#and the line was OBSCENE like a friend told us to get there early so i got there about 10-15 minutes early and it wasn't too bad

[bioelectriccorporation]

god when i have a crush on someone its so embarrassing like i can't even look at them or talk to them but i will be so so happy if we're even at the same table holy shit

[lovings4turn]

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 don't delete the kisses . . . (l.n.)

— you and lando walk a fine line between ‘just friends’ and something more. but sometimes, it seems like love just isn't meant for you (2.6k words)

+ mentions of drinking and clubs, a lot of miscommunication and pining but i promise it's somewhat fluffy. based on don't delete the kisses by wolf alice.

+ part two | divider from cafekitsune

lando: where r u???? 02:43

lando: y/nnnn:(( 02:45

lando: charls told me you left 02:48

lando: get hmome safe 02:49

you didn't mean to pull an irish goodbye, honestly. but the club was far too loud, and you were nowhere near drunk enough to tolerate the remixed house music and overpriced drinks for any longer.

the easiest option was simply to slip out unnoticed, send a quick text to let everyone know you were okay, and head home alone. if you'd mention your wanting to leave early, no doubt at least three of your friends would decide to leave with you in solidarity, no matter how much you insisted they stay and enjoy their night. that way, everyone was happy.

after confirming that the car you were about to climb into was your uber, you sank into the plush seat, offering your driver a tired half-smile through his rear view mirror. you were thankful that he seemed to understand you weren’t quite in the mood for conversation, and the rest of the ride was silent save for the music playing from his radio.

pressing your forehead to the glass of the window, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed as you thought over the events of the night, replaying every last detail in your head.

it had all started with the fucking shirt. 

official galas and nice dinners meant that you were no stranger to lando wearing nice shirts, the sleeves cuffed and a tie usually hanging around his neck. but when lando greeted you with a hug, his ironically named black button-down unbuttoned to the point that it could be considered obscene, you almost forgot how to function. warm skin pressed against your own, and you hated yourself for realising just how perfectly you moulded against his chest. 

never had you been more thankful for the presence of max verstappen, whose offer of heading to the bar allowed you the perfect chance to slip away and regain your composure. the red bull driver made small talk with you as the bartender took your orders, and you responded politely, nodding when you were supposed to and laughing along to the odd joke. 

but like a moth to a flame, you couldn’t keep your eyes from falling back onto lando. 

somehow even in a packed, lively club, lando’s presence shone the brightest out of all the partygoers. worst of all, he didn’t even have to do anything special. he was simply standing there, nimble fingers wrapped around a cup that you assumed contained a vodka soda as he laughed with his friends. dark curls had started to slip into his eyes, whatever he’d used to style them clearly wearing off as he began to sweat a little. 

even doing nothing, he managed to look like he’d fallen from heaven right into your life. 

someone up there clearly had it out for you, as lando scanned the room and caught your eye. to look away would only incriminate you further, make it look like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t be, so you smiled. lando shot you a toothy grin back, eyes scrunched shut with the enthusiasm of it. 

a cold glass thrust into your palm stole away your attention, and you turned to meet the knowing smirk of max. he nursed his own drink, and one thick brow was raised in a silent question. though he never spoke, it was clear that he knew something was going on between you and lando.

maybe he didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe he truly didn’t care, but whatever the reason max didn’t vocalise any of his thoughts to you. he simply nodded back over to where your group was standing and gestured for you to walk ahead of him. as you made your way back to the group, you suppressed the urge to worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

to anyone else, the interaction wouldn’t be much to think about. max had caught you, what, smiling at your friend? it was hardly criminal activity. you were just overthinking, the rational part of your brain insisted. but the other part took max’s expression and ran with it.

if max had noticed you harboured certain feelings for lando, then who else had drawn the same conclusions? the last thing you wanted was to be caught staring longingly over at lando, stars in your eyes and a far away look. 

in circles like these, people talked, and where formula one drivers went, gossip’s eye was never far around the corner. you’d seen it happen before to other drivers, countless tweets and headlines about who they were caught talking to or dancing with, and the last thing you needed was the speculation of the public on your relationship with lando.

sobered by this thought, you brought the paper straw to your lips, taking a long sip of your gin and tonic and hoping the alcohol would calm you down a little. much to your relief, almost upon arrival you were dragged into a nonsensical conversation with george, alex and lily. george’s slurred speech and alex’s loud laughter granted you a distraction, though it would be a lie to say that your eyes didn’t constantly wander back to lando.

but the heart wants what it wants, and so you couldn’t ignore him forever.

not even a second after an upbeat, bass-heavy song reverberated through the club’s speakers did lando appear by your side, grinning wildly.

“y/n! i’ve been looking for you, come dance w’me!” he shouted, dipping his head down to position his mouth next to your ear.

hot breath tickled your skin, and you shuddered slightly as lando’s larger hand enveloped your own, allowing him to drag you through the crowds towards the dance floor. every now and then, he’d peer over his shoulder to ensure you were still with him, the smile never leaving his lips. everything around him seemed to fade, the bright lights and crowds eclipsed by his radiance. 

the crowd seemed to open up around him, blooming like a flower to grant you both more than enough space to dance comfortably without the threat of being hit by stray limbs. lando didn’t even let you get your bearings before he spun you around, high pitched laughter managing to meet your ears even over the pounding music. 

it was impossible not to laugh too. you reached up onto your tiptoes, hand still in lando’s own, and spun him around in return. thanks to his height advantage, lando had to duck a little to make the move work, but his hair still brushed against your bare wrist as he passed under it. the tickle travelled along your skin like lightning, leaving goosebumps. 

dancing had never been either of your strong suits. even after years of clubbing together, it seemed that each night out was another chance to try to learn exactly what it was you were supposed to do on the dancefloors of clubs and bars, yet you never cared too much.

around lando, everything felt right.

you two continued to dance, mirroring each other's sloppy movements. lando shot you a faux insulted look as you imitated his default dance move, awkwardly moving one arm around to the beat and pointing to the ceiling.

"i do not look like that!" he protested, struggling to keep up his irritated act.

you only shrugged, smirking slightly as you continued to mock him.

another bass-heavy, sultry song began to play, and you dropped your hands. a re-evaluation of how you were supposed to dance was much needed, but lando was one step ahead of you.

without a second thought, lando's hands came to rest on your hips. he took a step closer to you, moving to the beat and prompting you to move along with him.

how you were still breathing was a miracle. 

lando was so lost in the music that he was oblivious to your abrupt change in demeanour. suddenly, everything was heightened. even the slightest brush of lando's thumb burned through the fabric of your dress, and you'd gladly bear the marks of the searing touch if it was proof he'd been there at all.

delight soon turned to nerves, as the butterflies in your stomach quickly evolved into wasps, prickly and angry. you'd gotten carried away, dancing with lando like this, and it was beginning to catch up with you. 

"i need some air!" you blurted.

lando's eyes snapped open, roaming over your face in concern. he lifted his hand to your face, but to do what, he was unsure. you cursed inwardly at his reaction, his kicked puppy look making you feel even worse.

before he could question you, you forced a wide smile, waving your hand dismissively. "i'm fine! go have fun," you promised, patting his shoulder firmly.

after lando had turned his back, you’d wasted no time in making your way to the club’s exit. just before you could slip through the doorway, you made eye contact with charles. the man only gave you an understanding nod, deciding it wasn’t worth it to pester you to stay.

cold wind whipped your cheeks, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe properly. haphazard texts were sent to a handful of people you’d seen tonight, and you’d ordered an uber straight after.

all that was left to do now was sit with your thoughts.

maybe romance wasn’t meant for you. maybe lando wasn’t meant for you. like some sort of divine intervention, your apartment came into view before you could spiral too far.

the familiar sight broke you from your daydream, as your focus now lay on getting out of the car and into your apartment without falling over or dropping anything. it was a welcome distraction from the thoughts of lando that plagued your mind.

it’s like your own head was conspiring against you: even when he wasn’t physically around, you still found a way to gravitate towards him.

there were few sights better than that of your freshly made bed, the sheets practically begging you to slip beneath them and go to sleep. unfortunately, you still needed to change out of your club outfit. and take off your makeup. and text lando back. 

fumbling around in your bag for your phone, you let out a triumphant noise and perched on the end of your bed to type out your reply.

y/n: sorry lan, i just-

[MESSAGE DELETED]

y/n: i'm home! sorry for leaving like that, it was-

[MESSAGE DELETED]

you groaned, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. there was no reason you should be overthinking a text to lando, of all people. after a deep sigh, you let your fingers dance over the keyboard, rewriting yet another poor excuse for leaving unannounced.

y/n: home safe! sorry for disappearing, couldn't find u before i left and the uber was outside xx

your finger hovered over the 'send' button before you made one final, crucial revision to the text.

y/n: home safe! sorry for disappearing, couldn't find u before i left and the uber was outside:( 03:24

checking the time at the top of your screen, you figured that lando probably wouldn’t respond until morning. well, afternoon, more likely.

you’d been on countless nights out with lando before; by now his drunken behaviours were engraved into your brain.

like clockwork, lando would hit a certain level of drunk and abandon his phone altogether, opting to sling an arm around someone’s shoulder - usually yours - and drag them off to dance. he wouldn’t even think about his phone until the next morning, checking his messages after finding the device tangled somewhere within the sheets of his bed.

sleep quickly became your top priority. as tempted as you were to just lay down in your current state, you knew that the future, sober you would regret it. in your eyes, you deserved an award for dragging yourself to the bathroom and removing your makeup carefully, not without performing a shorter rendition of your skincare routine and brushing your teeth.

yes, your clothes were bundled up and thrown into the corner of your room, and you opted for an old t-shirt - frustratingly, one of lando’s - instead of a set of pyjamas, but you were only human. 

exhaustion seemed to take over you the moment that your head hit the pillow, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as sleep began to take its hold. messy curls and a bright smile was the last thing on your mind as you finally lost consciousness.

meanwhile, the other drivers were still in the club with no intentions of slowing down.

lando squinted at the bright screen of his phone, vaguely able to decipher the letters that made up your text. a sigh of relief escaped him as he realised you had gotten home safely, but disappointment still sat heavy in his chest.

“she’s home,” he shouted in oscar’s ear, though his teammate hadn’t asked.

oscar didn’t have to ask who lando was talking about to understand. he’d noticed that lando’s head had operated on a swivel from the moment he’d realised that you were nowhere to be found. he was like an owl, spinning around in a way that dizzied him, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you.

if ever questioned about the pout that settled on his lips, lando would probably blame the alcohol for causing his dramatics to be heightened. of course he wasn’t actually that upset that you’d opted to leave a little earlier, not at all.

“that’s good! she say why she left?” oscar shouted back, dipping his head down so lando could hear him a little better over the chaos of the club.

his question made lando frown further. 

“no.”

though it was in response to oscar’s question, lando’s answer was directed more towards himself, voice barely above a mumble. he’d only just realised that you hadn’t actually mentioned why you’d left the club early, just why you didn’t say goodbye.

deep in thought, lando’s brow furrowed as he tried to piece together some sort of timeline. last he’d seen you, you had been dancing together, having what he thought was a great time. okay, maybe his hands had wandered a little further than he’d expected, but it didn’t mean anything. he just got caught up in the moment, the fabric of your clothes beneath his hands far too tempting for him to be able to think clearly. 

fuck, what if he’d made you uncomfortable? 

lando knew that he became more touchy when he was drunk, his desire for affection growing exponentially as his propensity for shame decreased. your personal space became his, too. it was common for him to sling his arms around your waist, or rest his head on your shoulder as the night grew longer, but he’d never gripped your hips like that until tonight.

it would explain why you were in such a hurry to leave, not stopping to say goodbye to anyone and give them the chance to persuade you to stay for just one more dance. he’d overstepped an unspoken boundary in your friendship, and panic began to bubble in the pit of his stomach. 

lando swallowed thickly before standing up, garnering a confused look from the australian sitting next to him. 

“i need another drink. i’ll be back.”

before oscar could even speak, lando had disappeared into the thronging mass of the party without another word.

🏷️ tags : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy @srrcsm

[newhorizonstoday]

I dreamt of Jonah last night for the first time...I let you down ladies and gents. 😒😒😒😒😒😒

My dream started off ok...I guess.

We agreed to meet at a large park in my city. It was a warm fall morning (very early). I was feeling excited that he wanted us to meet so early cause I am also a morning person. The park was crowded for that early in the morning. He was already there and had made some friends.

As I approached, he smiled and gave me a beer in a glass. I looked down and saw that he had six glasses of beer on a tray. He was a little sweaty (was throwing a frisbee around with the folks in the park) and his shirt was unbuttoned. His cheeks were red and his hair a bit disheveled. He was wearing the clothes from the 1883 photoshoot (striped shirt - see below). I was flustered a bit and quickly grabbed a beer. My clothes were very baggy and comfortable. I regretted not fixing myself up a bit more.

He told me that throughout the day, he was going to try out more North American beers (throughout the city). He showed me some kind of tourist beer pass as part of some tasting festival that was going on in the city. I thought he was a dork and smiled. I apologized and told him that NA beer may not meet his expectations.

The sun was just rising and the park was warm and fresh. The leaves had a bit of color to them.

We left the park and got to the subway (why did I do that???). I apologized that our subway is crap (dirty, crime, incompetent staff). Sure enough, it broke down after one stop. Furthermore, there was construction. We had to walk the rest of the way. I turn around as we're exiting the station and J has another beer that he's finishing up.

I decide to take him to my old university...as soon as we get in...I get lost with all the new construction. I literally don't know if I should turn left or right to find my old surroundings. 🫢😳 I turn to see to see J with yet another beer. At this point I'm so embarrassed. It seems like I never actually attended that school. Like I literally didn't know where to go.

We decide to walk down a quiet, beautiful tree-lined street. It's so beautiful and peaceful. A random child (about 5 years-old) decide to join us on our walk. I want to tell the child to get lost, but J is amused and doesn't say anything, but is drinking another beer.

I finally find myself back at my old university at an evening class. I recognize a controversial online speaker who is giving a lecture that night. J seems interested so we slip into the room as the lecture is about to start. Before the speaker starts, an intruder runs down the hallway and the guest lecturer starts to run after him shouting loud extreme obscenities. J is finishing another beer and appears amused.

I end the dream embarrassed and disappointed (and slightly annoyed with J's laidback attitude😒).

[bkdotblog]

"Unfashionable Behavior," S3E13

The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City Season 3 Episode 13 Recap

My Title: "Panic! At the Meredith Marks Charity Fashion Show to Benefit Mental Health Awareness"

My rating: 10 out of 10 Brooks Marks atelier fashions. (Every Housewives episode with a third act charity fashion show is perfect to me.)

Support for Lisa Barlow: Unassailable

<><><>

I want to begin by talking about the elephant in the room: Heather's black eye. This is an obscenely early BK's Take, so I apologize, but I have seen the allegations pin-balling across the discourse: Was it bad Botox, a drunken tumble, or a Knuckle sandwich served up hot but still somehow raw by one soon-to-be-convicted white collar criminal?

It's so clear to me that whatever it is, Heather is playing it up for the camera. Not so much by pinning the blame on anyone — more by grinding up the blame into a fine powder and then blowing it in everybody's direction. Snorting lines of it before dinner. Telling her blonde daughters she's going to the store and then driving to a dilapidated apartment complex to buy more.

My point is that, if this was an actual "assault" situation, I think Heather is handling it poorly. If it was anything else, she is handling it disastrously, and in a way that is surely to come back and knock out her other light.

Unfortunately for all, I am not a television detective. So while I can privately disclose to you that I believe Heather was punched by Jen in the night and is waiting on her to come forward and apologize, I can publicly disavow all knowledge related to this case, and I look forward to seeing the truth emerge when it inevitably does.

OK that's all!!! Happy New Year everyone! Let's dive in to this week's episode.

Not five minutes in to the episode, Jen evokes the Constitution.

Danna, perhaps sensing a vacancy for a nonwhite main cast member in the near future, takes this opportunity to share that a friend (who she won't name) has become an informant in the Jen Shah case. Shah maintains that, according to the Constitution, she is "innocent until proven guilty." (Presumption of innocence isn't spelled out in the American Constitution but is inferred from the 14 thru 16th amendments -- we'll have to give this one to her) And then, like any innocent person would do!, she storms off.

Heather and Meredith go to Jen's side. Jen reveals that she gave Danna a box of hair color to cover her grays, a gesture she now regrets. At the dinner table, Whitney, Lisa, Angie and Heather discuss what would happen if Jen went to prison. Whitney says this:

(I think she knows what this word means but is deploying it for a dumb blonde joke here, and it lands! I laughed)

Heather says to Jen: You know what will shut them up? Let's bring up my black eye again. Because they all know what happened but refuse to say anything.

Jen is like: Great idea.

Meredith, standing there, is like: What? So we know what happened with the black eye?

And then they return to dinner. What time do you think it is? I'll just tell you: It's 4:01 AM. Lisa literally leaves the table to go catch her flight back to Salt Lake, and the rest of the women follow after, waddling to her rooms wrapped in blankets.

San Diego is OVER I think. What a horrible trip for all of us!

Back in Utah, Whitney meditates. (#HillingJourney!) Lisa goes fishing. Meredith and her dumb fucking family that poses are planning a fashion show with a charity angle. The fashions are being provided by her son Brooks, and the charity honors her nephew. Her other daughter is also there. All three speak in identical tones of voice.

Meredith expresses her concern for Jen Shah and then her contempt at Lisa Barlow. If you told me that two seasons ago, I would have exploded. But I get it — Meredith has totally abandoned her principles. It's cool Mare!! hope u find them again.

Heather, wearing only tones of white, goes to visit Bad Angie. Holy shit Bad Angie house reveal:

It looks like the inspo was "All of Europe at once." Bad Angie's English bulldog has a grotesque eye infection unfortunately captured on camera. But it's not the ailing eye we're here to talk about!

Bad Angie tries to be forensic and asks to go over the details of the "crime scene," and Heather gives her a list of suspects:

Bad Angie: "Why did you say Jen last?"

Heather: (being honest) "I was just going through the list."

Now we are back in this strange waltz: Heather denies knowing anything about the incident to Bad Angie, while suggesting she knows EVERYTHING about the incident to the producer in the confessional. This is exasperating. Soon the topic will be entirely exhausted and the reveal will have no payoff!! Edging with gossip isn't fun, Hedder!

(BK's Take: The only circumstance that would make this worth the wait is if the truth was almost unimaginably more dramatic than we thought. A Fight Club situation, or domestic terrorism. Barring those options, it's tiring to watch Heather come up with riddles on the spot — and her inability to confide in anybody says a lot about where her friendships are this season.)

Whitney is going through old photos with her step-kids. Daughter Bobbie wearing pearls + lashes + blue eyeshadow with her soccer uniform is kind of a slay I must say:

Whitney calls her brother to discuss her fillings. Jen has Zoom therapy and I honestly skipped it — I really do not care about her pre-trial anxiety.

You know what I love? A charity fashion show!

Correction: Brooks is among the designers being featured, but not the sole feature. BK Blog regrets the error. Also, Brooks (accidentally?) revealed in the earlier sequence that this whole shebang took about 48 hours of planning, so we'll have to keep that in mind as we proceed. "It takes a village," Meredith says.

Danna and Good Angie arrive and wish Meredith well. Meredith tells Good Angie that she's "not mad, but disappointed" that she revealed to Lisa what Meredith said about the SEC filings. At once point, the hilarious and fickle Gods that puppeteer this show begin to count how many times Meredith says she isn't mad but:

Final count is 5.

Jen arrives with her husband. Lisa arrives and wishes the guests well, because "mental health awareness starts with kindness." Meredith thinks this is a pose and does a rude impression in her confessional. Remember when Good Angie said that she paid for Jen's husband's birthday? Well, awkwardly, Jen asked for an invoice, and the Shahs wrote a check to give to her in person.

The good part is that we get to see the invoice:

Good Angie and Danna seek out Lisa with gossip: Apparently Jen Shah is trying to mend things with... BAD Angie, of all people. Bad Angie told Danna this herself! (They don't say where, but from the flashback it looks like a wedding where Danna and Whitney were maybe bridesmaids?)

This infuriates Lisa, as was intended. It's easy to forget that Bad Angie has said some pretty insane things about Lisa, and that the @shahexposed Instagram was always intended to cyberbully the Barlows, mostly because Jen made the whole thing about herself. She was doing this as recently as one episode ago, when she explosively revealed that the ordeal made her contemplate suicide. Jen reaching out to Bad Angie could have been an important step in her own hilling journey. Everyone else is confused.

"They are the most inconsistent people I've met in my whole entire life," Lisa says.

Danna says she doesn't like or trust Jen, nor has she ever. To her credit she does say this nearly every time she is on screen, both to the others and privately.

(BK's Take: Danna fails to captivate me in a main cast kind of way but I appreciate her speaking truth to power.)

A glittering Meredith takes the metaphorical stage.

And the show begins!

Eagle minds will remember Brooks Marks' first (and only) design: A tracksuit bearing his name. What kind of couture has our fashion twink cooked up in the intervening years?

Nice!

(This is a blazer that says BROOKS MARKS on the front! Jen was screaming.)

Jen and Coach Shah give Good Angie and a husband a check for $13K, and everybody was graceful about it. Especially Jen who did not open her mouth once! Good Angie says in her confessional that she is running to the bank to deposit it before the government freezes her account.

Scene change! Heather goes to visit Whitney, who seems to have not left her house in days. (Except to go to that wedding?) Both choose to be instantly uncomfortable with the other one.

(BK's Take, sartorial: Feeling complicatedly about Whitney's sweatshirt fabric corset hoodie, which feels both like a complete and utter athleisure slay AND a melancholy nod to our current aesthetic moment. My heart violently breaks and then furiously repairs itself every time I look at it)

They move to the fire pit. Whitney tries to express her concerns for Heather (and the Eye), but Heather brings up the "friendship break" of it all. Whitney is unable to process her fillings about her friendship with Heather in real time, and ends up being clumsy with her words; Heather than takes these words and throws them at her. The conversation moves on when Heather says, "You don't even know about anything that's going on in my life," Heather says. "You don't even know how I got my black eye, so..."

What is she getting at? Whitney is like, do you remember what happened to your eye? As she goes over the details of what she knows, Heather lets out a psychotic little giggle. "It's all part of the mystery of the eye!" Why is she speaking like a storybook chimera?

Whitney asks more questions; Heather answers them with silence. Finally she says, "I remember how I got it, and other people know how I got it too,"

Whitney is like: How come I don't know?

Heather says:

Friendship break, friendship break, friendship break, Heather keeps saying. It seems like Whitney does want to repair their friendship, but Heather keeps insisting she actually doesn't. By hinting at Whitney's other friendships in the group, it seems as though Heather's real problem lies with the fact that Whitney no longer hates Lisa's guts. But in conversation, she simply says that their relationship is unfixable, and to suggest it can be fixed is somehow taking Heather for granted.

Kind of a weird, sad ending to an otherwise good episode. Sending love and light to all of our ladies, but especially Lisa; Heather needs to stop burning bridges and start building them; Jen Shah trust you will be dealt with. If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Season Finale next week!! I'm excited... and scared. –BK

<><><>

Gay Imagery

Heather performing the "Uncork Her and Pork Her" dance from John Tucker Must Die to the tune of "Snitches get stitches."

I liked this outfit and I don't mind saying so.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Good Doctor, Terrible Patient

Word count: 6100

Warnings: mild injuries

This was a fun one to write 😊 Based on a Prompt from a lovely anon asking for a Dr. Strange and Loki tag team. Definitely not a pairing I've envisioned before now, but I hope I made it work!

Thanks again to @writingfics-passingtime for the plot assist (someday I'll come up with my own fantastic plot ideas 😂💚)

“Hey Stephen! How are you today? Do you need a coffee or-“

“I’m still not teaching you magic.”

“Ugh!” You plunked yourself down on the chair beside his in the library, feeling deflated. “Why won’t you teach me??”

“I’ve already told you - you have no need for magic. You’re a doctor.” He glanced up from his book, looking exasperated.

“And so are you. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Because I am one of the protectors of the universe. You are the team’s lead physician. There should be no need for magical combat skills in your line of work.”

“Now, hang on a minute! What if some villain decides to try to take down the Avengers from the inside? Hit ‘em where it hurts, so to speak. They could come after me, you don’t know that.” You gave him a snide grin, knowing you were beginning to get on your friend’s nerves. He carefully placed his book down on the table, ensuring it remained open on the same page, before turning to face you head on.

“That is the most ridiculous excuse you’ve come up with yet.”

“Is not!” You glared at Strange as a shadow of a smirk crossed his face. He, too, knew he was getting on your nerves.

“You’re acting like a child again, doctor. It’s unbecoming.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning in so your face was a little closer to his. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Strange shot you a cheeky grin, reaching over to pinch your cheek tauntingly. “And yet, somehow, you still never leave me alone.”

You swatted his hand away from your face, rolling your eyes as you rose to your feet in defeat. “Fine. I’ve got patients to see, anyway. But I’m not going to stop asking until you teach me!”

“Then I suppose we’ll be trapped in an endless time loop, won’t we?” He shot you a wink as you threw your hands up, spinning on your heel to leave the library.

“Don’t forget to grace the med bay with your presence every once in a while, oh Supreme One,” you shouted over your shoulder as you retreated, not bothering to look back to see if the sorcerer was inevitably flipping you off or making some other obscene gesture.

You’d known Stephen Strange for a long time. Long before the accident, long before he went off to Kamar-Taj and learned magic from the mystical woman he called the Ancient One, long before he became the Sorcerer Supreme. When you’d met, you were both young, naïve medical students at Columbia University. You’d struck up a friendship early on in your years of school, likely because you were one of the few of his colleagues who could both tolerate his immense ego and bring him down a few pegs with your sarcastic wit every once in a while. The pair of you spent a great deal of time together, studying and learning your way through the complex science of medicine.

Ultimately, you had gone on to complete a residency in emergency medicine while he trained to become a neurosurgeon. You had been the one to introduce him to Dr. Christine Palmer, who was one of your coresidents at the time. The two of you lost touch after the accident, when he’d become dangerously obsessed with regaining the use of his hands.

Stephen respected your skills as an emergency medicine physician, although he didn’t frequently say so out loud. The main reason you knew this was because after he’d officially joined the Avengers, he reached out to you personally to invite you to lead the medical team assigned to treat the group of heroes. You’d been skeptical at first, figuring he was pulling your leg with such an outrageous offer just to have some excuse to become closer friends again. When he’d introduced you to the actual Avengers, though, you were shocked to find he hadn’t been making up some grandiose tale to impress you - it had all been true. And of course, it was an offer you couldn't turn down.

You headed down to the med bay where you spent a significant portion of your day. There were a number of other physicians that worked in the med bay, Strange included, but you personally saw to the Avengers when they had their regularly scheduled wellness checks. Having spent a significant amount of time in the Avengers tower, you had become good friends with many of the inhabitants.

When you glanced at today's schedule, you winced when you saw who your morning appointment was with. It wasn't that you disliked Loki - you found him quite entertaining, actually, and he'd become a friend of yours - he was just a very difficult patient.

Loki was prompt, as always, sulking through the door to the med bay with his trademark scowl on his face. You smiled extra sweetly at the brooding Asgardian, knowing he hated it when you barraged him with positivity during these appointments. He rolled his eyes as he all but threw himself down to sit on the examination table, his arms folded stiffly across his chest.

"Well aren't you just a barrel of sunshine, Loki?" you teased, sitting on the stool beside the exam table and opening his chart on your laptop.

"You know as well as I that these silly appointments are a waste of time. I do not require a mortal to assess my health once a month."

"Well, your brother says otherwise."

"Hmmph. Yes, he is rather persistent. That is the only reason I continue to attend these check-ins." His shoulders loosened a bit, now that he was sitting and chatting with you and the initial annoyance of having to haul his royal self to the med bay had faded.

"Wow, that's very brotherly of you to listen to him," you chuckled.

"The alternative would be far worse, I assure you. My brother is not above using brute force to get me to come to these appointments."

You snorted, earning a glare from the trickster. "Sorry, I just got an image of Thor carrying you into my exam room - it was pretty funny."

"Yes, yes, laugh all you want..." he muttered. "Shall we get on with this, then?"

"You know the drill by now." You poised your fingers over the keyboard to prepare to take notes, suddenly adopting an overzealously professional tone. "How has your health been recently, Mr. Laufeyson?"

"That's your highness to you, actually," he bit back, although you caught a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth as he tried to hide a grin at your cheekiness. "My health has been excellent, as always."

"Any complaints today?" He shook his head. "Any recent injuries that I don't know about?"

"Why, yes, in fact -" he nodded, a smirk crossing his face as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a large gash in his forearm. You rolled your eyes.

"Come now, Loki - I know a real wound when I see one. Drop the illusion."

"Tsk, you're no fun." With a wave of his hand, the cut had vanished to reveal perfectly normal, undamaged skin.

"If you're finished with the theatrics, I'll take your vitals," you directed exasperatedly. He reluctantly sat quietly while you pressed your stethoscope to his chest to listen to his heart and lungs, took his pulse, and assessed his blood pressure. As you sat back down to document the results in his chart, he spoke again.

"Do you honestly ever expect to find anything abnormal on these little examinations of yours? Why not just exempt myself and Thor from these onerous check-ins?"

"Ouch. And here I was, thinking you liked spending time with me," you jested. "And to answer your question - I don't exempt the super soldiers from their wellness appointments, so you're not getting out of this."

"Do you not find my brother to be insufferably cheerful?"

You shrugged. "No more than I find you to be insufferably sour." He glared, and you gesticulated toward him to note that he was proving your point. "Alright, Loki - another clean bill of health, as always."

"Excellent," he sighed sarcastically. He stood from the exam table, coming to his full height. "I suppose I'll see you here again next month, doctor."

"Sorry it's such a chore for you. But yes, I'll put you on the schedule in a month."

Loki began to leave the med bay, and you were watching his back retreating from the room when a sudden thought occurred to you. Without really thinking too much about it, you called after him.

"Hey, Loki! Wait up a minute!"

He turned around in confusion, looking at you inquisitively. You crossed the room to close some of the distance between the pair of you.

"You know how to do magic."

He stared at you blankly. "Yes. Obviously."

"Can humans learn Asgardian magic?"

"With the assistance of an Asgardian relic, it is possible, yes." He furrowed his brow as he gazed at you curiously. "You're not suggesting that you want to learn to wield Asgardian magic, are you?"

"Yes, actually. Why do you sound so skeptical?"

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You understand that it takes years of training to truly harness the ability to control magic."

"I'm a fast learner." You looked at him hopefully. "Would you teach me?"

Loki laughed at the suggestion. "You want me to teach you magic? Is Strange not good enough for you?"

"He refuses to teach me anything," you grumbled. "Insists that it's unnecessary for me to learn how to fight with magic."

"He's not wrong."

"You're not helping." You sighed. "I just want to have some way of holding my own in combat, in case I ever find the need to defend myself. This isn't exactly a low-risk line of work."

“Do you not have faith that your benevolent heroes will protect you from harm?” he asked teasingly.

“Consider it to be… an insurance policy, of sorts.”

Loki gave you a long, hard look. “You just want an excuse to learn magic.”

“Ughh, ok YES, happy? Can you please teach me?? I’m so sick of Stephen being all high and mighty with his ‘supreme sorcerer powers’ while I don’t even know a single combat move to defend myself. And he won’t teach me no matter how much I ask.”

Loki pondered for a moment, turning your request over in his mind. “What would I be getting out of this?”

“The knowledge that you’ve done a good deed for a friend?”

“I don’t do deals for sentiment.”

“Damn.” You thought for a moment. “What if… I tell you I’ll ‘accidentally’ forget to schedule you for a wellness check for the next few months?”

“Hmm… a tempting offer. Although, that won’t suffice to keep my brother off my back.” He gestures toward you, wordlessly telling you you’d need to do better than that.

“How about I prepare false appointment summaries in case he comes asking, then?”

“Is that even allowed? I understand you mortals have quite strict medical regulations,” he asked suspiciously, but with a sly smirk on his face. You shrugged.

“It’s not moral, I suppose. But I won’t save them in your actual medical record. Just for Thor, if he gets nosy.”

You could tell he was seriously considering the offer now. “And you’ll tell Strange that I am the more skilled sorcerer, I hope?”

“Oh of course. I can’t lie to him.” You shot him a wink, and he chuckled with a shake of his head.

“Alright, I suppose we can attempt one lesson. Come see me when you’re off work.”

He strode out of the med bay, leaving you to prepare for your next appointment. You couldn’t wait to shove it in Stephen’s face when you learned something from Loki and showed him up. He could use to be taken down a few pegs, you thought.

That afternoon, on your way out of the med bay, you crossed paths with the sorcerer himself as he was entering. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, tilting your head with a snarky grin.

“Wow. Here’s a face I haven’t seen around here in a while.”

“Some of us have other things on our plate besides these little clinic appointments,” he countered with a roll of his eyes. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Some of us have plans, Stephen,” you responded, mimicking his snarky tone. “Planning on staying a while?”

“I suppose. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m not pulling my weight around here.”

You bade him goodbye and headed up to the dormitories to track down Loki. He often spent the afternoon in his room, reading and otherwise staying clear of any of the overbearing heroes. Sure enough, when you knocked on his door, he appeared in the doorway moments later with a sly grin.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked, stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Magic can be fickle. When performed incorrectly, without control, it can be dangerous.” He gazed at you intensely. “I just need to be sure you’re prepared.”

“Yeah, I’m prepared. Let’s go. What are we waiting for?”

Loki’s grin expanded at your eagerness. Motioning for you to follow, he made his way down to the training room, which was currently vacant. Once there, he lifted his hand and a staff appeared with a flash of green light. It was gold, with a rounded end at the top and ornate designed etched into the shaft. He handed it to you, and you looked at it quizzically.

“This is an Asgardian artifact, I assume? It kind of looks like a fancy walking stick that an old rich guy might carry.”

“Yes it’s an Asgardian artifact,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shoved it into your hands. “Now, tell me - what is it you are hoping to learn in this single lesson I’ve offered you?”

“I want to learn how to create a magic blast thingy like I’ve seen you do in combat.”

Loki chuckled condescendingly. “You can’t simply jump right in to something so advanced. It would be highly unlikely, nigh impossible for you to conjure a blast of magical energy without learning some basics first.”

“Try me.” You stood up straighter, lifting your chin confidently. Loki sighed exasperatedly.

“Fine. Allow me to prove to you how unlikely it would be.” He began to demonstrate, a small ball of green light forming in his upturned palm. “To create such a blast, you must first create a focus of energy. Control it, build upon it, until it reaches the desired size and strength. Then, you must redirect the focus toward your opponent.”

“Does that mean I get to try to blast you?”

“Absolutely not. Even in the improbable event that you do succeed on your first try, I will not subject myself to the dangers of beginner’s magic.” With a wave of his hand, an exact duplicate of himself appeared. The real Loki stepped off to the side, far out of your line of fire. “You may try against an illusionary opponent.”

“Alright, fine.” You gripped the staff in your non dominant hand, lifting your other palm and staring hard at the center where you intended to create a focus of energy as Loki instructed. The sensation of the magic flowing through the staff was unique, a pleasant warmth flowing through your body emanating from the artifact. As you concentrated, a small orb of light began to flicker in your hand.

“That’s the easy part,” Loki called from his safe corner. “Now you must build upon it.”

Throwing all of your focus into the little ball of light, you watched as it expanded before your eyes. A part of you did feel like you were controlling it, although some part of you was still in awe that this was even happening.

"Now what?"

"Now redirect it toward the illusion."

"Alright..." You scrunched up your nose in concentration, trying to send the large orb of light flying at the illusion. This part was difficult - you weren't succeeding in getting it to move, in fact, if anything it was just growing larger. "Uh, Loki? Any suggestions for how to -"

BOOM

The orb exploded into a wave of magical energy spreading outward from its center. The blast hit you full force, and you felt your feet leave the ground as you were thrown across the room on impact. Mere seconds later, you felt your back strike against the solid plaster of the wall before you collapsed to the floor.

Gasping for breath, you rolled to lie on your side as you took stock of the situation. Your ears were ringing from the blow, but you swore you heard Loki muttering 'oh, shit' before suddenly his boots came into view in front of you.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice laden with genuine concern as he crouched down beside you. You wheezed, but nodded in response, holding your chest. In truth, you weren't certain if you were ok, but you didn't feel as though you were on the verge of passing out, so that was at least something.

Gradually, you took deeper breaths in and out, forcing your lungs to fill completely before releasing the air and repeating the process. As you caught your breath, the pain in your chest ebbed away. You suspected you simply had the wind knocked out of you, maybe some bruises, but nothing more serious than that.

Carefully, you sat up on the floor, leaning your forehead on your knees while you waited for the adrenaline to fade. Loki placed a hand on your forearm, prompting you to look up at him.

"You should seek medical attention."

You snorted. "L-Loki, I'm fine." You hated that your voice still sounded a bit wheezy, but it was slowly improving. "I'm a doctor, I'll check myself out."

"No, you'll downplay anything you find. You need to go to the med bay."

"No way." You scowled at him. "I'm not going to the med bay so that Stephen can tell me 'I told you so.'"

Loki sighed, giving you a hard look. "If you won't go willingly, I'll take you there myself. You were injured under my instruction, and I insist you get a proper medical assessment."

"You'll take me there yourself? What's that supposed to me-AHH LOKI what the hell?!"

In response to your unfinished question, he suddenly scooped you up in his arms and began carrying you out of the training room in the direction of the med bay. You protested at first, trying to flail enough for him to want to put you down, but he held fast and you were still somewhat breathless. Still, you grumbled about it the entire way to the med bay, just to make perfectly clear how unhappy you were with this arrangement.

Upon entering the med bay, Stephen glanced up from the desk in the corner where he sat reading some kind of medical paper, raising his eyebrows at the sight that met his eyes.

"Alright, what did you do?" he asked flatly, giving Loki an irritable look.

"What did I do? Your colleague begged me to teach her magic, and significantly overestimated her abilities," he retorted. Stephen's eyes darted to yours.

"Seriously? You went crying to Loki because I wouldn't teach you?"

"Yeah, yeah... save it, alright?" you groaned dismissively. Strange motioned for Loki to set you down on the exam table, pulling up a chair for him to sit beside you. "I'm fine, seriously. I didn't even want to come here, but clearly that wasn't a decision I was allowed to make." You shot Loki an annoyed glare for emphasis.

"She requires a proper medical examination. I don't believe her to be capable of performing one on herself without ignoring any injuries she might identify," Loki explained.

"See? Even he knows what a terrible patient you are," Stephen quipped, smirking.

"Shut up and get on with it, will you? I don't want to spend my entire evening in the med bay where I work," you growled. Strange walked around behind you to inspect the back of your head, ensuring there was no bleeding or bruising from the impact against the wall.

"You realize I should technically put you in a cervical collar until we confirm you don't have a neck injury..."

"Not happening."

"Mmhmm. Didn't think so." He palpated the back of your head carefully, and you winced only once where his finger pressed against a sore spot. "No bleeding there, probably just a bruise. Any headache?"

"Nope."

"Would you inform him truthfully if you did have one?" Loki asked skeptically.

"Yes I would. I don't have a head or neck injury, I promise. I hit my back against the wall, it knocked the wind out of me, and now I'm fine."

"You could have rib fractures. I'll need to take a look." Stephen walked around to stand in front of where you sat with your legs dangling off the exam table, gesturing for you to lie down. With a scowl, you did as you were told. "Honestly, I still don't understand why you thought learning Asgardian magic was a good idea. I mean, Loki's not exactly known for being cautious."

"I beg your pardon??" Loki stood from his chair, eyes suddenly livid. "Are you insinuating that this is my fault?"

"Well, you did teach her the spell that caused her to injure herself. I'd say that makes you pretty guilty," Stephen argued.

"First of all - I did warn our dear friend here that magic can be dangerous when not controlled. Second - she'd not have even come to me if you'd not been so self-centered that you wouldn't teach her yourself for fear of her powers exceeding your own."

"I refused to teach her because I didn't want her to sustain any unnecessary injuries while practicing. Clearly, you have no regard for her well-being."

"Ok, STOP." Both Loki and Stephen turned their gazes toward you as you sat up from the exam table, looking heated. "Seriously, this was clearly my fault for trying to do too much too fast. Just please, stop arguing! Honestly, the two of you are more alike than you think."

"Oh hell no-"

"I beg your pardon-"

"Nope! Not another word. You're both magical sorcerers and your both pains in the ass. I'm sticking to it - you're more similar than you think. Now, if you could please just get on with whatever exam you're going to force me to sit through so I can move on with my evening?"

"I would, but you have to lie down," Stephen ordered. Scoffing, you laid back down to rest your head on the table, folding your arms defiantly across your chest. "You need to move your arms. I can't assess you for rib fractures with you pouting like a child."

"Ughh. Fine." You let your arms rest at your sides. "Happy?"

"Thank you." Strange placed his hands on either side of your ribcage, gently palpating for sore spots or any unstable fractures. The moment his fingers touched down against your ribs, you squeaked and grabbed his wrists out of pure instinct. He sighed exasperatedly. "Seriously? You still can't tolerate this?"

"Is she injured?" Loki asked, brow furrowed with concern.

"No. She's too damned ticklish to tolerate trauma exams."

"Stephen!" You gave him a wide-eyed, mortified look. "You can't just tell people that!"

"Why not? He's gonna figure it out anyway by the time I finish examining you. Now let go of my wrists so I can finish."

Reluctantly, you released his wrists as requested, taking in a deep breath in preparation to try to block out the ticklish sensation. He prodded carefully along each rib as he made his way up from the bottom, pressing into the sides and along toward the fronts before moving on to the next. It was far too much for you to ignore the sensation, and you burst into giggles as you reactionarily grabbed hold of his wrists once again.

"I never knew you were so ticklish, doctor," Loki hummed in amusement as he watched the scene unfold, likely relieved that you weren't shouting out in pain.

"Yeah, try being her partner in med school for the acute trauma life support class. It was damn near impossible to get through the required practice physical exams - she kept bursting into hysterics and sliding off the exam table."

"STEPHEN!" You pressed your hands to your face, horrifically embarrassed that he'd dared reveal this about you. It didn't last long, as he pressed into your fifth ribs on either side and your hands shot back to his wrists. "You're doing it on purpose!!"

"No, this would be on purpose." He splayed both hands out wide across your ribcage, scratching gently in the divots between your ribs for a few seconds. You shrieked and dug your heels into the table, shoving at his hands to push them off. When he stopped, you glared at him as menacingly as one could with a ticklish smile on your face.

"You are such a nuisance," you griped.

"Hey, I didn't ask for this - next time, practice magic when someone else is on duty in the med bay if you don't want to deal with me." He gave you a hard look. "Now then, are you going to let me finish? Or do I need to pull out the restraints to get you to hold still?"

"Excuse me?"

"There's no need for that - I'm happy to assist," Loki suddenly interjected, stepping closer to the side of the exam table. He gazed down at your blushing face with a sly smirk on his. "If you continue to hinder the good doctor in his examination, I'll be forced to hold you down."

"That's not... you're... ughhh just GET IT OVER WITH damnit! My ribs aren't brok-EHEHEN!"

Strange began prodding at your ribs once again, and you could tell that while he wasn't being so conspicuous about it this time, he was purposefully being extra gentle and spending extra time around the spots that made you twitch. Unwilling to let Loki hold you down, you balled your hands into fists and took long, deep breaths to try to prevent yourself from reacting. You did pretty well at fighting your instinct to push his hands away until he reached your seventh or eighth rib on either side. The second he prodded his fingertips into that spot, you shrieked and shot your hands back to clasp around his arms.

Loki and Stephen both glanced up simultaneously, meeting the other's gaze. "Loki - would you please restrain her so I can finish ensuring she isn't seriously injured?"

"With pleasure." Loki grabbed both your wrists and pulled them effortlessly off of Stephen's arms, dragging them to rest by your head and pinning them to the table. This was ten-times worse than the damned bedside restraints Strange had threatened to use - at least you would have had some sense of protection with your arms near your sides. Like this, you felt incredibly exposed.

"Loki!! Let go of me!" you demanded, tugging against his hold.

"Not until the doctor completes his examination, darling." He nodded to Stephen, who continued his assessment. A smile began pulling at his lips as your shrieking and giggling became more violent. He was having far too much fun at your expense.

"Okahay, okahahay, are yohou satisfied - wait, HEHEY that is NOHOT part of the exahaham - DAMNIT STEPHEHEHEN!" You began to beat your heels against the table in protest as he pressed into your uppermost ribs, essentially poking and prodding around your armpits at this point. With a chuckle, he relented, shaking his head at you as you sucked in deep breaths.

"Clearly your ribs are fine. I don't feel any evidence of fractures, and it obviously wasn't painful for me to press on them," he drawled sarcastically.

"Ehe... excellent. Now let me go, Loki."

"Hang on a moment." Your eyes darted up to look at the trickster, who had a dangerous-looking smirk on his face, and notably had not released your wrists. "Are you certain you've completed a full physical assessment? Perhaps you should confirm there were no abdominal injuries in the accident."

"NO WAY are you-"

"Excellent point. How could I have neglected that portion of the exam?"

"STEPHEN! I swear, I will kick you!"

"Wow. That's awfully violent of you. Are you sure you don't have any head trauma? I'm sure you know agitation is a symptom of traumatic brain injury." He was wearing a full-on smirk now, mirroring the smirk on Loki's face. "I may need to run some additional tests."

"UGH!" You decided to simply stop talking at this point, realizing you weren't getting very far arguing with the sarcastic duo.

"Now, doctor - be a good patient and lie still while he finishes examining you," Loki insisted teasingly. "I would be simply devastated if he missed any injury that I may have lead you to sustain."

"You know very well I only hit my back on the wall," you growled through gritted teeth.

"And you know the importance of being thorough," Stephen interjected. "Now then - tell me if anything hurts."

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna hu-RAHAH STAHAP THAT!” You burst into a renewed bout of laughter as he palpated your belly, purposely sliding his fingers along the sensitive skin each time he moved to press on a different spot. Loki was grinning now, clearly amused by your zealous reaction.

“Is that a yes, doctor? This hurts?” Stephen asked cheekily, poking repeatedly at the spot right below your navel that had you squirming twice as hard as anywhere else.

“STEHEHEPHEN I will assiHIGN YOU night shihift for A WEEHEEK!!”

“Now, that’s funny. You think you’re my superior?” No longer messing around, he brought his other hand down to your belly and began clawing into the pliant skin, not bothering with the 'exam' ruse any longer. You screeched and twisted away from his hands to no avail, pounding your feet against the table in ticklish agony.

“O-HO-KAHAHAY I’M SOHORRYHY!” You sucked in a deep breath as he paused his torment at your apology, looking down at you lying limp on the exam table as you tried to regain your composure.

“I'm not sure why I never thought of this before, actually. Next time you won't get out of my hair, I'll know exactly what to do," Stephen teased, pinching your side for emphasis.

"Are you finished torturing me now??" you demanded, glaring up at Loki who had yet to release your wrists.

"Actually, Strange, I suggest you run more tests," Loki recommended facetiously, winking. "In fact - why don't you teach me one. It could be quite useful to have a better understanding of mortal medicine. Especially if she plans to request that we continue these dangerous magic lessons."

"Loki... don't you even..."

"Ah, yes. I do still need to assess for head trauma. This is a simple test." Strange moved down toward the end of the exam table, suddenly grabbing hold of your ankles and pinning them down with both hands. "You can release her wrists now - I'm going to demonstrate how to assess the Babinski reflex."

"No! No, I don't think so!" you argued. Loki's brows shot up at your sudden protesting, moving to stand by Stephen near your feet.

"This reflex will help determine if there is spinal cord damage. Hold here, please," he instructed, motioning with his head toward where his hands rested on your ankles. Loki took his place, watching as Strange removed your sneakers while you shouted threats at him, which were quickly beginning to become laced with giggles. "I'll warn you - this was always the most challenging physical exam for her to tolerate in med school..."

"My spinal cord is FINE!"

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you." He placed his index finger against the outer edge of your heel, sliding it up the length of your sole and then across to the ball of your foot. The simple motion made you jolt and bark out a laugh. "Unfortunately, this test is often inconclusive... you see, some patients are simply too ticklish to sit still enough to attain an accurate result."

"Maybe I could give it a try," Loki suggested with a smirk.

"Loki!"

"You can certainly give it a shot. It might take you a few tries to get it right, though." Ignoring your whining, Strange took back his position holding your ankles down while Loki shifted to stand at the end of the exam table, his smirk positively sinister as he placed his fingertips against your heel.

"Alright - you're the expert, Strange - tell me if I'm doing this correctly." He began scratching randomly up the length of the bottom of your foot, eliciting a screech from you. Throwing yourself back against the exam table, you yanked against Strange's hold with little success.

"THAHAT'S NOHOT HOW YOU DOHO IT!!" you hollered.

"Mm, she's right. You need to focus on the outer edge more, you're too medial."

"Ah, I understand." Loki followed Strange's 'recommendations' and scratched along the outer edge of your foot, unable to stop himself from laughing when you began to squeak when his fingers swept over the spot just above your heel. "Hmm. This still doesn't seem to be working correctly."

"Maybe you need to desensitize her to it."

"Excellent idea." Foregoing his attempts at eliciting a proper reflex, he simply scribbled his fingers along the bottoms of both feet, purposefully just trying to find where it seemed to tickle most based on your reactions.

"YOHOU GUYS AHARE THE WOHOHORST - NOHOT THERE!!" you cried, tears of mirth forming in your eyes as he discovered the super sensitive spot just below the ball of your foot and began to target it relentlessly.

"I suppose if she's moving all four extremities, a spinal injury is unlikely..." Stephen mused as he observed your torment.

"That does seem logical. Hang on a moment - I'll run one final test." Finally deciding to leave your feet alone, Loki reached up and began to knead his fingers up and down the length of your sides.

"No, NO NOHOHO!" You swatted frantically at Loki's hands for just a moment before succumbing to the ticklish sensation, muscles completely weakened from laughter. Only then, when he realized you were no longer fighting back, did he finally show you mercy.

"I think we can safely say there are no major injuries," Stephen concluded. You sat up, coughing as you tried to catch your breath.

"As I said - you two are damned pains in the ass," you groaned. Still, they were at least getting along. Even if it was at your expense. "Am I discharged now, doctor?"

"Yes, I suppose. Now get out of here."

"This is my med bay!"

"And you're not on shift. So get out." Stephen glanced up from the laptop he'd just opened up to enter data in your medical chart. The slightest of smirks graced his lips. You couldn't help but grin, knowing he was actually trying to be nice for once underneath his snarky attitude.

You looked at Loki as you neared the door to the med bay, speaking loudly enough for Strange to hear. "So - are we going to continue our lesson now?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Stephen's head whip up to look at you across the room. Loki's brows shot up in surprise at your eagerness.

"Are you certain that's a good idea?" Loki asked skeptically.

"I'll go easier this time, I swear."

"Just so you know -" Stephen called from his seat at the desk in the corner, "- if you end up back here tonight, you know how it's going to go."

You felt your face begin to heat up as you registered what he was implying. Turning to Loki, you laughed nervously. "On second thought, can I take a rain check? I think I've had quite enough of that tonight."

Loki smirked at your flustered expression. "How about tomorrow?"

"Sounds great."

Perhaps it would take a little longer than you'd hoped to learn magic. But, you supposed, there were few people in this world that could say they were friends with two people who could teach them the mystical arts. Even if they were, indeed, pains in the ass.

[bemylord]

truth or dare

peirings: kuroo x fem!reader x kenma.

warnings: smut, aged up, oral, gagging, threesome, nipples play, overstimulating, hint of poly relationship.

w/c: 1.9k

kuroo and kenma are your closest friends - both of them would help you out anytime or talk to your whenever you want it. both of them are happy to spend their evenings with you: they're needed for your relaxing body massage you once give them or you both prefer to watch anime. sometimes, you do the homework - the time where's kuroo yelling at you and kenma for being bad at the subject. although, if you're getting good grades at school, he still mad - you aren't good at his point. after studying, both of you would play a video game. now, kenma is the best player among you.

'how is that possible you don't know how to play? gosh, i'll show only once, i won't teach you forever, nerds'

quiet notes from kenma to you on how to win kuroo.

generally, they both are funny and good friends. one call to kuroo or kenma and he'll be around you, comforting his friend.

'till the moment kuroo propose to play a game, named truth or dare.

'it'd be fun, what do you think, y/n-chan?'

'i'm in!'

the thought it'd cheerfully and you'll have merrily game didn't last long. it was fun to a certain point in the game.

'truth or dare, kenma-kun?' asked vivaciously kuroo. he has been joining since he came up with

'truth'

'are you in love with someone?'

kenma is speechless, his eyes widened as he heard the question. he gulped, closing his eyes.

'seriously, in love?' kenma responded with a question, crossing arms on the chest, staring at his friend like he told a lewd thing.

'i mean that, give us an answer!'

'yes, i am' you covered your mouth with a hand, gazing at the blond one. the game started and you found out an interesting thing about kozume.

'who are they? do we know them?' you inquired, putting your hand on kenma's shoulder, rubbing it a cheerful way. kinda, you glad that your friend settled down by found a girl with whom he wants to be. although, why is he keeping it aside from you? aren't you friends with him?

'it's the second question, now i'm running. y/n-chan, truth or dare?'

'how rude you're, truth'

'the same question. do you love someone?'

you exhaled, musing about the question. the warm feeling born in your chest when you're with boys. you've never caught yourself at the thought you're in love with them. you love them as friends, maybe something more, but you aren't in love. it must be a wrong feeling.

'i don't know. it's just complicated, i've got feelings for.. for someone, but don't think i'm in love'

'are you hiding some information apart from me?' kuroo indignantly screamed, pointing at you. he moaned lingering, twisted his tongue, not looking at you. 'being in love it's awesome, why you both didn't tell me early, i-i' he interrupted himself, reflecting on the phrase he said.

'kuroo-san, truth or dare?'

'dare'

you're smiling sinisterly, rubbing your hands, guessing over the dare. it would humorously tell him to do something easy, so you're kept thinking about it whilst found acceptable dare.

'do a striptease for us'

it's entertaining to watch as his emotions changing from calm to frowning, in the eyes new emotion - mingled astonishment and stupefaction. knockout dare took him off guard - he didn't expect you would dare an obscene action like a strip.

'you will regret about it, y/n'

those eyes that expressed stupefaction transformed to the lustful and lascivious. there is no fear of unknowing what you'll dare next, there's lust and dissolute.

kuroo took his shirt off, exposing a pumped-up body - he has those fucking six-pack, not like a bodybuilder, but damn, his upper body literally saying: fuck me. he's coming closer to you with small steps, playing with his chest and abs using hands. you didn't notice how fast kuroo he put his knees between your legs, running his fingers on your shoulders to the neck, squeezing your narrow neck, pulling his face in your ear.

'you liked it, y/n, like my strip-' he did a little pause, licking your ear. the goosebumps are running over your body, as long as you're trying to avoid the familiar feeling. you closed your eyes, attempting his body. 'tease'

he moved away from you, back at his previous position, staring at kenma. his mand is hazy of the action kuroo did: was it real or he was guided by the dare. crafty type.

'kenma, truth or dare?' he's acting like it was nothing, like he didn't tease by half-muttering in your ear, which gave you goosebumps, and your breath was taken away. for credibility, he licked your earlobe, isn't it enough?

'since the game is getting hotter, dare, kuroo'

'show us the person you're in love with'

isn't the game hotter than a sun? on that point, is getting closer to that temperature. kenma stood up, staring at his teammate - some line is connecting them, binding them as some rivals for your attention. kenma sat behind you, put hands on your shoulders, breathed out on the back of your neck, make your knees go weak. 'she's sitting in front of you'

goosebumps are running over your body, breath stuck in your throat as kenma touched your shoulder with his warm palm, rubbing your skin gently. you exhaled, as kenma lingering on your neck, raises the chin up, blowing in your left ear, kissing it concurrently.

'and i'm kissing her'

you opened your mouth, not trying to resist, moisten chapped lips erstwhile were humidified due to the lip gloss. not trying to resist, when kuroo put your small hand on his six-pack; your hands are running over lumpy muscles whilst the blond one licking your collarbone. suddenly, you felt his hands under the shirt, denuding your breast to kuroo. you were up to close your legs, but the hand of the guy in front of you didn't allow it.

'you're so concupiscent, y/n. let us do the thing, baby girl. we'll treat you as your queen, your little girl' uttered kuroo, approaching his face on your nipple. 'can i?'

there must an answer, although everything you could do muttering indistinctly, feeling the unknowing sense down there. so marvelous, voluptuous, and vulnerable it is. kuroo barely touched your nipple with the tip as kenma slipped a hand into your shorts. you lay the back on kenma's chest, unconsciously spreading legs apart. outlining yet hard areola, kuroo lick it, biting just lightly the nipple. he has been enjoying it even more than you, receiving from two boys delight.

kenma pull aside your shorts, discovered you aren't wearing the panties. he snorted, rubbing an index finger on your folds. what could be more pleasant than this moment? the captain of a nekoma team is licking your nipples whilst the setter is playing with your pussy. you're lost in his caress: it seems there's no more air, no more feelings besides lust and desire.

kuroo pulls away from you, unzip his pants: a thick dick dropped in front of your face, covered in veins, the head is red from the pressure of your tiny body. the precum appears on the glans as you touched the hot cock, stroking with a hand from the tip 'till your little finger touches the pubis. you smear the drop of his semen with a tongue, lick the head, pull inside the wet mouth.

'you haven't seen something big as my cock, sweetie?' he giggled, thrust more in your warm, little mouth. you're sandwiched between two hot bodies, receiving and giving oral sex. abruptly, kenma make a fist of your hair, nudging your head deeper on kuroo's cock 'till your nose meets with the skin. you chocked, not having time for rest, in addition, kenma's abrupt push makes you gag even more. kenma entering his finger inside your tight pussy, still nudging you.

'get on the bed, baby' kuroo hoisted you up. somehow, you managed to stand on your fours, letting kuroo eating you out, giving kenma your face to fuck. maybe it's their smells, such as aphrodisiac; not paying attention to the pain in your throat due to their fat cocks, you're sucking blond's member whilst kuroo greedily licking out you, preparing for the cock. it seems it has been an eternity since you've been doing it, whereas it doesn't take longer than a quarter of the time.

'don't worry, sweetie, i'll be gentle, just relax'

you're practically been dripping under his face, yet when you felt the gland at the entrance you knew it won't be easy: kuroo won't stop till he goes into you entirely. you're getting lost as many times you came on the captain's tongue, perhaps two or three, nevertheless it hurts when he's attempting to pull his cock in. with a certain slosh kuroo went in your cunt deep, but slow, stopping his movements, giving you a couple of second to get used to the new feeling. new orgasm is building up as soon as kuroo asked you with a husky voice about your well-being.

'are you okay? i could pull it out if you're-'

'move, kuroo. you can'

tremendously soft and big concurrently, but his smug grin appears as he heard your order: it's maddening him to be inside you. gradually, the captain starts to increase the pace, as his balls slapping against your cunt.

kenma is blissful as never: he could only think about the godlike blowjob like this one. your tongue is running from the tip to the balls, gagging by it. tears start to fall down on your cheeks, leaving the wet trace, though you aren't stopping: you're a masochist if you're relishing something like that. you would answer: yes, i am, but your mouth is full by kenma's dick.

'i will cum in your mouth, can i, kitten?'

kenma is breathing heavily, scarcely would last longer, as you feel as his cock is twitching and getting hotter. you switched your mouth on his glans, sucking and stroking the base, helping to reach the high.

'me too, y/n, get ready for mine semen in your mouth too'

so fucking full of sperm you'll be in a few seconds. kuroo pulls his dick out, get out of bed, coming to the edge. using your hands, you're stroking theirs cocks waiting for the cum in your mouth to taste it. both of them came simultaneously, giving you their hot semen. feeling as your cunt twitching from the big dick, swallowing their semen.

how did it turn on? what happened? you didn't know exactly, you're happy that now you're cuddling and smooching your boys, exhausted from your first time. kuroo tenderly kissing the back of your neck, burying his face into your hair, pulling closer by your waist. kenma covers your face with quick but affectional kisses, interlacing your fingers.

you're happy and lucky cuddling with boys with the guys you love. but they love you even more.

'sleep kitten, we will be here when you open your eyes'

'stop talking she's sleeping!'

'don't scream she may wake up'

'and stop being so sweet i love her more than you do'

'no, i-'

you giggled, falling asleep to their quiet muttering of 'who loves you more'

//~~//

:3 i don't know, but i was listening to this playlist it gives some vibes lol. and sorry abt last words, i had a fit of tenderness :)

[ohbuckie]

BUT IT'S BETTER IF YOU DO | B.B.

Summary: Bucky finds out you're pregnant while deployed in Germany

Warnings: smut, cheating, strip clubs, alcohol, angst, bucky's a dick

Word Count: 1.7k

Listen

Bucky’s face flushes pink when he steps through the door, positioned underneath the sign that reads “GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS” in bright, flashing letters. It’s filled with cigarette smoke and perfume, and there are a few small stages that entertain poles for dancing from floor to ceiling. An unfamiliar song plays while the girls—young, surely younger than Bucky—twirl themselves around the slippery metal expertly.

“You made it, Barnes.” Morita hits his back, covered by his uniform, and chuckles. “Take a seat. I’ll get drinks.” He waits for the rest of the guys to file in—Steve, Dugan, Falsworth, Jones, and Dernier—and follows their lead.

They’re all grown, married for ten years, fathers of toddlers and elementary school students. They’ve been to clubs like this before; to get away from their wives, who they resent for making them work to support the children that they trapped them with. The guys tell him all about how women are only trouble, with their red lips and soft skin.

Bucky married you in early January, and was shipped off to Germany at the end of February, when the tree branches still hung low with the weight of the snow that Brooklyn fosters every winter. He wishes he was home during the spring, to wake up to the chirping birds that nest outside of your bedroom window, and to take day-trips to the city for picnics or bike rides. He doesn’t want to resent you.

You wrote home last week and told him how you’ve fallen pregnant—four months along, because he’s not been home since then—and how you want nothing more than for him to return to you safely. Right now, he wants nothing more than a whiskey on the rocks.

He sits in a chair in front of a stage on which a tall blonde is moving in sync with the music. She’s elegant, and charming, and naked. Well, not really, but much more naked than any woman has ever been in front of him, with the exception of you. All of the other girls he’s been with just pulled up their skirts and unhooked a few buttons of their tops.

She smiles at him, blows a kiss, bends forward enough so he can see straight down her bra. He shoves his hand in his right pocket, where he has a stack of ones that was given to him by Dugan—“as an early baby shower gift,” he explained. He folds one of the crisp bills in half and holds it between his fingers, waiting nervously for when the right time might be to give it to her.

“Go on, give it to her.” Morita urges him, hitting his shoulder. Bucky swallows hard and leans forward, locking eyes with the woman while he slips the dollar underneath the strap of her underwear. She smiles at him flirtatiously, and he nearly forgets that that’s her job.

Other girls walk around the club in clothes that just barely preserve their modesty, running their hands over the shoulders and hair of the men that they pass—mostly soldiers who’ve been granted permission to leave base for the night—and shooting winks at others across the room. Some have scarves draped across their back and down their arms, and others wear sheer robes or slip dresses, accompanied by bright red lipstick and bold lines drawn onto their eyelids. Their nails are painted delicate nude colors or reds to match their makeup, mostly, but some opt for a light pink, or a deep purple.

He looks around him and watches his friends tap shoulders to whisper dirty things about the women around them into each other’s ears, and catches Falsworth passing Steve a cigarette. He reaches his hand out and gestures in such a way that earns him a cigarette, and even a match. He lights it between his teeth and sucks on the end of the cigarette, holding the flame to the other end and exhaling smoke when it catches, flicking the fire out and dropping the charred stick onto the floor.

He pinches it between his index finger and his thumb, which you’ve always told him is such a barbaric way of holding something so fragile. He thinks of you when he breathes in the smoke, and how he’ll now have to climb out the window and onto the fire escape when he wants a cigarette, so that you don’t get sick from it like his mother did when she was pregnant with his sister. He exhales through his nose, and peers back up at the woman on the stage, who is spinning around the sturdy pole with her legs open and her eyes trained on him.

A girl comes up behind him, pushing her hand up his back and to his shoulder, bending to whisper into his ear. “You need a dance?” Her accent is thick, but he likes it.

“Yes! Yes, he needs a dance!” Dugan shouts excitedly, presenting cash to her and patting a blushing Bucky on the back.

She puts her hand under his chin and walks around him, making sure he’s looking up at her the whole time, before she stops and stands behind him, reaching over his shoulders and sliding her hands down the front of his chest. With her mouth beside his ear, she asks his rank.

“Sergeant.” He answers quietly.

“Sergeant what?”

“Barnes.”

She doesn’t answer, only kisses his neck before standing up straight again, making her way to be in front of him. She stands between his parted knees, bracing herself against his thighs while she bends forward so that their noses are only centimeters apart. He can feel her minty breath fan over his chin, and he doesn’t even feel guilty about it, because her hands are the first that have touched him like this in months. His friends are snickering to each other about how he looks like a deer in headlights, but he can barely hear them over how loudly his heart is beating in his own ears. She straddles his lap, rolling her hips forward against him, and invites him to put his hands on her. They stay on her waist, because he’s still a gentleman, if nothing else, while she looks at his eyes and his lips and his neck, and does what he paid her to do; well, what Dugan paid her to do.

She does a couple more moves and it’s over soon enough. He tips her and watches her leave to sit on some other lonely soldier’s lap to remind him of his own wife that waits for him back in America. The girl in front of him is done with her set when he’s ready to pay attention again, and a brunette comes out from behind the curtain for her turn. Her top is red with sequins, and the small panels to cover her bottom half match it, shimmering in the light with her every move. He remembers he has a drink and reaches to pick it up, taking a large sip and wincing at the delicious burn that spreads through his throat and chest.

He thinks of how you phrased the news in your letter, “Oh, James, it’s wonderful!” But it isn’t so wonderful, because he’ll probably die here, in Germany. You’ll get a letter identical to the ones that a few of his friends have already had sent back to the US, one that tells you he’s missing in action, because even if he isn’t lost in a field of other young men, his head will be so badly beaten in that he won’t even have his teeth left to identify him. His brain and his eyes and his tongue will be a stew of meat and blood, and his friends will throw him and the other guys who weren’t so lucky into a mass grave, and that’s where he’ll stay for eternity; sandwiched between two poor bastards who aren’t even cold yet, because nobody he knows has the money to bring him back and give him a real funeral.

He orders another drink and shakes his head in an effort to expel the thoughts from his brain. They seem to fly out of his ear and die upon impact with the floor, because he doesn’t think about you for the rest of the night, until he’s letting the bartender top him off in the bathroom, and not in the way that she’s paid to do.

His eyes roll back into his head and he takes a handful of her hair, because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. The lighting is dim and he isn’t entirely sober—neither of them are, which is how they ended up here—but he can see enough of her to know that she’s pretty. Probably nineteen, maybe twenty years old, and she looks just like you, without the pregnancy part. His back is against the wood door of the stall and his pants are around his ankles. She’s on her knees with him in her mouth, her hand at the base while she takes as much as she can. The obscene slurping and sucking noises echo through the bathroom while he bites his lower lip to keep from letting any sounds out.

She didn’t make him pay, which makes him think that she doesn’t do this all the time, but she’s good at it, so he can’t be sure. Maybe she’s married, too. Maybe her husband is worried sick that it’s been fifteen minutes since her shift ended and she isn’t home yet. He really can’t bring himself to care, though. Not with his cock down her throat and an impending orgasm.

It doesn’t take long until he finishes in her mouth. She swallows it and pulls his pants up for him, buttoning his slacks and fastening his belt. She kisses him, but it’s not gentle like yours are. It’s teeth and tongue and hot breath that smells like alcohol, mixing together to form a hot, slobbery storm.

He steps out of the bathroom after she does and finds his friends again. They ask him how it was, touseling his hair and jabbing him in the arm with their fists playfully. He takes a long sip of his drink, sighing before admitting that he loves German women. Maybe even more than American ones.

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

requested: part two of this remus imagine

pairing: remus lupin x reader 

warning(s): 18+, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is the part two to the post war remus imagine i did a few requests down! it’s so nice just writing this man happy for once. 

It had been quite a few weeks since that fateful night the news broke that the war was won and Remus came to your house with confessions of love and questions of commitment. It was nearly Christmas now, and life still didn’t feel real. 

Remus had reluctantly moved in with you, after a week and a half of constant persuasion from you. He insisted it was too soon, and he didn’t want to rely on your charity for a roof over his head, but you were just as stubborn as he was. You argued you had all wasted too much time in being miserable, and him being with you would make you more than happy. So he had moved in his sparse belongings, mostly a collection of books and cardigans, and it had been the best decision you’d ever made. 

Meanwhile, Sirius was living quite the bachelor lifestyle, enjoying his newfound freetime too woo women, respectfully of course, you and Lily would kill him otherwise, and fix up that damn bike of his. James and Lily got to move to a quiet little house in the country with their son Harry, and recently you had found out they were pregnant with another. Would all of their children just be happy little accidents? 

You and your group of friends were currently at the new Potter-Evans household, doing early Christmas festivities. It was getting late, Harry already snug in his new bed, and you were quite tipsy. Tipsy and horny. 

You and Remus have had sex since making things official, but it wasn’t everything you thought it would be. You weren’t complaining, it was still great, but you wanted him to take you. Like completely take you and ravish you and burn you alive. But he was so careful. So very careful with his ‘precious girl’ as he liked to call you. He knew his own strength well, not that it scared you much. You knew he would never hurt you. But he was holding back. You made it a silent promise to yourself to end that tonight. 

Finally you were headed back home after lots of hugs. You had all found a new importance of holding your friends close after all. Remus watched you silently from the bed as you undressed, his eyes dark with lust. Anytime alcohol touched his lips he truly couldn’t help himself. Neither could you, you supposed. 

“Tonight was nice,” you commented as you crawled into bed with him, pushing your body so close against his you were practically laying on top of him.

“I can think of a few ways to make it better,” he replied cheekily, moving you until you were straddling his lap and giggling into his lips. 

The wine you had drank was making everything feel so much better and making your core burn with the need for him to fill you and stretch you out. You were grinding against his already hard cock, unashamed by how badly you wanted him. And he was giving just as much enthusiasm as he was getting. He was rutting up against you and gripping you tightly, his lips trailing from your own, down your neck, and to your collarbone before he was undressing you.  

Clothes came off rather quickly until you were both naked with his head between your legs, his tongue exploring you hungrily. This was the one thing he had never held back about, always giving you such an aggressive enthusiasm about having his mouth on your core that it had startled you at first. You weren’t sure who loved it more - you or him. 

“Need you in me,” you keened just as his tongue did that one thing you particularly liked, causing you to let out a startled moan afterwards. 

“Let me have my fun,” he jokily admonished, his tongue diving right back in along with two of his long, thick fingers. 

You felt your core tighten quickly after that, his fingers expertly hitting your g-spot while his tongue danced across your clit. “Fuck, I’m so close. Please don’t stop,” you cried out, your whole body beginning to tremble before him. And he didn’t stop. He never would if you asked him, you thought. 

You came with a loud cry and tense limbs, completely breathless as he kissed his way back up to your lips. When he kissed you again you could taste yourself on his tongue, sparking a whole new arousal inside of you. 

“I need you,” you whispered into his mouth, but your words were useless because he was already lining his cock up, trailing it between your wet slit before plunging in. 

You threw your head back with a moan. That first thrust was always the best. He was well endowed and the way he stretched you filled you with the perfect amount of friction to get you there every time. But you wanted more. 

“Harder,” you tried to instruct, but your words seemed to do nothing. He avoided you, opting to kiss you neck instead, still thrusting gently inside of you, but enough for you to feel a rush of arousal with every thrust. 

“Re, harder, please,” you said more loudly, and his head snapped up so his eyes met yours. 

He looked torn. You knew he wanted to let loose, you could see it in his eyes, but he still held back. He stopped thrusting but stayed deep inside of you. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted quietly. It was rather endearing the way he cared so much, but your intoxicated mind didn’t care. 

“You won’t hurt me,” you argued back. “You’ll never hurt me. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hold back on my account. I want it.” 

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, but when he opened them you could see the fire held inside. You were about to get what you asked for in a big way. Every moment he held back, every moment he thought you wouldn't like the rougher parts of him, were about to crash down upon you in a big way. 

Once he made his decision, he didn’t waste a second. He pulled out and flipped you over aggressively, using that inhuman strength he possessed to his advantage and your delight. He gripped your hips harshly and pulled them up, once against entering you. But it was so different this time. 

He was pounding into you aggressively, each thrust forcing a rush of breath out of you and causing a layer of sweat to appear across your skin. The sound of his hips meeting your ass reverberated loudly across the room obscenely, the noises the both of you were making causing it to be even worse. 

A moan of pure shock came out of you when he shocked you and grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you up so your back was arched against his chest. “Is this what you wanted, love?” He asked lowly, never letting up on his vicious thrusts. 

“Yes,” you whimpered, “needed this.” 

“So did I,” he admitted, sounding rather grateful for the experience. “You feel so fucking good.” 

“I’m close,” you warned, you breath catching as he hit your g-spot aggressively. 

“Cum for me and I’ll give it to you like this everytime,” he told you, giving you no choice but to follow through when the hand that wasn’t in your hair moved straight down to your clit, abusing the swollen bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you cried and came with a gutted scream, the loudest you had ever been in bed with Remus to date. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, feeling the way your walls fluttered around his cock, propelling him into his own orgasm. His thrusts slowed, riding the both of you through your orgasms until you were a whimpering mess in his arms. 

When he released you, you fell down onto the sheets in a crumpled mess, still panting for breath. He stayed where he was, sitting on his heels between your legs and began trailing his hands up and down the backs of your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asked cautiously, his overwhelming nerves coming back in full force now that he was clear headed. 

You turned your head to look at him over your shoulder and gave him a suggestive smile. “I’m perfectly alright,” you told him. 

“So I didn’t hurt you?” He asked, falling down onto the bed beside you. 

You pressed your naked body against his, relishing in how warm he was, while your hand trailed along the scars on his chest. “I told you, you could never hurt me. You never will, so don’t think otherwise.” 

He looked down at you with a small smile on his face, grateful for your words but still unsure himself. All you both knew for sure though was that things could only get better from here.

[bentforkent]

CAMP FIREFLY - chapter one

word count: 4,210

content warnings: brief joking mention of child death

read on ao3 / read on wattpad (coming soon too lazy to upload there rn lol) / previous part / next part

Emily wakes up on the first day of camp feeling like someone is sitting on her chest. It’s the same atmosphere as usual; her head rises from the same old flat pillow to the same old bunk above her. It’s the same atmosphere, sure, but today feels fundamentally different, for it’s the first time she’ll be interacting with real campers. Children. A gaggle of young folk coming to her every day for instruction or nurturing or a hand with the hot-glue stick. She’s been trained for this, of course, but what if she messes up a craft? What if she accidentally says “fuck”?

Wide awake, JJ and Penelope are up and bouncing around the cabin cheerily by the time Emily wiggles her toes and comes to from Dreamland. Emily had only awoken in the first place because the early-rising pair tuned the radio to something upbeat and relatively staticless, cranking up the volume. Emily would’ve considered that very rude had she not already slept in for an extra hour, and had she not been greeted with incredible excitement once her eyes popped open.

“She’s awake!” JJ cheered, Penelope replying with a soft good morning!. Emily took her time pulling her body from the mattress, and now sits still-groggy on the floor by her bunk, trying to do her makeup in a tiny, fogged compact mirror. Penelope is standing behind JJ, braiding bright purple ribbons into her hair.

It’s so early it’s still dark outside, so the three of them are illuminated by a sorta-eerie yellow light, an old light bulb wired smack in the center of the cabin. Penelope’s bags are packed by the door, and when Emily notices them, she feels a pang of sadness upon remembering that Penelope will be moving out to her own cabin with her own group of campers today. Emily will get to stay with JJ, which she thinks is quite nice, because the only other option was a single room all the way over by Rossi’s office all by herself. And she’s finding that she quite likes spending time with JJ and Penelope, so newfound solitude would be a drag.

The bunch have spent their past week in training--learning the lay of the land through semi-degraded VHS tapes of Rossi when he was young and sprightly still, walking through the camp and delivering very specific instructions on how to deal with very specific situations. Penelope was in charge of teaching the fun stuff---chants and traditions and how to make friendship bracelets.

On a particularly sweaty, boring training day, Emily pulled Aaron aside--away from the group who was watching an old-Rossi-video about the lake just behind the camp--and asked him if everything was always like this. Emily wasn’t entirely sure what the “this” was, whether she meant peppy or hot or musty or involved, but Aaron had nodded his head sympathetically and walked Emily back to her seat with a whispered, “You’ll get used to it.” Emily was only a tiny bit aware of Penelope’s eyes fixated on her as she slumped back down in the sticky plastic seat and focused back on Rossi-with-hair explaining the stupid history of the stupid lake.

And used to it she got. Spencer, too.

Turns out he shared the same sentiment as Emily--the, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but I don’t hate it,” sentiment, as they’d so concisely dubbed it, when they sat together in the back of the big room training was taking place in, gossiping and giggling as Rossi, real Rossi --- old Rossi --- stood in front of the small group and explained yet another probably-self-explanatory camp rule.

For as much training as it feels like they participate in --- or sit through, rather --- Spencer still wakes up on the first day of Real Camp so stressed out he checks for gray hairs in the mirror.

It turns out that you can sit through a series of convoluted VHS tapes and Penelope-lessons and still not know a thing about what you’re supposed to be doing. It also turns out that while Camp Firefly is clearly very loved, it’s not the most...efficient summer camp of the area. Or the most safe. Or staffed. Or large. In fact, Spencer marvels at the fact people even send their kids here to stay. It’s not that the camp is poorly run or anything (to imply that would be to question the abilities of him and his friends, Spencer acknowledges), but there’s got to be better options, is the point.

Besides the small handful of counselors Spencer had become close with, the staff only consists of a trio of kitchen staff, one (one!) lifeguard, and a male nurse that Spencer had spoken to once and left the conversation supremely uneasy at the poor guy giving any medical advice. Spencer made a mental note to try his hardest to not have any health issues during his time here.

The kitchen staff are older---like, appear-in-the-old-training-videos older, but they entertain the rest of the newer, younger staff with stories of their youth. The nature of Camp Firefly means that they have stories about Spencer’s friends, too, as the majority of them have been going to the camp every summer since they were children, aging up into their jobs as counselors.

Spencer hears about the time an elementary-aged Derek begged to help serve food to the other campers just because, and about the time Penelope and JJ (when the story is told, they call her Jennifer) passed a petition calling for Rossi’s retirement around the whole camp, just because he cancelled the Talent Show. (The petition turned up only 4 signatures, and the Talent Show is no longer a Camp Firefly tradition).

It’s awe-inducing to Spencer that these people around him have lived whole lives in these dingy cabins. They’ve known each other for ages, built relationships and traditions and memories and stories, all because their parents chose the cheapest sleepaway camp option.

Spencer wonders how different his life would have turned out if he’d been indoctrinated into Summer Camp Culture in his youth, whether he’d even be at Camp Firefly now. Probably not. Definitely not.

Everyone is hanging out around Rossi’s office when the first bus arrives, lounging against the walls and picking at their cuticles. The sun is meandering its way over the horizon finally, but it still feels impossibly early. The group wears bright orange Camp Firefly t-shirts that are meant to be matching, but budget things mean that some of the shirts are more worn---Aaron’s has the sleeves cut off, and the logo is largely rubbed off of JJ’s---and some are brand new.

The crackling of the bus’ tires signals it’s presence before the vehicle peeks over the hill, and when it’s finally in everyone’s line of vision, it’s like a switch flips. They’re hooting and hollering, jumping and dancing in the name of welcoming this bus. Spencer has a wild grin on his face, and when he meets Emily’s eyes, they share a look of fondness and excitement.

After the first bus arrives, the day goes by as quickly as a montage--a cluster of quickly moving vignettes.

Spencer watches as a young girl stares up at Derek, eyes wide and full of wonder. He’s lifting her--and three other girls’--duffle bags with ease, muscles flexing and shiny with sweat. Same, Spencer thinks, realizing his expression is most likely the same as the girl’s. Derek flashes him a quick, hot smile, and Spencer grins in return.

Emily executes her first craft--a cluster of glitter and string and construction paper--flawlessly. Each group introduces themselves to her with a chorus of “hi Emily,” and it warms her heart more than she expected. One girl missing her front tooth hangs back as her group is leaving--Penelope’s group is leaving--just to tell Emily that she likes her “funny makeup.” It’s just eyeliner, really, it’s not that funny, but the sentiment makes Emily smile nonetheless.

Aaron has some trouble with children in his group picking beds, a small verbal scuffle breaking out between two campers vying for the last top bunk. Aaron, ever a mediator, solves it with a stern glance at the pair and a reminder that the other option out of the two is a bed near a window, another highly-sought-after spot. They fight for the window bed next, and Aaron feels a gray hair sprout on the spot.

Once all of Penelope’s campers have unpacked, she takes them on a top-secret trip down to the lake. It’s definitely not top-secret, it’s a staple of every group’s first-day tour, but Penelope has a knack for making her campers feel special, so they creep around the sandy shore on their tiptoes, whispering, while Andrea the Lifeguard looks on.

Despite the speed and relative easiness of the day, everyone finds themselves exhausted, greeting each other with pantomimes of falling asleep and loud sighs. It’s not been a bad day at all, but a long one, and in an attempt to remedy the feeling Derek graciously offers to run to the supermarket and pick up some fun snacks---a counselors only affair.

Spencer volunteers to accompany him on account of him wanting to spend obscene amounts of time with Derek, and also on the account of Rossi offering his expensive car for Derek to drive. Oh, to feel buttery leather seats and hear music and smell anything but dry leaves and B.O.

As soon as their campers are pawned off to other people and sufficiently supervised, Rossi tosses his keys to Derek, who catches them with a jingle.

“Be back soon,” Derek promises, and Spencer punctuates with a wave and a smile.

The fluorescent lights buzz in Spencer’s ear, comforting him. Bzz, bzz. Hope you like the air conditioning, they call out to him. He sure does.

Normally the energy of these 24/7 high-budget chain grocery stores freak Spencer out. It’s always too bright, too loud, too full-of-people. But tonight, there’s not a soul around except him and Derek and the high-school-aged cashier, so Spencer’s actually feeling particularly soothed. The sounds of Derek’s feet dragging on the shiny floor and the squeaky wheel are good sounds, he decides. He could still do without the candy-coated pop music wafting through the speakers.

The shopping cart remains empty for about fifteen minutes before either of them address it. Derek and Spencer spend those 15 minutes wandering aisles, relatively silent save for short, casual remarks like, “Oh, maybe we should get barbecue chips,” or, “JJ loves these Fruit by The Foot.”

Derek pauses from where he’s pushing the cart and turns to Spencer. “We should probably start shopping for real now, huh?”

Honestly, half of Spencer thought they had been shopping for real already. But apparently, if you’re not putting things in the cart, it doesn’t count, he learns. (Derek might be a misguided teacher in that lesson, though.)

“I like to take my time here, because it’s about the only time during camp I get to be alone,” Derek explains, tossing a loaf of bread into the cart absentmindedly. Bread is not on the list.

Spencer tugs at his fraying string bracelet. “Oh. Sorry, then,” he says. Three boxes of graham crackers are set delicately next to the bread.

“For what?”

“Well, you’re not really alone right now,” Spencer observes.

Derek shrugs casually. “Sure, I guess. But you don’t really count, Spence,” he says.

He means it kindly, Spencer knows. But it’s an odd thing to hear--what does that mean? Is he implying Spencer is too boring, or too quiet? Before Spencer can spiral too much, Derek notices his uncomfortable silence and continues, “Hey, no, I mean because I like spending time with you. Like, it’s easy. I don’t have to think about it.”

Spencer has a flash of a vision of Derek dipping him right there in aisle 6 and planting a nice firm kiss onto his lips. In that vision, there’s a fog machine whirring and some Chopin playing. Vision-Spencer nips at vision-Derek’s lower lip.

Instead of all that, present-moment-Spencer nudges Derek’s shoulder with his own, murmuring a happy little “likewise,” and clinging onto the sound of Derek’s chuckle.

Derek kept his hand on the center console the whole drive home, and Spencer desperately wanted to reach out and grab it, to open his palm and lay in it, letting him be engulfed like a weighted blanket. But he kept his hands to himself, squarely on his thighs.

It’s dark when they return, and the bright LED headlights of Rossi’s fancy car seem out of place when they pull back into the camp. Everything seems out of place. Spencer can’t put his finger on it --- the buildings haven’t shifted, and the camp is exactly the same as it was before he left, and yet he’s got this strange premonition that something is just...off.

Spencer’s shoe is untied, and he can feel the laces whipping his ankle as he and Derek trek to Rossi’s office to return his keys to him. He’d reach down and tie them if not for the plastic bags of groceries in his hand---god forbid he let food sit on the dirty, unpaved path, no matter how many layers of plastic packaging protect it. Besides, the air feels thicker than usual, and each time the knit of his shoelace brushes his skin, Spencer is reminded just how uncomfortable everything feels and how desperate he is to be inside.

Everyone is packed into Rossi’s office when the pair gets there, and Spencer’s stomach sinks the tiniest bit.

Penelope and Emily are lounging in those sticky plastic chairs, showered and smelling like a cocktail of cheap, fruity shampoo. Behind them are Aaron and JJ --- JJ’s standing to braid French braids into Penelope’s wet hair, and Aaron just appears to be shaking out pent-up energy. How he isn’t tired, Spencer doesn’t know. Confused, and with hesitant movements, Derek pushes away a stack of bright-white papers on Rossi’s desk to make space for the grocery bags. “What’s everyone doing in here?” he asks. “I thought we were doing Shifts tonight.”

Now that campers have arrived at the camp, it’s become a little more complicated to hang out as a group in the evenings, as they’ve all got an obligation to be in their cabins just in case. Liabilities, and all that.

The first year Aaron was old enough to become a counselor---he was the first of the bunch to age up into the job---he devised an elaborate, elaborate system that allowed the group to socialize without any sleeping campers being left alone.

It’s complete with maps and rules and a very strict set of time shifts, so in addition to Spencer and Emily’s official training, they’d been trained on the side by a very drill-sergeant-y JJ in what Aaron all those years ago so aptly dubbed “Shifts.”

Neither Spencer nor Emily have got it down yet.

“Rossi has an announcement,” Aaron says, pulling his ankle up behind him into a simple hamstring stretch.

“Yeah, I heard he’s gonna promote you to Head of Grocery Shopping, Der,” Penelope teases, peering jovially at Derek through the corner of her eye.

“Haha,” Derek deadpans, and tosses her a pack of fruit snacks that he’d picked out specifically for her. They're the good brand, the blue bag, and she accepts graciously with a kiss blown in his direction. Derek catches it, and presses it to his cheek.

Emily has noticed that Rossi always slinks into his office after his guests have arrived. He’s never there waiting, never anticipating. She has no clue where he’s coming from, although she assumes it’s from his cabin. He always makes an entrance, always sits with a weird old-guy sigh, and then launches into whatever reason he’d called the meeting in the first place.

On cue, Rossi swings the door open and lowers himself into his chair slowly. Emily anticipates it and then there it is---Rossi sighs that damn sigh, and leans forward onto his desk. Although no one else moves, the air shifts towards him as well, and it feels like the seven of them are all standing nose-to-nose.

Penelope slips Rossi a fruit snack discreetly, sliding it across the table to rest by his elbow.

“You know I love you all very much,�� Rossi starts, and Emily feels like she might puke. That’s the thing about her Rossi prediction --- the important part, the part where he speaks, is the part she’ll never be able to guess.

So, she feels like she might puke. Not because she feels ill, of course, but in her experience all of that cheesy, “I love you” bullshit always prefaces the worst news, and she has absolutely no clue what is about to come out of Rossi’s mouth. Her mind leaps to the worst possible conclusion---”You’re firing all of us,” she blurts out, relieving the tension just a tad as JJ bursts into snickers behind her.

Another sigh. “No, I’m not firing you.”

“A kid died?”

“Jesus, Emily, would you let me finish?” Rossi says.

Then, after a deep breath, “Developers are coming tomorrow to look at the land. I’m planning on selling Camp as soon as this summer is finished.”

Oh, Emily thinks.

It hits them like a punch to the gut.

There’s hardly room to breathe in the cabin, let alone fall to the floor, but somehow JJ makes it work. The sound of her knees hitting the wooden floor reverberates and warps through the space.

Emily and Spencer exchange a watery glance and mirror each other, biting the inside of their cheeks at the same time. They share a small, spiritless smile at the misfortune.

Penelope is gasping short and shallow breaths as she staves off cries, reaching down and behind her for JJ, who has tucked her head into her knees, pulling off an emotional Child’s Pose on the filthy floor.

Penelope crying is awkward because Emily is sitting right there, upset as well but characteristically less overt about it. Their knees are touching --- Emily’s right to Penelope’s left --- and yet, there’s no tissue for Emily to give Penelope, no way to console her without feeling irreparably out of place. Emily sinks lower into her seat, wishing she had the confidence to place her hand on Penelope’s leg as a tender signal that she’s there and she understands.

Derek is shoved into Spencer as Aaron pushes past him and out of Rossi’s office. It’s not a malicious push, and the sad look Derek gives Spencer is one of pity both for Aaron and for himself, too. An anguished cry comes from outside, from Aaron, and everyone’s eyes widen a little at the sound.

It’s impressive to Emily just how immediately everyone started crying. Before Rossi had even finished his sentence, there were tears welling up in Penelope’s big hazel eyes. Emily almost feels jealous at the brazen displays of emotion. She wants to love something so hard that she could cry at the drop of a hat over it. Nothing has ever touched her as Camp Firefly has touched Penelope, touched JJ, touched Aaron, touched Derek.

“I feel like my world is crashing around me,” Derek admits shyly. “As stupid as that sounds.”

Spencer nods. He knows the feeling. They sit on the porch of their cabin in creaky rocking chairs, a cloud of bug spray encompassing them.

“It’s like, I grew up at this camp. This camp saved me as a kid.” Derek shakes his head.

This camp is saving me now, Spencer thinks wryly before tucking that thought away in a deep corner of his brain. “I’m really sorry, Derek,” he says sincerely.

The door to the cabin creaks open, and a teary-eyed child steps out onto the porch. His feet are light, and he closes the door behind him slowly, clearly not trying to wake any of his fellow campers. “Derek?” he asks quietly. “I can’t sleep...and I kinda miss my mom.”

“C’mere, then,” Derek says tenderly, and gestures for the boy to sit in one of the unoccupied rocking chairs. “Spencer and I were just talking about how much we miss our moms, right Spence?”

Spencer agrees with a nod and a kind smile directed at the boy, then he takes a backseat to the conversation unfolding in front of him. He watches as Derek effortlessly consoles the weeping child before him by sharing his own stories of similar plights in homesickness and offering jokingly to sing the cabin to sleep next time.

After a few minutes Spencer’s mind starts to wander, curious on how the rest of his friends are sleeping tonight after the news of Camp Firefly’s imminent closure. He hopes Emily is chatting with JJ just as he’s chatting with Derek, comforting her and providing the very few words of solace that would help in this situation. He thinks of Penelope and Aaron, all alone, and he half-considers walking over to each of their cabins just to check on them. He doesn’t, though, because it’s technically against the rules, and because Derek is standing, wrapping up his conversation and holding his hand out to help Spencer up out of his seat. The camper, who Spencer has learned is named Alex, scampers inside, tears dried.

Derek holds intense locked eye-contact with Spencer for a second. His eyes are soul-searching, making it clear that he has something he would like to say to Spencer. Maybe he wants to thank Spencer for listening to him talk, or accompanying him to the grocery store. Spencer quickly flips through a plethora of ideas of what Derek could say next like he’s flipping through a book, but he comes up short.

Derek’s mouth is open slightly, like he’d taken in a breath to speak and then lost his train of thought. The sight of him makes Spencer sweat a little, and just for a moment he feels like maybe he should break the short distance between them and kiss him.

Then Derek is tearing his eyes away, dropping Spencer’s hand, murmuring a gentle, “Sleep well, Spencer,” and retreating inside and to his bunk.

“Goodnight,” Spencer replies, but Derek’s already tucked himself in and turned his back to where Spencer stands by the open door.

Emily is always the last one to fall asleep. She knows this based solely on a feeling, an energy that settles over the camp when everyone else’s eyelashes are finally closed and their breathing patterns slowed. It takes a little longer on this night, considering the 40 new bodies in the vicinity--Welcome, Campers!--and the obviously upsetting news that’d been delivered to her and her friends, but finally Emily feels it. She’s the only one awake.

As much as Emily doesn’t like to spend time to herself, as she often finds herself in rabbit holes of self-loathing thoughts, this nightly hour-or-so of atmospheric solitude is comforting. Usually.

Tonight, she’s reeling with visions of land developers coming to the camp in fancy suits, and clipboards, and leather loafers that are far unsuited to trek through Camp Firefly’s unpaved land. And it sucks to imagine.

Emily has only spent a week or so here at the camp, so she doesn't feel like this loss hits her particularly hard. The only reason she’s even at this tiny camp in the first place is the fact that it’s on the exact opposite end of the country from where she’d spent her spring.

When summer ends, and this camp is gone, all she’ll need to do to heal is move to a new city, and make new friends. Then she’ll repeat the process once she gets hurt or bored. The collection of people who have known and loved Emily Prentiss is so impossibly large, and as a result, large is the collection of people who have lost her and haven’t thought about her since.

With regret, Emily recognizes that the group she’s met and befriended this past week will eventually forget about her, remembering her only as the charismatic figure who took over the Craft Cabin the year the camp closed.

And yet, she feels differently than usual. She thinks of pretty Penelope, who is so sweet and sheepish and shy around her, but blooms into wide smiles and rosy cheeks around others. Of JJ, who eagerly taught her how to braid and make friendship bracelets on only their second day of meeting. Derek and Aaron, the rare macho men who haven’t made her want to gouge her eyes out but instead make her laugh constantly. She thinks of Spencer, the quiet intellectual who she feels such a warmth toward, considering him her baby sibling or her protegé.

She’s not entirely sure of what this emotion is, what it means or what it will mean in the future. What she does know, though, is that she’ll take up as much space as possible until her quiet disband from the mismatched group of friends. It’s how she always goes.

It’s then that she decides fuck the developers and fuck Rossi’s plans. If she’s going down and away with this camp, she might as well make it count. As she closes her eyes, finally ready to sleep, a plan begins to formulate in her mind.

- - - - - - -

next part

[sagamemes]

the sheridan tapes  📼  part two.   here and under the cut, you can find over 130 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes four to six, edited for roleplay purposes. some of these focus heavily on survival, war, science, and spooky stuff, but a lot can be used by anyone.  tw:  war, unreality, a mention of cannibalism, implications of manic behaviour.

❝  god, i hate snowstorms like this. not just getting caught in them, but the storms themselves. it feels like the earth’s trying to bury me alive every time it locks in like this. like nature’s rightly pissed off at all of us and doing its level best to crush us to death.  ❞

❝  that’s what yom kippur means:  the day of atonement.  ❞

❝  that wasn’t the first time i’ve caught him in my office, going through my stuff.  ❞

❝  normally i’d be annoyed at someone calling me young lady.  ❞

❝  thank you… you are so warm… thank you for letting me in.  ❞

❝  suddenly, everything fell into place. i made more progress than i had in about half a year.  ❞

❝  the thing i remember most was catching disapproving glances from my father every time i went to the library.  ❞

❝  why does time only run forward?  why does cause need to precede effect?  ❞

❝  no one knows if they can trust me with casework or not.  ❞

❝  i didn’t say i was interested.  ❞

❝  [he/i] was taken off duty and sent for psychiatric evaluation the next day.  ❞

❝  coffee. i was making coffee.  ❞

❝  i didn't mean to get stuck out here.  ❞

❝  that just goes to show how small humans really are in the grand scheme of things:  take away our tools and our toys and our technology, and we’re still just as vulnerable as we ever were.  ❞

❝  she was good at that:  making you feel like you were safe, like you could open up to her.  ❞

❝  i’m just going to cover that one up. no harm in keeping it out of sight for the moment.  ❞

❝  maybe there was someone in the stairs.  ❞

❝  i think i did the lion’s share of the talking, which almost never happens.  ❞

❝  i couldn’t get to sleep... i figured i’d get a head start today.  ❞

❝  i’m afraid i don’t have all of the details of your involvement with the… tragic events in [place]. and i don’t think i’m the only one.  ❞

❝  i’m still not sure i understand the whole tradition.  ❞

❝  whatever it is, it’s chasing me. i can hear it’s footsteps in the snow, i can hear it—  ❞

❝  when you work nights here, the less you really think about them, the better.  ❞

❝  honestly, i just can’t get it out of my head.  ❞

❝  snow is one of nature’s simplest and most effective ways of killing you dead if you aren’t prepared for it.  ❞

❝  i wish you’d tell me what you’re doing here. i could lose my job if anything gets broken or if you end up getting hurt in there…  ❞

❝  would you say you… considered her a friend?  ❞

❝  would you mind saying your name again?  for the recording?  ❞

❝  if that was true, then there was something—and as a scientist, i hate to say this—supernatural going on in that lab.  ❞

❝  most of them didn’t make it. a lot of them died afraid and alone, too.  ❞

❝  i know you don’t like listening to these things, so i just wanted to help you out with…  ❞

❝  if i could sleep, then trust me, i would.  ❞

❝  i’m guessing the new owners are trying to make this place seem less creepy than it already is.  ❞

❝  my schooling was expensive and unremarkable.  ❞

❝  a lot of them died afraid and alone, too:  ideal conditions for the making of poltergeists, in my experience.  ❞

❝  look, i’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time for anything, so if you wouldn’t mind…  ❞

❝  basically, i was picturing a slightly creepier morticia addams. i couldn’t have been more wrong.  ❞

❝  now i have to deal with [name]’s aspirations to write drama..  ❞

❝  i promise i won’t get you sacked.  ❞

❝  i’ve never been very religious, but for some reason… it made me think of hell.  ❞

❝  i think it may have been a thank you.  ❞

❝  i’m working the graveyard shift and i noticed the lights were on.  ❞

❝  i shouldn’t be here. no one asked me to come in this early.  ❞

❝  everyone around here looks at me like i’m some kind of leper.  ❞

❝  i had to go home for a few hours. i’m already on thin ice around here, and i didn’t want to get in more trouble for screaming obscenities up and down the wall.  ❞

❝  it was… darkness. no, that doesn’t do it credit, the whole place was dark. this was just... void.  ❞

❝  if i’d seen her anywhere else, i’d think she was an athlete or a backpacker.  ❞

❝  better scientists than me have been bashing their heads into that particular wall since 1927.  ❞

❝  i just want you to know that… whatever you really are... you’re safe here.  ❞

❝  goats being goats, it would just come back the next day looking for food.  ❞

❝  i would like you to leave my office now… and i’ll ask you not to tamper with evidence in the future, understood?  ❞

❝  no, of course, i don’t have signal out here, so i can’t just call triple-a.  ❞

❝  what are you doing in my office—at four goddamn thirty in the morning?  ❞

❝  you ever wonder where the line is?  you know, between human and not?  ❞

❝  the funny thing i’ve noticed about war:  no matter how terrible the fighting is, there always seems to be too much waiting. too much quiet. too much sitting around, bored to tears between fits of chaos and violence, lost in routine while waiting for the other shoe to drop.  ❞

❝  a lot of people condemn them for that. we’re so sure we’d never resort to that—that we’d rather die than cross that unspoken boundary.  ❞

❝  i’ve been at the [workplace/institution] for ten years now. that’s long enough to know that the ones who ask questions are the ones who can’t cut it.  ❞

❝  the program blew every fuse in the lab. including the lights.  ❞

❝  it was soon after they left that i began to have trouble sleeping.  ❞

❝  perhaps we never knew each other as well as most friends do, but… we cared for one another.  ❞

❝  most of her questions are a bit above my pay grade.  ❞

❝  i’m trying, i’m trying! i can’t get the door open!  ❞

❝  i don’t know why she needed my help:  i think she had a better grasp of it than most science fiction writers.  ❞

❝  we both had places to be afterwards, so we kind of rushed. i really wish i’d taken the time to say goodbye.  ❞

❝  i guess some things just… don’t want to stay buried.  ❞

❝  it was completely against orders of course, but no one really noticed or cared that far from the front.  ❞

❝  i offered to buy him a cup of coffee.  ❞

❝  newspapers praised them at the time:  saw them as heroes of exploration and paragons of pioneer courage.  ❞

❝  i signed a lot of big, scary nda’s during my time there.  ❞

❝  i did the only thing that came to mind:  i took a grenade from my belt, removed the pin, and threw it.  ❞

❝  i doubt this storm will last more than a couple of days, and once it lets up we can sneak out of here and get going again. very, very carefully.  ❞

❝  given enough time, everything will rot away to its elementary components, and that, you can’t reverse.  ❞

❝  i really can’t see anything from inside the van.  ❞

❝  i knew there were a few experiments that dealt with some pretty high-level theoretical concepts, but i wasn’t directly involved with any of them.  ❞

❝  it’s a strange choice, but then again, he’s a strange man.  ❞

❝  i know, it sounds ridiculous. trust me, i’ve done everything i can think of to make that conclusion go away.  ❞

❝  scared the bejeezus out of a bunch of skiers, but they were nice enough to let me in after deciding i probably wasn’t a ghost.  ❞

❝  please… it burns my skin… please…  ❞

❝  i forgot how fast storms blow in up here.  ❞

❝  it’s not like i felt out of control:  it felt more natural than breathing.  ❞

❝  i didn’t know what i was doing, not at any conscious level. but one step seemed to lead to another, then the next, and then the next.  ❞

❝  it’s called a butcher’s shop in some places, but a mortuary in others. as much as i’d love to imply there was some sweeney todd style recycling going on here, i think the place has just been a lot of things over the years.  ❞

❝  god, these things are creepy as hell.  ❞

❝  if you wouldn’t mind, please, tell us what happened? in your own time, of course.  ❞

❝  it took a few long, nerve-wracking days to work up my courage and visit the section again.  ❞

❝  it’s not that odd to think that people ate each other out there.  ❞

❝  i didn’t think there was a ghost in my room or anything like that, i just kept hearing noises whenever i was about to fall asleep.  ❞

❝  i downed half a dozen energy drinks at 6 and called it dinner—i know, i know, it’s a nasty habit i picked up in grad school.  ❞

❝  they told me that the cpu and motherboard had somehow been melted into a solid lump of plastic and silicon.  ❞

❝  i mean, [name] was a pain in the ass, but at least he didn’t…  ❞

❝  my schedule was full, but i had something else fall through at the last minute. i had your number on my desk, so i thought i may as well call.  ❞

❝  i wonder if it was afraid, or if it even realized what was going to happen. it probably didn’t.  ❞

❝  i need to get more coffee. or punch someone. whichever’s more convenient.  ❞

❝  god, if that’s really how i sound…  ❞

❝  people think i write horror, but i don’t really think that’s true. i just write fiction with all of the comfortable little lies taken out of it.  ❞

❝  i have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.  ❞

❝  i think he felt something about this place… some influence or power that needed to be destroyed, so he tried to do it the only way he knew how.  ❞

❝  well, it’s a tricky thing. the more realistic you make them, the more… unreal they start to look. i think it’s something about the eyes.  ❞

❝  i offered to stay late, just to smooth things over.  ❞

❝  maybe i can get some writing done while i’m stuck here…  ❞

❝  no child could grow up in a jewish home surrounded by books and not read at least one story about golems.  ❞

❝  i just wasn’t a good student, despite my love of reading.  ❞

❝  i have to say, i like your jane doe.  ❞

❝  she was a scientist herself.  maybe not formally, but her way of thinking, her insight, her methods... they were scientist’s qualities.  ❞

❝  seriously, what do i need to do to get a little privacy around here, a little dignity?  hang a  ‘ do not disturb ’  sign on the door?  change all my locks?  ❞

❝  maybe it was stupid, but i figured, ‘ hey, early december, not a cloud in the sky—should still be fine, right? ’  ❞

❝  jesus, [name], i wasn’t born yesterday.  ❞

❝  maybe doing this while it’s still dark outside isn’t the best idea.  ❞

❝  more than a century and a half have passed, and this place is still just as dangerous as it was then.  ❞

❝  now, [mr./ms./mx. name], i’m sure you know why you’re here.  ❞

❝  the [event] was a bust—only about a dozen people showed up all afternoon.  ❞

❝  i never put much stock in the idea of inspiration, but for the first time in my life, it felt like i wasn’t pushing myself through the muck of miscalculation and guesswork towards a solution. i was being pulled towards an answer that already existed.  ❞

❝  it felt like i was a few steps from finding out something fundamental. some truth about our universe that no other scientist had ever dared to dream of.  ❞

❝  huh. that’s… that’s weird. i could’ve sworn there wasn’t a sculpture back there before.  ❞

❝  apparently, no one had told them what i was doing, and i wasn’t actually cleared to leave.  ❞

❝  maybe he’s trying to make amends. keeping watch over these half-living things to make sure no harm comes to them.  ❞

❝  i expected the building to be wreathed in shadow and overgrown with cobwebs, but it's actually really nice.  ❞

❝  sorry, i was trying to get my recorder working, but it froze up on me so i had to find a tape for this old…  ❞

❝  okay. just… don’t get me sacked, alright?  can’t exactly retire on this salary.  ❞

❝  but if it was real—i don’t know if i somehow created it, or if it was feeding me information about itself before it appeared.  ❞

❝  i’ve never had a manic episode before, and i was well below the level of caffeine needed to cause intoxication. as far as i can tell, there isn’t a medical explanation for what happened.  ❞

❝  i don’t get the appeal of meeting real celebrities. it’s just a cheap shock of recognition, and nothing more.  ❞

❝  whatever this… thing was, it sounds pretty dangerous.  ❞

❝  are you familiar with temporal asymmetry?  ❞

❝  i just want to make that abundantly clear:  this /wasn’t/ the plan.  ❞

❝  right then, now let’s get started. please state your name and rank for the record.  ❞

❝  though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light.  ❞

❝  a cracker of a book, young lady.  ❞

❝  no wonder they’re keeping them in storage. they’d give anyone nightmares.  ❞

❝  i was just going to finish out my shift unless… you want me to stick around?  ❞

❝  i went to the university, but don’t remember much of the years i spent there.  ❞

❝  having to study textbooks and essays day in and day out took all of the joy out of reading for a long time.  ❞

❝  we call paradoxes paradoxes for a reason:  no matter how plausible they seem, they can never really happen.  ❞

❝  i don’t know what happened to me that night. i still don’t even know if what i saw was real.  ❞

❝  when we look into the void for too long, we find the monsters instead.  ❞

[solarwonux]

Autumn Leaves 

campus crush!jeonghan x f!reader

w.c: 3.1k

warnings: language, angst, suggestive

note: don’t mind me I’m just starting to re-upload all my old works onto tumblr again. This time last year I uploaded this story so I thought it was very fitting to re-upload it again around the same time. I hope you enjoy let me know your thoughts. 

masterlist

The first time you ever laid eyes on Yoon Jeonghan, the leaves had just started to change color. The dull greens slowly fading away as the days went by being replaced by the bright hues of oranges and reds. The leaves that had managed to fall due to their dying cause left a lovely trail behind as you made your way to your first class of the day.

That’s when you saw him, right in between the law building and the library. There he was laying down underneath a tree full of autumn leaves. Paying no attention to the boy who was talking rather animatedly next to him. He was looking up at the sky covered in leaves, an arm tucked underneath his head. You watched as a single bright colored leaf fell upon his chest. How he picked it up and twirled it between his thumb and middle finger. How he nodded absentmindedly at what the boy next to him was saying. How he threw the leaf he was holding to the side and sat up on his forearms. How his eyes met yours for a brief second and you knew you were done for.

You scrambled around trying to pick a different point to focus your attention on. You told yourself to get moving, that your class was waiting and being late was never an option no matter what. Yet, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his perfect brown ones. When he smiled at you curiously before point towards the law building, almost as if he were telling you to get going before you were late. You didn’t know why you did it, but you nodded before turning and walking away. The single sound of his laughter ringing in your eyes as you approached your destination.

The rest of the day and so on your thoughts were invaded by him. The way the sunlight had hit his perfect features making him look ethereal. How his laughter had managed to heat up your checks as well as your heart. And for the remainder of the semester, you made sure to leave your dorm room extra early, every Monday and Wednesday. In hopes of catching the blonde boy that had managed to capture your heart. But the more the weather grew colder, the less hope you had in ever seeing him again.

And as the days bleed on you had started to forget about him slowly.

That was until the grueling snow had finally melted and the springtime began. The flowers had just started growing, making the campus look like a garden of tulips. The dead trees slowly gaining their leaves, blossoming into perfection as they regained their life once again.

You had promised to sit in on Jihoon’s soccer practice. “I’m going to make captain this year, I can feel it.” Your best friend exclaimed excitedly over the phone. You smiled and nodded while walking to the library.

“Ahh, I know you will, that’s why we’ll go out to celebrate afterward.” You suggested.

“Sounds like a plan, I’ll meet you by the locker rooms when practice is over.” He added before saying quick goodbye and hanging up.

That’s how you ended up sitting on the bleachers. Trying to keep your focus on Jihoon who was bursting with excitement ever since the coach had named him team captain. And you supposed that the universe had its ways of working against your favor. Because just as you started to shift your attention on something else that wasn’t him.

He was back, his hair color had changed from the unnatural platinum blonde you had first seen him into a soft brown. Back then you were sure he couldn’t have looked better. Until you saw the sun rays of the setting sun hitting him at just the right angle that made your heart want to burst from how hard it was beating.

In his sweating form, he looked beautiful, like a fallen angel that had made its way down to Earth. In order to capture the hearts of innocents as he had captured yours. You tried to shift your attention to your best friend or anyone else for that matter. Your attempts being deemed as unsuccessful.

For the remainder of Jihoon’s practice, you fought with yourself for acting like an idiot. For getting all giddy inside whenever you heard his voice shout an obscene amount of insults at his teammates jokingly. For letting your legs grow weak whenever his laughter found its way into your veins making you choke on air. Bottom line you were a nervous mess and you weren’t sure how you managed to survive the rest of the practice without fainting.

As you waited for Jihoon while sitting on a bench in front of the locker room. You tried to keep yourself distracted by checking all social media. Even platforms you hadn’t seen yourself checking since freshman year of high school. Literally, anything to keep your mind off of a sweaty breath-taking brunette boy who had come to own your heart without his knowledge.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind the guys want to come along with us,” Jihoon said, breaking your train of thought. You looked up meeting your best friend’s eyes, while the rest of his teammates acted like fools behind him unaware of your presence.

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” You answered before you could really process what he was asking you. You watched as Jihoon’s grinned widened as he hugged you tightly. Deep down you knew you were in for an overwhelming and anxiety-induced night. But for Jihoon you would go to the end of the Earth twice in order to make him happy.

Dinner was interesting, you ended up sitting in between Jeonghan and Mingyu, who you recognized as the boy that was with him the first time you saw him. And who seemed to dislike each other greatly. At least that’s what you had concluded by the end of the night. One minute they were talking and laughing with one another. When suddenly they’d start arguing about something stupid, with you stuck in the middle.

“Mingyu you’re not listening to me; Messi is not the greatest soccer player that has ever lived.” Jeonghan had practically spat in Mingyu’s direction. Mingyu scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Han honestly you’re entitled to your opinion but it’s obviously wrong,” Mingyu answered taking a spoonful from the rice in front of him. You could feel Jeonghan fuming next to you. His body heat lingering in the air making your nerves spiral out of control.

Needless to say, dinner was interesting.

Despite all the bickering going on between Jeonghan and Mingyu and you arguing with Jihoon to let you pay for your own mean. In which he ended up winning. Dinner had gone rather smoothly.

Now you stood waiting outside as the guys each bid each other a farewell. Which took an eternity because of the fact that they’d come up with excuses to continue talking to one another. It was cute though and you found yourself wishing you had a friendship bond as close as those boys had to one another. Of course, you had Jihoon, who had been with you through the toughest times of your life. But your bond with him wasn’t anything like the bond he had with the guys. In other words, in your eyes it was magical.

The way they cared for and supported one another. The way they stuck to one another through thick and thin. The way you had to physically pull them apart in order to get them to stop talking so they could go home. It was all fascinating and you felt yourself wishing your friends were anything like Jihoon’s. Sadly, they weren’t which made your longing grow deeper.

“Seokmin wants to show me a new game he bought, and the guys want to play it, is it okay if I don’t walk you home tonight?” Jihoon tapped your shoulder and smiled at you shyly.

“It’s fine campus isn’t far from here anyway.” You said nodding your head.

“You’re the best, I’ll see you later okay?” Jihoon asked rather than stating. You nodded your head and wrapped your arms around him giving him the tightest hug. Although the two of you had been friends since childhood, hugs still felt awkward between the two of you.

“Congratulations on making team captain Woozi.” You said pulling away and ruffling his hair causing him to groan angrily.

“Whatever loser, text me when you get home.” He said firmly before turning around and running back to his teammates that had started to argue on who gets to play the game first.

You shook your head smiling before turning around and heading towards campus.

“Wait.” You heard someone call out making you stop walking. You closed your eyes as your mind registered who the voice belonged to. “I’ll walk with you,” Jeonghan said when he was finally next to you.

You gripped the strap of your cross-body bag tightly. Of course, luck was never on your side, to begin with, and maybe the universe was working with you. But right now, it felt like it was working against you.

“Aren’t you going to Seokmin’s?” You asked keeping your focus ahead as you started walking again.

“Have an 8 am class tomorrow.” He shrugged and continued walking next to you. His gym bag strapped across his white shirt and his hands stuffed nonchalantly into his red joggers.

“oh.” Was all you managed to say as you tried your best not to let the tension growing between the two of you overpower your senses.

The two of you walked in silence. The only sound that was heard was your feet against the pavement and the over blaring sound of the car horns surrounding the two of you. Neither one of you threatened to speak or cut the tension that was bubbling up between the two of you as you got closer to campus. From your peripherals you caught him staring at you curiously. And the more the two of you walked the closer he had started to get to you. Soon you were breathing in his body scent and it was driving you crazy.

“Thanks for walking me, you didn’t have to.” You said as you stopped right in front of your dorm room. He leaned against the wall beside your door eyeing you closely as you look for your key in your bag.

“I wanted too.” He shrugged as you finally found it, inserting it in the lock and just before you could turn the doorknob a hand stopped you. You turned to face the curious boy that had patiently waited for you to get inside. His eyes pleading as if he were to ask you something and just before he could let the words out. His instinct took over and he kissed you deeply. Kissed you like you were the only person that mattered to him.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly bringing you in closer, finally cutting the tension that had grown between the two of you over the past four hours. He pinned you against your door as you responded to his feverish kiss. Feeling right at home as his hands trailed down your back in search of your doorknob.

The second he found it and opened the door he pushed you inside softly. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled against your lips as he walked you backward. “Don’t be.” You said breathlessly as you pulled away taking your hand in his and leading him into your bedroom.

The next morning when you woke up, you were alone. The ache between your legs reminding you of the sinful act you had committed the night before. Any traces of Jeonghan gone with him. The only thing that remained were the ghost touches of his fingertips against your fragile skin. That day you cried, cried for the loss of innocence. And cried because you felt betrayed. You don’t know what you were expecting as you let him touch you the way you wanted to be touched but it wasn’t the emptiness you were currently experiencing.

For the rest of the semester, you avoided going to Jihoon’s practices and games as if they were the plague. Every excuse in the worldwide book of excuses, you had used at least twice. Until one day his pleas and calls stopped coming. And you knew you had let a boy come in between the years of friendship Jihoon and you had under your belts.

You had spent weeks crying over your lost friendship. Whenever you reached out to him he would leave you on read or send your phone call to voicemail, you felt your heart shatter. You knew you had brought this upon yourself, you knew you were wasting your tears since this had been entirely your wrongdoing. But you couldn’t help but feel helpless and alone.

Then one Sunday morning after a night of spilling saddened tears for Jihoon and angry tears for Jeonghan. You had woken up feeling like the wave of sadness had finally passed. Summer was in full bloom which meant the scorching heat was back. But you felt okay and that’s all that mattered at least in that moment. You had somewhat returned to normal. You had stopped dreading getting out of bed every morning and your interest in your classes had been regained.

You spent that entire summer with your other friends. Your bond had grown closer as they watched you break before their very eyes’ months before. They were there for you bringing you the worst movies and all the ice cream you could ever ask for.

The peace had finally been restored in your life, only for it to be ruined one Friday night when Yoon Jeonghan showed up at your door before the start of the fall semester.

You had decided to have a night in. Your friends had tried to convince you to go out with them for drinks. But you hadn’t had a relaxing night to yourself in months. So, you decided to stay in with your Netflix account and a cheap bottle of wine you had bought on your way home from the corner store.

Just as you were about to sit down, you heard someone knocking on your apartment door. You looked up at the clock that sat on top of the tv, that had never worked once. But somehow you had developed this annoying habit of looking at it whenever you wondered what time it was. Groaning annoyed with yourself you set down your wine bottle and wine glass down on the coffee table. You made your way to your front door and looked through the peephole.

Your heart started to race as the ghost of that unforgettable night stood on the other side of the door looking like he had just finished running a marathon. You let out a tiny squeak as you leaned your back against the door. You closed your eyes contemplating whether you should open the door or not. But when the knocking came back and became more desperate than before. You knew you had to open the door because something in the back of your mind told you he wouldn’t stop until you did.

You unlocked your door and placed your hand on top of the doorknob. Inhaling deeply before you opened your front. Once your door was open, Jeonghan pushed past you and walked in leaving you dumbfounded as he pulled on the roots of his hair. You closed the door before turning to face him and watched as he paced back and forth almost as if he were arguing with himself.

“Please tell me you felt it too?” He asked looking at you with pleading eyes. His hands shaking slightly as he ran them desperately through his hair.

“W-What are you talking about?” You asked confused leaning your back against the door. He turned to face you and closed the distance he had created between the two of you. You held out your arm asking him to stop before he could get any closer.

“That night please tell me you felt it too?”

You stopped breathing upon hearing his question. Because whatever he was talking about, you had felt it. You had felt it that day when you first saw him underneath the autumn leaves. You had felt it when he first kissed you and pinned you against your front door. You had felt it when you pushed him down on to your bed and straddled his lap. You had felt it when he looked into your eyes deeply before asking you for permission to continue. When he had pinned you down underneath him and taken your clothes off. When your skin felt like it was on fire underneath his lips.

You had felt that wave of overwhelming emotions as he rutted into you with everything in his being. Like letting you go was the last thing he ever wanted to do. As he looked into your eyes with a passion you never once had seen in anyone else. That night, despite the suffering that had come afterward, was irreplaceable.

“Y-Yes.” You finally choked out, his pleading eyes softening as he let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry, I left that morning, I’m sorry I never called, but you overwhelmed my senses. I couldn’t think clearly from that day on. And I’m the coward that got scared with everything I was feeling.” He confessed leaning his forehead against yours. “You’re a force to be reckoned with and I’ve been hating myself since that night for leaving you the way I did.” He finished closing his eyes as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in. And wrapped your arms around your neck leaning into his touch. “Yoon Jeonghan, do you have any idea what you’ve put my poor heart through these past few months?”

“Believe me, I made myself go through the same suffering. Jihoon literally had to slap me for being an idiot today after practice.” He said wrapping his arms around your waist lightly. “I’m sorry.” He finished smiling softly. The same smile you had fallen for months before.

You shook your head smiling before you shoved him lightly. “I don’t know why I can’t say no to you.” You said pecking his lips before he had any chance to react.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He asked curiously raising an eyebrow before leaning down and hovering his lips over yours.

“I haven’t decided yet.” You said before kissing him lightly.

The two of you holding onto one another tightly not knowing what the universe would have in store for the two of you.

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 2

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

Hello! Enjoy chapter 2!

OoOoOo

"Keep spendin' most our lives, Livin' in the gangsta's paradise,

Tell me why are we so blind to see,

That the ones we hurt, are you and me"

~Gangsters Paradise~

1919

"Mags." Was the first thing the young girl heard as she was gently shaken awake, "Go lay in your bed, eh?"

Upon half-opening her eyes, she saw it was Tommy who had been talking to her. Maggie only then realized she had fallen asleep sitting upright. She responded by rubbing her neck and slowly nodding. Clumsily she got off the bed with her journal in hand.

It was early. The exact time she wasn't sure, but sunlight wasn't streaming through the window yet. She entered the quiet hallway, navigating herself to her bedroom in the darkness. When she opened her door, she discovered a figure standing in the middle of the half-lit room changing clothes.

"There you are," Ada whispered out, shimming out of her slip, "Was wondering what happened to you."

"Slept in Tommy's room," She explained, yawning lightly. "Just get in? What time is it?"

Her sister nodded as she continued to change into a nightdress, slipping the fabric over her head. "It's just past four." She informed as the younger girl motioned her way around her sister to flop onto the bed, making it creak from the force of body weight.

"How was your night?" asked Maggie, moving to make her head more comfortable on the old shapeless pillow.

"Romantic." The older girl hummed, sliding into bed next to her sister. "I've never felt this way about anyone."

Maggie turned her body on her side. "Wish I could put a name and face to this mystery man." She watched her sister's eyes flash with guilt. At the realization of her thoughts were now said aloud, regret formed in the pit of Maggie’s stomach.

"I promise I'll tell you sooner than you think, I just-" Ada didn't have to finish the sentence for Maggie to understand what she was going to say: 'I just can't deal with our brothers if they find out '.

"I know Ada," was the last thing the sleepy girl said before closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Eventually, she woke up again around seven in the morning. Carefully, she got out of bed trying not to wake up her sleeping sister, and dressed accordingly in one of Ada's old dresses. She also made sure to pack her journal into her book bag before making her way downstairs. Once in the kitchen, she saw Tommy reading the paper and Finn eating his breakfast.

"Morning." She said, grabbing a bowl and spoon to scoop mushy porridge out of a metal pot, which was sitting on top of the only working stove burner. Polly had most likely prepared it for them. "How did you sleep?"

Tommy knew that question was directed to him, "Better than I have in weeks." This made his sister smile as she sat down in the chair next to him. "Your writing has improved. But then again, I haven't heard you share your work since you were twelve. Pol says you won't even share with her or Ada. Why's that?" He was genuinely curious.

"I don't think it's ready to be shared yet," Maggie shrugged.

He peered at her as he set the paper down onto the table, "You shared last night."

"Only to put you to sleep." She countered, bringing the spoon to her mouth to consume the beige-colored substance.

"Going to have to sometime," he spoke sincerely. "How else are you going to become a writer, eh?"

He was right, she knew that, but right now, her writing felt sacred. As if her words were only meant for her. She was still coming face to face with a paradoxical problem. Every time she would write something down, it would instantly not be good enough. The pages of her journal seemed to have more scribbled-out lines than actual words. She just couldn't explain this feeling properly, and if she couldn't express her feelings in words, how could she write? No, sharing her words would only lead to not being understood. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the opening and slamming of the front door.

"Tommy!" John angrily stormed into the kitchen, "It's Danny! Those fucking Wops got a hit on him."

Tommy answered back by pushing himself out of his chair and hurriedly following his brother out of the home. Finn quickly tried to follow, but Maggie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, "Let go Mags!" he cried out.

Maggie sighed, "C'mon, let's get you ready for school." Finn could only respond with a groan, allowing his sister to lead him upstairs.

OoOoOo

The next day, a smiling Maggie was squished between John and Finn in the family car. She could barely move without hearing a complaint from John, but she didn't care, she was too excited. They were all on their way to the fair, which had been set up right outside of Birmingham. It had been so long since she had been to one. They were almost there, and she could see the big red and white striped tent peaking over the trees in the distance, so she was confused when Tommy parked the car in a clearing that was still a good distance away.

Arthur spoke up at once, "Thought you said we were going to the fair"

"Yeah, what are we doing?" She asked nervously, leaning her elbows against the front seat.

"We have business first. C'mon, bring your wits." Tommy said getting out of the car with John and Arthur following. He glanced over to his younger siblings noticing they were trying to do the same. " You and Finn stay by the car."

"Seriously?" She just wanted to have a normal day at the fair with her family. Was that too much to ask?

Tommy pointed at her to emphasize. "Stay by the car, Mags."

"What business?" Arthur questioned.

"That's the Lee family," She heard John say.

Great the Lees, thought Maggie sarcastically, as she sank into the seat. Though she did perk herself up when she saw a familiar face walking towards the car.

"Hi, Johnny!" She smiled and waved at the man.

"Well hello pretty lady," Johnny Dogs greeted as he approached the car. "Tell me, have you seen a lass named Maggie?" The teasing tone of his voice was prominent. He had not changed a bit in the four years his presence had been absent.

The girl giggled slightly at his antics, and with a playful air replied, "I'm Maggie."

"You canna be her." He overly acted out in disbelief, "Last time I saw her she was but a child!"

"Hang on a minute," They all heard Arthur say, "You're not swapping the family car for a bloody horse!"

Johnny turned around and quickly walked up to the oldest Shelby, "Of course we're not swapping it. Huh? That would be mad!"

"We're going to play two up," Tommy explained, handing a coin over to the family friend.

"Jesus." Arthur breathed out anxiously, as they all watched the pair toss their coins into the grass and lean forward to get a better view. Silently, Tommy handed over the keys to the car, much to the irritation of the eldest, "I knew it. Tommy, you bloody idiot!"

"Shut up Arthur. I won," Tommy told him, "I promised Johnny I'd let him have a spin in the car if he lost." He watched as the relief washed over his brother's face but was interrupted by collective snickering. He turned to the three men dangerously, "Are you Lee boys laughing at my brother? Are you? Eh? I asked you a question!"

"Tommy! Tommy, c'mon it's just a craic." Johnny reasoned, trying to keep everyone calm, "Get your family out of here and go enjoy yourselves at the fair before they start a war." Johnny then turned to the Lees, and Maggie was able to make out most of what he said. It had something to do about the grandfather she never met before one of the Lees replied, "Yeah, but his mother was a Diddicoy whore."

That had done it. Whipping his weaponized hat off of his head, Tommy slashed at the man's face. Arthur and John quickly joined in. Blood could be seen gushing from their faces as they all yelled obscenities at one another. Finn looked in awe at his brothers, his gaze never wavering from the fight, but Maggie felt sick.

OoOoOo

An hour later they had finally reached their original destination. Looking and walking around the fair was an amazing experience. The many rides, animals, oddities, and food all in one place were a wonderment to the many families that came out from all over the area. Yet, Maggie's level of enthusiasm was less than what Tommy had expected. She couldn't shut up most of the way there, now she was as silent as a stone.

"What's the matter with you, eh?" Tommy questioned as they walked around the fairgrounds together, "Did you want to take a spin on the big wheel ride?" He pointed up to the giant machine with carriages that slowly spun in circles.

She asked quietly, "Did you have to hurt them?" Sure, Maggie knew what her brothers did. She would be naive if she said she didn't, but she had never been a witness to it. The violence that she had often heard others speak of was now forever ingrained in her memory, becoming a standard for their future offenses. "The Lee's." She clarified although she was certain he knew what she was talking about.

"They were disrespecting us Mags," He explained as if she were younger than Finn. "You heard them."

Tommy had always tried to keep her in the dark about their business practices, which was easy when she was younger. Unlike Finn, she had always kept her nose in a book, never really paying attention to the transgressions of her siblings. But now she was beginning to notice and was starting to ask questions he'd rather not answer.

"You couldn't walk away?" Maggie inquired, looking towards anywhere but his face.

He remained silent for a moment before stiffly asking, "Do you want to get on the fucking wheel ride or not?" That was Tommy-ese for 'drop it', so she did, and added herself to the growing line. Tommy followed her lead, standing behind her he pulled a cigarette out to smoke as they waited.

Maggie was quiet the entire duration of the drive back home. The setting sun rays peeked through the gray smog as they entered Small Heath, they all noticed the place had been trashed. Broken and ripped furniture looked like they were just tossed in the streets and all those who watched the Shelby car roll slowly down the street managed to give them all a dirty look.

Arthur was the first to speak up, "Now, what the bloody hells been going on here?"

OoOoOo

Apparently, from what she gathered it had been the new copper that had been behind the trashing of their neighborhood. Maggie and Cara walked through the crowd, as they recounted the events of each other's day. Thankfully the Ryans dress shop had been spared from the destruction and Maggie told her friend everything about the fair, excluding the violent beginning of course. In front of them stood a pile of portraits that had been gathered from around all the homes and businesses of the community. Once they were lit on fire, familiar faces were lit up as well to contrast the darkness. They both soon saw Ross with a crowd of men, most likely coworkers from the BSA. Once he saw them, he waved them off and began moving toward the girls.

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Maggie asked her friend, as they watched the young man weaving his way through the crowd of people.

"I will!" Cara defended before adding, "Eventually." Maggie tried to hide her smile.

"All right ladies?" Ross greeted once he was near enough.

"So, what's all this about then?" Cara questioned somewhat flirtatiously, pointing at the heap of portraits.

"Ask Mags," Ross replied, sending the dark-haired girl a smirk, "It's her brothers that have organized all this, went 'round taking everyone's pictures."

"Oh right, because they run everything by me first." she joked, causing both her friends to chuckle. Cara soon took over in leading the conversation, but Maggie was only half paying attention. Curiously, she watched as Tommy spoke with a man that she had never seen before. He must have felt her gaze because he found her face in the crowd, causing Maggie to quickly divert her stare off her brother. Ross then pulled out a flask from a pocket inside his dark coat.

"Care for a swig?" He asked them, shaking the container slightly. Drinking alcohol was something she had never really made into a habit, for her it was only for special occasions. Without hesitation, Cara took the silver flask from his hand and drank a few gulps before passing it on to Maggie. Maggie glanced back to her brother, who was no longer watching her, but instead had gone back to his discussion with the man who was now writing something down on a pad of paper.

She grabbed the small open bottle in her hand and raised it to her friends, "Cheers." The liquid burned in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow. She coughed at the sensation, making Cara laugh as she took the flask back in her hand, downing what was inside again. The small group of friends joked and drank for the next hour or so, as the flames of the bonfire created a comforting warmth over the burning expressionless eyes of his majesty the king.

OoOoOo

After drinking so much during the bonfire, Cara must not have been feeling too well because she didn't show up to school the next day. Not only that, but it also seemed as though Finn decided to skip again. So unfortunately for Maggie, she was fated to walk home alone. Slung over her shoulder was her book bag which carried a few books, pens, and her journal. As she walked past the first alleyway, she felt a presence quickly appear next to her.

"In need of some company?" Ross asked, tossing his finished cigarette onto the pavement.

"That would be nice." She smiled up at his tall frame, which had a good five inches on her.

He motioned to the bookbag that rested on her shoulder, "Let me help with that."

"I can carry it myself." She calmly asserted, which made the young man grin.

"Now how would it look to all these people around us if I didn't help you with that, Hm?" He waved his index finger around to point at various people going about their day, "Word will get back to my mum, and she'd beat me for not being the gallant gentleman she raised. And you'd be responsible for that. I'm only trying to save you from a guilty conscience later on."

She supposed she shouldn't let that happen. With a small smile, she passed the bag to him which he took gladly.

"Last night was fun, eh?" He continued, slinging her bag over his shoulder.

"It was," she replied, allowing her mind to wander through the fresh memories. "Though I think Cara had too much fun."

"Sounds like her," he snickered out, "Never scared of fun."

"What else do you think about her?" The dark-haired girl pressed.

"Who, Cara?" He asked and Maggie nodded. "I dunno." He shrugged, adding, "Nice I suppose."

"Oh c'mon, you have to see the way she looks at you" Maggie alluded.

"Never noticed." He admitted, looking uncomfortable.

She knew she couldn't push the matter any further than that. It was time to change the subject, "How's work?"

"Factory is on strike again." He answered her, appearing more relaxed, "Freddie thinks we should be compensated more. Guess we'd need that in order to make up for the wages we've lost."

She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Of course, Freddy had something to do with this. Though she always admired her brothers' old friend for sticking to his beliefs, she silently judged anyone whose beliefs ranged on the spectrum of radical. "Freddie needs to be more careful. As do you, he's going to get everyone in some serious trouble."

He smiled at her worried words, "He'll be fine. I heard from other workers that he skipped town after the raid. As for me, I think that a bit of trouble is the only way to get what you want."

They had just turned onto Watery Lane, their pace began to slow until they eventually stopped just across the street from the front door of her home. "You didn't have to walk me all the way home, you know," she told him as he handed her book bag back.

His hazel eyes meet her blue ones, "I'd do anything for you, Margaret," he declared seriously. She couldn't help but think that there was a hidden meaning in his words. Was she reading too much into this? He must have meant that as her friend, right?

"I-," she started.

"Maggie!" Tommy's voice rang out.

Maggie turned her head to see her brother as he made his way toward them. The girl's heart clenched at the thought of what he was going to do. Her mind had quickly jumped back to the memory of yesterday, the slashing, the anger, the blood. She glanced over to Ross, whose expression went from nervous to stoic in a matter of seconds.

"Go inside," Tommy instructed once he stood close enough to the two teens.

"But-"

"Now Mags," he commanded with a low voice. Coolly, Tommy took a drag from his cigarette that was resting in between his fingers, not taking his eyes off Ross.

With a huff and a final look towards her friend, Maggie bid him farewell before swiftly walking toward the front door of her family home. Once the dark-haired girl was out of earshot Ross apprehensively spoke, "Mr. Shelby I- I was just walking her home, I wasn't trying to-"

"I know Ross," Tommy assured the anxious young man, tossing his finished cigarette to the ground. Pol had told him that the young Murray lad had helped look after his sister while he and his brothers were away in France. Had even heard a rumor amongst some of the younger men in the betting shop that he knocked the shit out of another boy who was sniffing around Margaret. If that was true, Tommy felt indebted. He was a busy man, so he cut to the chase, "You beat a bloke that was giving Maggie trouble?"

Ross modestly nodded at his question. "You're a good lad." The gangster commended, passing the young man one of his cigarettes from its silver metal casing. He also lit a match to assist him with lighting it. "Is your Uncle Ian still living in Dublin?"

Ross had to admit, he wasn't expecting the line of questioning to head in this direction. Nevertheless, he nodded once again, removing the rolled tobacco from his lips to allow a puff of smoke to escape from his lungs. The young man's confusion ceased when he watched Tommy pull out two pounds sterling from his pocket. Ross’s eyes couldn't help but widen at the act.

"Good, I want you to do me a favor. Call him and tell him to ask around all the local pubs in town if they know anything about a barmaid named Grace Burgess." As much as Tommy wanted to say he didn't care about this new woman who had found herself working at The Garrison, he needed to know exactly where she came from and if she was telling the truth. Digging out another pound he said, "Here send this to your uncle too."

"I will Mr. Shelby," he assured, accepting the coins in his outreached hand.

Tommy turned away and began walking toward his home, without looking back he added, "Welcome to the Peaky Blinders, Ross."

OoOoOo

When Maggie entered her home, she found Polly sitting in the kitchen reading a newspaper and drinking tea. "Hello, love. How was school?"

"Fine." She replied curtly, dropping her book bag onto the floor beside the table. She immediately moved to the window, looking out just in time to see Tommy lighting a cigarette for Ross. Relief washed over Maggie, this conversation thankfully seemed as though it wouldn't involve fists... or razor blades.

Polly's eyes were now on her, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Maggie tore herself away from the window to sit down opposite her aunt, pulling out her journal and pen from the book bag next to her feet. Tommy ended up entering the kitchen not two minutes later.

"I hope you didn't tell my friend that you'd hurt him." Maggie told her brother much more boldly than she felt, "He was just being kind."

He stared at her for a moment before replying knowingly, "Now why would I hurt my newest recruit." With that, he exited into the betting shop closing the doors behind him. She gapped, still looking at the shut doors trying to process how Tommy could ever involve her friend in whatever schemes he was engaging in.

Her emotions must have shown all over her face because her aunt chuckled slightly. "I wouldn't worry too much about your friend," Polly told her eyes still on the black and white paper. But Maggie couldn't stop herself from slumping into the old wooden chair before she continued writing, ultimately stopping when she felt her sister's presence enter the room.

"Good of you to join us," Polly said to Ada from behind her newspaper. "Where have you been all day?

"In bed," Ada replied. "Couldn't sleep, then I couldn't wake up, then I was cold, and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat, but that was just a dream, then I was hungry." Maggie looked up from her journal once again to see that Ada took the empty seat between her and their aunt with a massive slice of bread with a jar of jam in hand.

Maggie looked pointedly at the last of the bread that she had made recently, "Jesus Ada, save some food for the rest of us."

Ada stuck her tongue out, before looking at her aunt, "Why are you reading the paper?" Ada inquired.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Polly questioned back, picking up her teacup.

"I've never seen you read the paper. I've only ever seen you light fires with them." The older Shelby sister continued, taking a bite of her food.

"BSA is on strike" Polly explained, "The miners are on strike. IRA are killing our boys, ten a day." Though when Polly stopped talking, she continued to stare at Ada eating.

The older girl soon noticed her aunt's gaze. "What?" She asked in between her chewing.

"Stand up," Polly commanded.

"Why?" Ada questioned.

"Just stand up," Polly ordered standing up herself, eventually Ada compiled, "Side on," Polly added and Ada motioned her body to face to the side. Maggie was taken aback when Polly suddenly cupped one of her sisters' breasts.

Though Ada was much more reactionary, "What are you doing?!"

"Ada, how late are you?" Polly asked seriously and Maggie couldn't stop her mouth as it fell open slightly.

"One week." Not too bad, Maggie thought. "Five weeks," Ada amended. It wasn't ideal, but maybe she was due any day now. "Seven, if you count weekends." The girl corrected herself once again.

"Holy Fuck, "Maggie shook her head in disbelief.

Ada seemed desperate for this not to be the reality, "I think it's a lack of iron. I got some tablets." She explained to them, as Polly sat back down in her chair.

"But they didn't work." Their aunt concluded.

Ada too sat back down, "No."

Maggie gulped at her sister's answer and looked to her aunt, watching Polly as she took a deep breath. The thought process could not be seen on her face, but the young girls knew that the situation was being meticulously addressed in her mind. "Get dressed. We're going to the midwife. Let's just make sure you are before anyone makes any rash decisions."

Ada nodded, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. Maggie's heart clenched, and moved her hand over her sisters, squeezing it slightly. Whatever was to come, they would weather through it together.

[reinvent-and-believe]

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

--

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair.  “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

[dross-the-fish]

KDfjsdkfjs:LFKJS:dlfkjS

Well today was surreal.

I'm trying to do my fucking job, quoting some dude for an auto policy, but instead of giving me his car's goddamn VIN number this guy goes on a random tangent about how "actually futas are positive representation because they make transwomen look desirable" and it's just like...no?

How do you get to such an astronomically bad take? Why are you telling your insurance agent this? Did you call in because you were fucking BORED and you wanted to troll a stranger at their place of work? Did you run this atrocious line of thought past someone else and they explained that "Actually futas are a gross fetish and harmful" and you just couldn't accept that? Is that it? Did someone call you out on your bullshit???? Now your so salty you just have to talk to ME about it????

And he kept going with it. Even when I tried to nudge him back to his insurance he just ranted at me about how it's flattering that futanari hentai exists and he even has one transgender friend who likes it so it's good.

At the half hour mark with no VIN number in sight I actually reached out to the team leader to ask if I could cut off the call because this bozo was never going to get to get off this topic. He was being offensive, he was making me very uncomfortable, and he was wasting my time on a day when our call volume was higher than normal. She told me to humor him because even if I don't write him a policy it could be a 10 on a survey..... and then my team mates agree with her that I just need to "take one for the 10."

and I'm sitting at my desk like

And of course this guy didn't opt into the survey. His type never does. You know who takes 99.9% of the surveys? Old people and Karens. Not ridiculous little butt-whistling dweebs who don't have the social awareness to know that you don't discuss your fetishes with strangers who just want to do their goddamn jobs and don't have the time or patience to listen to you defend your kinks as some kind of morally correct political statement.

A full hour after the call started he finally winds down and, oh gosh darn, look at the time! He'll call back later because now he has to be somewhere. I had to step away from my computer so I took my lunch early and screamed obscenities into one of my couch cushions.

Ladies, Gents and NBs please, for the love of god, do not do this to call center reps, we're under enough pressure as is and, unlike your friends and social media followers, we don't have the luxury to excuse ourselves when you put us in uncomfortable situations.

I know the tone of this rant has been on the humorous side but I'm being dead serious when I say we get exposed to homophobia, racism, transphobia, ableism, and misogyny every single day. For those of us that are minorities this does take a huge toll. As a queer person, being held hostage by a client who sees people like us as a fetish he's entitled to objectify and consume can be a devastating experience. Any time you call a service remember the people on the other end of the line are PEOPLE, not your therapists or bottomless vessels for your toxicity. Please don't do this shit to us.

[axther]

the devil’s train

bakugou x reader x oc: the devil’s train (yandere) in which Bakugou and Gil, the reader’s best friends, show that they care for her far more than as a friend. for @tspice283​ tw blood, fighting, stalking, general yandere behaviour

YN LN led a very uneventful life.

She went to U.A. and had several close friends. She was told she had a bright future when it came to her hero career and was often described as friendly. She was relatively confident in herself and knew how to fight.  But she wasn’t ready for this. 

Before her were her two best friends; Bakugou Katsuki and Gil Keating. It was dark out, dark and cold in an unfamiliar place. They were growling and barking like dogs, clawing at each other with blood on their hands. YN was lost, horribly and terribly lost in her mind and on the pavement. There was blood everywhere, splattering against the wall and on the ground. They were drooling like madmen, disgusting, revolting, and making YN want to throw up. 

Ah...but maybe she should go back to the beginning.

YN always walked to school with Gil. 

It was something of a tradition. They were childhood friends, born in the same town and growing up with each other. Gil was tall, much taller than YN, with dark, green eyes that seemed to bear into YN’s very soul. His hair was white, snowy white, and YN wasn’t actually sure if it was natural. He was almost feminine, had it not been for his strong personality, it would’ve been easy to confuse him with a woman. He was a bit of a flirt to be honest, but YN didn’t mind. He was kind to her, and that was what mattered. Gil’s quirk was Stasis, temporarily stopping time. It was only for a few seconds at the moment, but he could do enough damage in sparring that even Aizawa recognised his efforts. To YN, he was pure fluff with a side of angst that she only ever saw when he fought others. On that day in particular, he was humming a song under his breath about some sort of strawberry snake, rocking on his heels while walking and being happier than usual. YN wasn’t sure why, but she certainly wasn’t going to question his good mood, considering he was usually quiet on their walks. “So!!” YN chirped, skipping a bit. “Do you wanna go somewhere after school, or something? It’s been a while since we’ve done something that’s just the two of us.”  Gil lit up, a bigger smile gracing his face as he leaned down and wrapped an arm around YN. “Of course! We could go to the arcade, or maybe to the mall, or that new boba tea shop that opened up! Oh! Or we could do all three! I’ll pay,” He winked, strangely giddy. “That sounds great, actually!” YN looked up at him, then back to the sidewalk with a happy flush. “Aww, you’re blushing!” Gil nuzzled the top of YN’s head in an intimate gesture, chuckling. “That’s so cute!” “Shush,” YN pouted, smacking his arm softly in an effort to stop him from mussing her hair. “Fine, fine.” Gil pulled away, but kept his arm over her shoulder. YN didn’t think much of it, realising that they were quickly approaching the school. She saw Ochako and Tsuyu both walking towards the door, and she broke from Gil's arm to rush towards them. Behind her, Gil's smile plummeted as he watched her leave. His eyes seemed to flash for a second, a dark colour that would send shivers down anyone’s spine. It was like an unreigned desire inside him that slowly spilled out until YN turned back to him. It disappeared almost instantly, another smile coming upon his face. “Hm? Is something the matter?”   “Nothing, nothing!” He waved a hand, still smiling brightly. YN hummed, shrugging her shoulders and walking through the doors with the other girls and leaving Gil to walk in by himself. His eyes darkened again, going blank and almost hollow as he shuffled along. YN didn’t notice how he became almost a shell behind her, chatting happily with Ochako and Tsuyu. Momo and Jirou soon caught up, talking about their weekend and filling the silence with pretty talk. “Hey, YN!” Ochako chirped, linking her elbow with YN’s and Momo’s. “We’ve got sparring again today! Who do you think you’re gonna be paired up with?” “Oh…” YN mused, placing her finger on her chin. “I’m not sure! Last week I had...Midoriya? So maybe I’ll get Bakugou this time.” At the mention of Bakugou, all the girls glanced over to see the blonde standing a few feet away. He was bright red and had just jumped like a spooked cat, hair spiking up and the flush on his face overtaking his neck and ears. YN tilted her head curiously, and the other girls laughed.  “What was that about, Bakugou!?” Ochako yelled over her laughter, holding her stomach. Momo and YN were the only ones nice enough to hold back their laughter, but even then, it was strained. “Shut the fuck up!” Bakugou barked, going from cat to dog and back to cat again, slinking away past the corner of the hall. The giggling died down, before Momo raised an eyebrow. “What was that about, really?” She murmured, looking almost concerned. “That was really strange.” “Maybe he’s just having an off day,” Ochako shrugged, linking arms proudly with YN and smiling. “Or maybe he has a crush! Ha! Imagine the day!”

  YN laughed too. But sometimes, foreshadowing is obvious.  The day passed quickly and quite uneventfully, with clouds crawling over the sky and slowly darkening. There were several times where rumours of multi-class sparring being cancelled, but Aizawa dispelled them and often told them that as heroes, they would have to work in the rain anyway. But he took mercy on them, and decided to start sparring early so they didn’t get soaked. He chalked it up to he himself not wanting to get wet, but everyone knew that he just wanted to make sure they didn’t get sick. When everyone filed out, Gil made a beeline to YN’s side with a big, sheepish smile. “Hi~” He trailed out, winking playfully. “I missed you! 1-B is boring without my bestie.” “You flatter me,” She smiled, rolling her eyes but letting him recline on her.  “It’s true! Tetsutetsu and all the others are cute and all, but you’re my number one.” “That’s cute.” “C’mon!! Don’t just brush me off!” “Alright.” Aizawa’s tone cut through their conversation, and for a second, Gil glowered at the teacher. Aizawa didn’t seem to notice, though, and let it go as he started listing pairs. Oddly enough, Bakugou wasn’t set with YN; instead, Tsuyu was saddled with him, and YN missed the way that Bakugou’s eyes trailed over her as he walked past. Aizawa instructed Gil and YN together, and Gil glanced down at her. “Ladies first.” YN walked past him, not replying but simply going into their designated row so they could spar, next to Bakugou and Tsuyu. Aizawa announced for them to begin, and slowly, the clouds gathered above them. YN assumed a more defensive stance after seeing Gil whale on his own classmates before, but strangely enough, he simply stood there with his hands in his pockets. “Dude,” YN hissed. “What are you doing? Hit me.” “Nah.” Gil took a hand out to check his nails, nonchalant. “What?!” YN was whispering, trying to not catch Aizawa’s attention, but felt confusion. “Why not?!” “Don’t wanna.” “That’s so stupid! C’mon! I can take it.” “I don’t want to hurt you.” “What?” YN lowered her fists, jaw dropping. “Are you serious? Why?” “Uh, it’s sort of self-explanatory.”   “No, it’s not!” As they bickered quietly, neither of them noticed Bakugou losing his attention from sparring, and looking at the two of them. He wasn’t even fighting Tsuyu anymore, just watching them with a deathly blank stare. It was like she didn’t even know he was there. Bakugou was a confusing creature. He was incredibly contradictory, saying one thing but meaning another. He tended to keep to himself, but wanted nothing more than to have friends and be loved. Who didn’t? What human could live without love? Oh. And speaking of love, he loved her. He first met YN LN when he was in kindergarten. She was gentle and sweet, but strong and not scared to talk back. Despite the fact that quirks were so….segmenting at such a young age, she seemed to pay no attention to it. She didn’t talk to many unless they spoke to her first, or if she had to. She kept to herself, politely. That was the first time he noticed her, and he supposed that’s where it all started. The second time, he had just gotten admitted into U.A. He recognised YN almost immediately, which was strange, considering he hadn’t seen her in over ten years. But it was like she hadn’t truly changed, just grew up with a certain grace about her. She had matured, and she was beautiful. He started deteriorating, in a word. Everything he did was in hopes of her seeing him, really seeing him for who he was. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but who else would be worthy of her? He had to be the greatest to ever come close, so he crushed everyone in his way to get there.  But then the fucking slimy, disgusting, filthy, destructive, sweaty, obscene, vile, vulgar, dirty man came along and dared sully YN’s lovely glow. Gil was, in many ways, like Bakugou. He aimed for the top, and stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. He was the one thing standing in his way for YN, and Bakugou would tolerate nothing in his way. He had come too far. He had done too much, watching YN walk home to keep her safe and taking her shirts from the line so he had some semblance of her in his room. Taking pictures so that way their kids can see her as she was, beautifully natural and unaware. Bakugou had boarded the devil’s train to love a long time ago. And he had no intention of getting off.

He had come so far. And here Gil was, refusing to fight YN. Out of what? Love? 

Something in Bakugou snapped. He rushed over to Gil, picking him by the collar and growling at the precipice of all his pent up, bubbling rage. His hand already started cramping from holding on so tight, fingers going red. “You-! You, you, you, you-!” Words escaped Bakugou in his pure rage. Thunder started rumbling across the class as everyone slowly stopped sparring and started watching Bakugou threaten a very nonplussed Gil. “Me. Yes. What do you want?” Gil raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and letting Bakugou carry all of his weight. “You fucker! You know what you’re doing!” “Do I?” Gil smirked, and quite suddenly, Bakugou, really truly, realised that Gil knew what he was doing. He looked over to YN, who was in a mix of confusion and anger.  Bakugou felt the colour draining out of his face, realising that YN must’ve thought that he was flying off the handle for no reason. But how would he explain that the love of his life was being manipulated by some smooth-talking bastard? “Go on,” Gil grinned wolfishly. “Get mad. I dare you.” “You…” Bakugou was panting when the first drop of rain hit him, trickling down the back of his neck and into his shirt. Several students looked up, eyes wide as the rain slowly started coming down. Gil and Bakugou were in a stalemate, hanging onto whatever thread of disguise they had about YN. “Bakugou.” Aizawa’s voice was quiet, stern in the growing storm. “Let go of him.” Bakugou dropped Gil, throwing him into the ground. Gil just kept his shit-eating grin, and Bakugou soon realised why; YN rushed towards him, immediately fussing over him and prodding at his collar. Jealousy flushed through Bakugou, but what could he do? He had created this. He created this monster that stood between him and YN. Between him and euphoria. Bakugou was pulled away by Aizawa, who kept a strong grip on him despite Bakugou’s lack of resistance. He kept giving Gil a deadly glare, and Gil stared right on back.

It was war. 

Bakugou waited outside of 1-B once he got out of class.

Of course, he wasn’t sure if or when they would leave, but he knew that Gil was not going to just let the incident go. No, he knew that the evening was going to be a great equaliser. One man would walk away victorious, and the other would be left either licking his wounds, or dead. Bakugou was ready for whatever would happen, but to him, there was only one way the day was going to end; with him being the sole victor for YN’s heart. YN’s love. Bakugou sighed, a flush growing on his face at the thought of being YN’s boyfriend. He’d never let her go, of course, considering all he had done to get to the position he was in now. He would bite and spit and fight anything that got in his way. And the last obstacle was right in front of him. “Done with your little freakout, Kaachan?” Gil may have towered over Bakugou, but the smug look on his face made Bakugou’s gut crawl.  “I’m gonna beat your fuckin’ face in.” Bakugou snarled, gritting his teeth. “And I know you wanna smash mine in. C’mon. We’ll settle this.” “As you wish~” Gil teased, walking two steps behind Bakugou as they left the school and began walking down the ever-darkening streets. The rain had cleared for the moment, but the forecast said it’d come back within the hour. How strange. A final showdown between enemies in the rain and darkness. It felt almost divine. Bakugou turned down a dark alleyway, not wanting anyone to see the bloodbath. The last thing he needed was pictures or rumours surfacing once he was a hero, once it mattered. “So.” Gil stopped at the very edge of the path, hands in his pockets. “How do you want to settle this? Like a brute by fighting?” “Like men.” Bakugou turned, jumpy at any movement Gil made. Gil scoffed. “Perhaps we could go our separate ways and whoever gets YN to love him wins.”  “What? Scared?” Gil's eyes lowered in a glower, and Bakugou felt a shiver down his spine. The young man suddenly felt cold, calculating and not at all like YN’s childhood best friend. “No.” Gil never broke eye contact with Bakugou. “I know that in terms of quirks, yours is more violent and prone to harm than mine. But I could dodge you until you’re exhausted and run dry. It would be a constant back and forth that would achieve nothing.” “It might not. But at least you know your place.” Bakugou stuffed his hands in his pockets just like Gil, and it felt like a stalemate. “Are we gonna do this, or not?” “Fine.” Gil sighed, rolling his head back in a relenting manner. “Like dogs.” Bakugou pulled his hands out, his own nervous sweat already providing enough nitroglycerin to start the fight. Every cell in his body was on fire, elated at the fact that he could finally pummel Gil into a pulp and prove to YN that he was nothing but a manipulating bastard that wanted to sully her. “Finally-!” Bakugou growled, feeling as though he had already won as he rushed forward to strike Gil. “It’s over.” Before Bakugou could hit Gil, though, he disappeared, and Bakugou felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the feeling of someone behind him. A hand started reaching for the back of his neck, but Bakugou twisted around to swat at Gil's arm before he could attack. Gil disappeared again, and Bakugou realised that he was right; it would just be an endless back and forth before one of them got tired. But Bakugou was willing to take that risk. He had seen Gil's quirk in action before; it drained him quickly enough, given that they all sparred in ten-minute increments. Stasis was more of a technical quirk, and Bakugou could use that to his advantage.

He spun around, gritting his teeth and aiming for Gil's stupid face again and that shit-eating grin that haunted his dreams. There was another disappearance, another swing, and it was like a pendulum: where Bakugou swung, Gil would disappear. It was a dance, above all, and a lethal one. Bakugou saw Gil starting to wheeze, and spun his elbow back to sock him in the stomach. Gil barely dodged it, but not with his quirk, instead choosing to side-step, and Bakugou knew he had him on the ropes. It was a sweet victory on the tip of his tongue, and he was just about to make contact when-

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Both men froze when they heard that oh-so-beautiful voice, shock seeping into everyone’s system. The two turned slowly, seeing YN with a look of angry shock on her face. She had a clear umbrella, and the two realised that it had started raining again during their fight. “Uh.” Gil cleared his throat, glancing to the side then back again. “Hello.” “Answer me.” YN’s voice was stern and cold. “What the absolute fuck is going on?” “Nothing.” Both of them answered at once, snapping their arms to their sides in a desperate attempt to seem normal. “Just sparring, babe, it’s noth-” “Babe?” Bakugou felt the shock absolutely drain out of him and rage take its place. “Babe?!” “Ita, I know you’re lyin-” “So?” Gil cut YN off, eyes flashing again. “Do you have a problem?” “Yes! I do!” Bakugou yapped, feeling his hair go on end again. “Are either of you listening-oh my fucking god!” Bakugou didn’t hesitate to absolutely launch his fist into Gil's face for the most satisfying punch of his life. Gil's nose caved in and blood immediately started coming out, pooling onto the pavement. Gil took a second to register that he was even hit before he retaliated, slapping Bakugou’s arm away and promptly socking him in the stomach. YN let out a surprised yelp, dropping her umbrella in shock and getting knocked over by Bakugou trying to dodge another one of Gil's hits. They were fighting, resorting to biting and frothing at the mouth like rabid animals. Bakugou hadn’t felt this level of pure anger ever in his life, and killing seemed like such an easy task against Gil. YN was the only thing that kept him going, his last motivation to even live or succeed. He felt that if he didn’t prove himself, if he didn’t make Gil stand down, then it was for nothing. It didn’t matter that YN was trying to pry them off of each other, swearing bitterly in her confusion, or that Gil was bleeding profusely. Bakugou didn’t care that his hands were covered in Gil’s blood and his own. Nothing mattered anymore but winning. 

Bakugou had boarded the devil’s train of love. And he couldn’t get off. 

[ichorizaki]

02. just one glance

warnings    obscene language, child abuse

word count    3.8k

It was one of those rare days that Tadāo felt weirdly generous. When you woke up, he was still asleep in his half of the bed. When you were making breakfast, he was still in bed. When you were done and waking Tarō up, he was awake and trudged to the kitchen with a somewhat fresh face. Your son was walking on eggshells as he crept to the breakfast table, eyes watching his father carefully like the façade could drop any second. It was a Monday, so that meant that Tadāo was bound to be back in the office, which was why it was a surprise to everyone at the table when he asked what time Tarõ’s daycare ended. You fought back the urge to bite back, to reprimand him that he should know as his father, so you gave him a practiced smile instead.

“He usually ends at noon sharp,” you looked at your husband, trying to look out for even the slightest twitch on his face that told you he was just asking out of curiosity and nothing more. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to take him out for a couple of hours and spend time with him, is that so wrong?” There was an edge in the tone of his words, sharp and jagged to shield what may be the guilt of being absent in Tarō’s life catching up to him. You almost couldn’t believe it. Your eyes quickly flit to your son who was already staring nervously back at you from his seat next to his father. You felt the weight of your heart sinking down to your stomach. His earthy eyes that were once filled with the flames of mirth and mischief were now dampened with trepidation. “What, I can’t take my son out to spend time with him?”

Tadāo’s voice snapped your focus back to the table as a whole. Of course there was nothing wrong, you just didn’t trust him around your son without you around. He called for your attention once more but the way his twisted words somehow sounded like you and Tarō should be thankful that he even suggested it at all.

“Tarō, is that okay with you?” Stuck at a crossroads, you asked your son what he thought about it. You knew he wouldn’t be okay with it—why would he be?—but he and you had a system to protect each other when the other isn’t around. He despises his father with a burning passion but you couldn’t exactly fault him. His brows furrowed, very clearly against the idea of being alone with your husband.

“Give your mother a break. Lord knows she needs it. Right, Y/N?” Tadāo’s eyes found their way to yours and you swallowed thickly. What the hell were you even supposed to say? “Right?”

“Yes,” you quickly responded, your heart tripping over its own feet.

That was how you found yourself sitting in the exact same mall Tadāo had brought your son to with your two best friends by your side. The three of you were cosied up in a 4-star Michelin restaurant for afternoon tea and a lunch buffet. You were supposed to be relaxing but it stressed you out when you tried to. The table was empty, with you occupying one seat as the other three were temporarily homing personal purses and shopping bags.

Mai and Kame had gone ahead to grab some drinks and light starters. Your phone screen was facing you, placed by your plate where you could easily reach it in case Tarō called you. You didn’t even notice that the both of your friends had returned until you realised that you had a strawberry cheesecake parfait set on your plate. Your e/c eyes slowly drifted up to meet Kame’s piercing gaze. Behind the icy grey you knew she meant well, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she sat down across you.

“We know you’re worried for Tarō, Y/N.” Mai’s voice was gentle and soothing as she took your hand in hers. She cupped them both and your eyes trailed from your hands to her face, where a smile akin to a spring flower greeted you. “We can’t do much, but we’re in the same mall as they are, which means if Tarō ever needs help, we’re all here able to rush to him immediately.”

“She’s right,” Kame chimed in. She had already started eating her gyōza and chawanmushi with shrimp. “Plus, did you forget that I’m a taekwondo teacher or something? I can knock your bitch of a husband out, just say when.” While her intentions were nothing but pure, her violent comment did not go unnoticed by the table of pompous middle-aged women behind her.

“Kame, we’re in public!” Mai took the opportunity to kick her in the shin underneath the table upon releasing your hands. The auburn-haired woman scowled childishly and you couldn’t help but smile. Even when you’re all so different, your personalities complement each other well. They were right—there’s nothing much you could do. If you wanted to worry, you could, but you were just putting yourself in a state of pure unbridled worrying. The three of you were finally meeting up after three weeks, with Mia being busy with grad studies and Kame with running her classes.

So you tried your best to ignore the unsettling sensation brewing in the pit of your stomach like a hexing potion. You paid attention to the food, to the conversation, to the atmosphere, and soon you found yourself relaxing. The tension in your shoulders disappeared as you laughed for the nth time that afternoon. The three of you were reminiscing about your college days, making jokes, recalling old classmates and even joking about said classmates. While it had been hell for you as a public relations and business major, the experiences outside of classes made it worthwhile.

Then your mind couldn’t help but wander to Futakuchi Kenji and the incident that happened sometime last week. Your relationship with him extended a little further than just in-laws. He was a business major attending the same university both you and your husband did. Thanks to that, most of your classes happened to overlap and you just happened to be around him a lot. You nearly fainted on the day you found out that they were cousins—they were nothing alike, until you realised how similar they were in terms of their appearances.

Being classmates with Futakuchi was by no means a walk in the park. For some reason, during discourse sessions, it always ended up the both of you being at each other’s throats. Actually, it wasn’t just discourse sessions. If there was no discourse session, he would create one. Discussion panels would turn into debates and the both of you would end up being the last ones standing, too stubborn to stand down until it was just a battle of wits and personal attacks. Oh, how he loves attacking Tadāo. 

“Your strategy is great, but what happens if the media suddenly turns it into something else completely? You know how they can get when they want something newsworthy. They’ll try to shove words down your throat like that crummy boyfriend of yours.” You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Of course Futakuchi Kenji had brought up his cousin. You were beginning to wonder whether he had forgotten about him altogether.

The scoffs, snickers, and snide comments made by your classmates fell on deaf ears. While they were used to it and obviously desensitised, it got annoying when Futakuchi drags out the lesson even by just a minute.

“First of all, thank you for acknowledging my strategy’s worth. Second of all, you’re making up situations entirely based off of biases about the media. You know damn well the journalists in our uni are trained to be professional specialists. Lastly, that’s my fiancé, you sick son of a bitch.”

You couldn’t help but miss those classes. As much as he slandered your husband, he was actually a decent person. He helped out when you struggled, offered you notes, and he always arrived in class early with your favourite drink. The both of you were close, but at the same time barely knew anything about each other. Kame had mentioned something about one of the parties that all three of you went to and had to go streaking but managed to weasel her way out of it, which made your whole table erupt with laughter. However, your happiness was cut short by a loud ringing from your phone.

The caller ID on your phone was enough to send your heart racing against your chest. Tarō would never call you for no reason. The phone that you gave him—a model a whole decade older than he—was for emergency purposes and that only. Your thumb swiped the green icon across the screen and the second you put your phone to your ear, you could hear his laboured breaths.

“K-Kāsan,” his voice came out in choked sobs. “Tōsan is . . he tried to hit me. Please- Please come get me, Okāsan.”

“Where are you, baby?”

“Kiddy Palace in the mall nearby. Please hurry–” The last that you heard before an empty line were angry shouts in the distance. By the end of it, you had already gathered your items and you noticed that so had Mai and Kame, the latter digging into her purse for her wallet as she marched over to the counter to cover the payment.

“Where’s Tarō?” Mai asked, taking your hand in hers.

“Kiddy Palace. That’s the fourth level, right?” She gave you a nod of confirmation and that was all that it took for the both of you to speed out of the restaurant. Kame managed to catch up when you found the lift lobby. The adrenaline coursed through your system like a wave of flood; you could barely keep up with the way your brain was going off on tangents and trying to focus on the steps ahead of you. The worst had come true, and you didn’t want to think that it was just your brain blowing out of proportion.

Kame’s hand was on your back, rubbing soothing circles while Mai held onto your other hand. They were telling you that everything was going to be alright, that Kame was beyond capable of putting your husband back in line. They were trying their best to ease your worries but it could only do so much.

The second the doors began to slide open, you had to squirm past and your feet began to carry you to Kiddy Palace. Blood thumped in your ears, the fear sitting on your face like a pillow suffocating. It didn’t take you long to find Tarō, huddled among plush toys similar to a fortress. The second he saw you, he flung himself over to you, throwing himself in your arms. He was babbling and sobbing; you could barely make out any coherent words when you hoisted him up, holding him close against your body.

“You fucking dog!”

“Kenji, don’t get in between my and my son.”

You froze. Kenji? Futakuchi Kenji? Mai had appeared at your side, her gentle words and cooing to calm Tarō down. She offered to carry him so that “Okāsan’s going to fight Otōsan.” He had no problem shifting from you to her before you ran up to where Kame was, separating the two men from biting off each others’ throats. She stood right in front of him, looking him in the eye and ready to shove him back should he step out of line.

You didn’t even know where to go. To Kenji, or to your husband? Between the both of them, it was your husband who looked more beaten up. Kenji looked spotless while your husband suffered a busted lip and a bruised eye. What were you even going to say to your husband?

“What the fuck are you staring at me for?” You flinched at the harsh words. Mumbles and murmurs came from the onlooking crowd who were unsure on what to do or were too afraid to step in. “Come and help me, you useless bitch.” No sooner had the last syllable left his lips had Kame and Keiji both flung themselves at him, profanities running a mile a minute. Within the blink of an eye, Tadāo was tackled to the ground with both your best friend and his cousin on him.

It took you a heartbeat to realise what was happening. Your head was spinning, your body lurching forward until you were begging for Kame and Kenji both to get off of him. Your pleas and cries finally got through to the two. Weakly, you pulled them off of Tadāo’s body. You couldn’t even bear to look at your husband. With this many people watching– shit. You’ve caused a ruckus in the middle of a mall. 

You spun on the heel of your feet and began to bow at a ninety-degree angle in all directions where there was a visible crowd, voicing out your apologies with a tremble in your voice and a shaking heart. Then, you turned to your husband with tears in your eyes and the choke of a sob in your throat. Your heart hammered threateningly against your chest, watching him carefully as he got onto his two feet.

“Don’t come home tonight.”

“Who the fu–”

“You wanna get fucking beaten up, you punk?!” Kame stomped a foot forward and that was enough to make him flinch the slightest. She grabbed Kenji by his arm and you by your hand, leading you away from the scene. You didn’t know why she dragged him, but it would be nice to know what had gone down and why he was even in the mall in the first place. Mai joined you three with a sniffling Tarō whose cheeks were wet with tears. She suggested that you headed out of the mall and to the McDonald’s across the street for some ice cream to cheer everyone up and everyone unanimously agreed.

So there you sat on a public bench, balancing Tarō on your thighs with a handheld fan in his direction while he happily ate his vanilla ice cream. Mai and Kame sat on either side of you, the former enjoying the seasonal yuzu ice cream and Kame a chocolate cone. Kenji sat quietly next to Mai, the only other person he’s familiar with having known each other since they were in high school.

You learned that Tadāo had been rather passive aggressive in his behaviour towards your son. He was impatient to Tarō’s needs and completely forgot—he probably never even knew about it in the first place—about Tarō’s love for wearing dresses and tiaras. He called his son a slur that is now ingrained in the poor child’s brain for the rest of his natural life and threatened to hit him over and over when Tarō was overwhelmed and threw a tantrum. Tadāo would have struck your child if it hadn’t been for Kenji who happened to be nearby. To your dismay, a fight broke out between them right before you turned up.

Perhaps it was time for you to pull up your socks and talk to Tadāo about his behaviour. Guilt found its way around your heart, wrapping its thick tendrils around it and squeezing it tightly like it was trying to milk an apology out of you. But who was that apology for? You? Or was it for your husband? It should go to Tarō, right? Thoughts raced through your mind, fogging up your vision and before you knew it, your mind was but an incoherent blur of emotions and thoughts.

“Uh, I think I’ll take my leave first.” Turning to your left, Kenji was getting up from his spot next to Mai. “Take care, okay? You need to do something about him.” His warm eyes then landed on Tarō and you couldn’t help but notice a certain glint of curiosity in them. Your son squirmed uncomfortably in your laps. You knew how he got around any adult male but it was a surprise altogether to see him hiss at Kenji.

“Oya, I didn’t know my favourite boy was a cat!” Mai immediately stole his attention. Tarō lets out a tiny humph, nose upturned before his lower lip jutted out into a pout. The five-year-old frowned at Mai, who teased him as she picked him up to settle him next to her. “You’re a big boy now and you still wanna sit on your mommy’s lap?”

“I’m gonna sit on Okāsan’s laps even when I’m bigger!”

“Even when she’s old and wrinkly like a grandma?” Tarō was left speechless as his baby browns darted between you and Mai who was laughing her ass off. You rolled your eyes, smacking her in the back of her head before getting up to talk to Kenji.

He had his hands in his pockets, kicking at the rocks that found their way from the asphalt and it reminded you of a small child feeling sheepish. You noticed how his muscles flexed and relaxed underneath the fabric of his fitted black shirt before noticing how he was so casually dressed for a Monday afternoon. Was he unemployed? Or maybe retired, even? You knew he owned his company and he’s earning himself an empire of gold but you didn’t know just how much gold he had in his tavern.

“Kenji,” you called out cautiously, staying a safe distance from him. He turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Did he not expect you to approach him? “Thank you for saving Tarō. Lord knows what would’ve happened without you there.” He didn’t make any move to close the distance between the both of you. The corners of his lips twitched upwards into a lazy smile.

“Guess it’s gotta be pure luck for you, huh?” You scoffed at that. Or at least, tried. You were relieved and you weren’t going to lie about that. You would thank him in some other way, a gift maybe, but you knew your husband would blow it out of proportion and that would be a whole other issue altogether.

“Luck, fate, whatever it is, I’m just glad that you were there, okay? I know what kind of person Tadāo is and what kind of person he can be. The last thing I’d ever let him do is lay his hand on my son.” He must have heard how earnest you were because when he took a deep breath, you saw how his features softened as he looked back into your (e/c) eyes. You didn’t know if he was searching for the right words to say, a delicate response to express that he didn’t mind at all, until you noticed a sleek black car pull up by the curbside. What was it with him being interrupted all the time?

“You know I’d do anything to make sure that that bastard’s out of your life. Hell, that’s probably the only agenda in my book right now,” he chuckled. Kenji lifted his hand to give you a gentle pat on your head. “I’ll get going now. You know I’m just a phone call away.”

You watched as he turned his back on you, waiting patiently as the car door slid open automatically to reveal an all-black leather interior. He ducked his head and entered the vehicle but not before giving you one last wave goodbye, the door sliding over and securing him safely in the car.

That was the longest interaction that he had with you yet ever since he had gotten home from Yokohama. Kenji leaned back in his seat, head rocking back against the headrest. He closed his eyes and the picture of Tarō formed in his head. There was just . . . there was just something about that kid that unsettled him. It was probably the way that he suddenly hissed when he was trying to find the courage to ask if he was okay. The kid didn’t really look like you.

Oh, you. All these years and he thought you’d have left the sick bastard of a human being that he had as a cousin that you have as a husband. Yet again he was proven wrong with the silver band on your ring finger. What bothered him was the lack of a ring on Tadāo’s ring finger.

The entire ride home, his mind was plagued with thoughts of you and Tarō. The dynamic that you both had made him miss his own mother. You were so caring, so gentle and so soft but in that kindness of you was a strength hardened by all of the shit that Tadāo had forced you into. You didn’t let your hardships define you, and that was something that he’s always admired you for.

Kenji fiddled with his phone as he alighted the car, thanking the driver as he made his leave. Maybe he should call his mother. But he already called her two days ago. He knew that she would tease him to no end should he call her any sooner. He only called once a week, but even then, his mother is usually the one calling in a mere day after he had done so.

His butler greeted him as he entered the threshold of his large and lonely household, a friendly greeting returned along with a smile. He immediately found himself headed into the direction of his library, where not only had he stashed archives of literature works but also archives of his own past. He wasn’t one to keep photo albums in his room, choosing to keep them safely and neatly tucked away in the library with the other books that he had. 

Nostalgia in waves as he settled down in his chair, opening up the album to be greeted with his baby pictures. His phone was set on the table before him, the line ringing on speaker as he waited for his mother to pick up. He flipped through the pages slowly, a fond smile on his face as he watched himself grow. He was such an adorable baby. Cheeks red, full and always stuffed with rice or some of his favourite candy.

Then, he came across a picture that struck a chord through his chest. He couldn’t have been any older than seven years old in the picture, perhaps six. He was at the beach, sporting a gigantic toothy grin. His hair was wet and stuck to his skin, yellow goggles hanging loosely around his neck and the bulge of his tummy ever so visible through the navy blue of the swimming suit he was wearing. He would have been mistaken to be extremely elated to be at the beach if it weren’t for how red his eyes were. Wait a minute . . . this looked all too familiar. Where had he seen this before; this very expression of a young boy grinning with tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes? Ah. Then it had hit him.

Masayūki Tarō looks exactly like him when he was younger.

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