brings his arm up to his face and licks the milk off, an acute sweetness exploding in his mouth. A choked grunt distracts him from his reverie and he looks up to meet your unfocused stare. It sounds very distant, yet very .. present at the same time.

Silently catching his breath, Konoha alternates between staring cautiously at Bokuto, and sending contemplating peeks at your swollen breasts. But it seems that the young master is equally as distracted by the puffy, shiny nipple right in his face. A single bead of white is gathering and it is so tempting, Konoha wants to cry from frustration.

The arousal is so potent and thick in the air, he can almost taste it in the back of his throat. He’s not sure what Bokuto wants to do to you, but with the way his cock is already so rigidly twitching, the outcome seems guaranteed.

Bokuto drags his tongue through the sticky mess on your chest, taking his time to circle your swollen nipples, his gaze steady on your face. Keening desperately, you thrust a hand into his hair and tug him closer. He wraps his lips around the raised peak, flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive flesh. More warm sweetness bursts into his mouth, judging by the way you cry out and start whimpering even louder.

Konoha nearly slams his fist to the door but settles with a string of curses beneath his breath, of how he’s supposed to be kneeling there, taking your nipples in his mouth, tasting the sweet milk your body is so eagerly offering.

Not that both Bokuto and you seem capable of noticing anything else right now. Your face is contorted in bliss, mouth open on a nearly endless moan and your hips keep stuttering against his knee—the one he’s using to keep your thighs apart—craving for more friction.

It only takes a minute of the combined sensation on your nipples, one being sucked so thoroughly, circled and flicked with his warm tongue, and the other being teased endlessly by Bokuto’s tireless fingers for you to arch up, screaming, body straining as you come hard under him, wetting his thighs with your slick.

Amazed, Bokuto shoves his already wet hand down to your pussy. He looks like he is floating, the euphoric taste of your sweet milk combined with the nectar from your cunt hitting his taste buds.

Konoha just has to sit and stare from the gap between the sliding doors, mouths softly gaping, cock hard at the knowledge that the chemicals he has mixed into your sake must have induced it; proving that he can quite make your body do more, just like how he’s made you lactate like a cow.

And Bokuto just laps it all up as if he has any right to it.

Life is so unfair sometimes.