#but his attack voice lines are so fucking. There is a balance needed between the softness and the power that he has and uh

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

bucky’s “gimme a minute, baby” in that skin-on-skin drabble has me in such a chokehold i’m actually struggling to breath right now and oops i just died. building on that, how do you think bucky kind of balances that control while also being the absolute man of service he is? hard to imagine him struggling for dominance—that man is NOT a sub—but he’s definitely walking a line between calling the shots and being on his fucking knees.

Bucky wants skin on skin…

I blame it on Bucky’s tunnel vision and tenacity. He can’t help but go after what he wants. He can’t help but lose his pride over it. Can’t help but have you…

The breath that rushes from him is ragged and desperate. Your fingers curl in his slightly sweat-matted tresses, tugging his face up so his glistening chin tilts upward and his glossy eyes meet yours from between your legs. He wants to speak, but he’s struggling for words. It seems strange to be able to bring him to this state - not submission, but utter desperation.

“What is it, Bucky?” you ask him and his eyes flutter when you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Baby,” he rasps.

“Hm?”

“Come on,” he sighs. “Let me just- Just…”

You smile at him and slightly shift your hips, his eyes drifting down to watch the movement and his throat bobbing as he swallows. This is torture for him and you can’t fathom someone wanting you so badly. You’re almost scared of what he will do to you when you allow him to lower his mouth back onto you.

In truth, you needed him to stop for a second. Your orgasm came toward you way too quickly. It was too much and your thighs had been shaking like crazy.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask him before your disbelief overrules the euphoric feeling you get when this man wants you like this.

His fingers curl in the sheets, the metal whirring with the movement. This is the kind of restraint you’ve seen from him in battle, when he wants to attack, but is waiting for orders. This is a soldier. A soldier waiting for the order to attack. To kill.

“Wanna lick you,” he mutters and his cheek falls to your inner thigh, pupils growing as his eyes dart between your glistening cunt and your flushed face. “Want to see you come.”

You shake your head and tilt it at him. “You weren’t trying to make me come.”

His mouth curves up at the corner. Bastard. He has his own agenda.

His brow drops as he straightens his position. His hands slowly curl from the sheets and slide to your thighs, squeezing the outside and sliding to your inner thighs.

Your confidence falters. And his smirk fully comes out when he knows you’ve caught on, his hands pressing down to open your thighs as far as they go.

“Let me have what I want, sweetheart,” he mumbles and presses lazy kisses over your thighs, visibly depriving himself of what he really wants - taunting himself. His voice is soft, but you know better than to think you have the power. You’re talking to a man starving.

Something in your belly twists at the thought and Bucky snickers at your pussy convulsing. His finger darts out and traces over your folds.

“Buck…”

“We want the same thing, don’t we?” he asks.

You nod, words lost.

“Good girl,” he says, lips fluttering against your clit with the words. You shudder. “You know I’d beg for it.”

Fuck, you do. He would. He has.

In defeat, you drop your head back between your shoulders with a long breath. You hear him laugh softly, feel his grip steady on your thighs.

Then you feel his mouth.

Oh no…

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

could we pretty please get a sequel to “Gimme” 🥺🙏

Yessss! It's a little short, but it flows well with the buildup from Part 1. I hope you like it:)

Gimme - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader - Part 2

Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

Part 1

This Contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: After a spicy text conversation, Ethan wants to act out a new fantasy.

A/N: a lot of people were asking for this, I hope you guys like it:)

The anticipation kept building as you waited for Ethan to arrive. The throbbing between your legs kept getting worse as you reread the messages the two of you exchanged. When you heard your doorbell, you jumped off your bed, running down the stairs to open the door. When you let Ethan in, you barely made it out of the doorway before his lips were on yours. He pushed you up against the wall, kissing down your neck.

“Babe, I need you, like right now,” you said, desperately needing the orgasm you didn’t get to have earlier.

He didn’t say anything as he took your hand leading you up the stairs. When he walked past your bedroom, you started to get a little confused, until you ended up in the bathroom. You had a questioning look on your face as he grabbed you by your hips, lifting you onto the countertop.

“I have this new fantasy,” he said, standing between your legs. His hands ran over your thighs as he nuzzled his head into your neck.

“A new fantasy?” you questioned. You felt his mouth smirk against you.

“Those pictures you sent on the bathroom counter made me really want to bend you over it. Then, I started to think about making you watch yourself in the mirror as I fuck you,” he said, sliding his hands under your shirt.

“Let’s do it then before I have to get myself off on this counter,” you said, his face pulling away from your neck to look at you. You couldn’t wait any longer, the desire to feel him inside of you overpowering any patience you had.

He lifted your shirt over your head as you unhooked your bra. His hands moved to your hips as he started to get the lower half of your body uncovered. When he saw the huge wet spot on your panties, a small groan slipped out past his lips.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so wet,” he said, before sliding those down, too.

“I’ve been like this since you first started texting me earlier,” you said, your voice dripping with lust.

“I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer,” he said, leaning forward and attacking your pussy with his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned out.

The head he was giving you was sloppy and aggressive as he moved his mouth against you. His hands squeezed your thighs as your fingers went to his hair.

After a few minutes, he pulled away. You whined at the loss of contact, until you saw him slide his pants down his legs.

“Slide of the counter, baby,” he said, releasing himself from the confinement of his boxers.

You did as he said. He turned you around to make you look at yourself in the mirror.

“I want you to see what you look like when I’m fucking you,” he whispered as he inched closer to you.

You placed your hands flat against the counter and stood on your tippy toes as he lined up at your entrance.

“Watch yourself, baby,” he said lowly as he slid in.

You watched your mouth involuntarily fall open at the feeling of him stretching you out. You watched the way your eyebrows knitted together when he hit just the right spot. You watched the way your breasts swayed as he pounded into you.

You knew you weren’t going to last much longer when he snaked his hand around your hip to rub circles on your swollen clit.

“Oh shit,” you moaned out, the feeling of your building orgasm making it harder for you to keep your balance on your toes.

He removed his fingers from your clit, grabbing your hips to help hold you in place.

The pitch of your moans got higher and higher as your legs started to shake. Your eyes started to screw shut.

“Watch your self cum,” he groaned, knowing his own orgasm was brewing.

You opened your eyes to see your body shaking, and a blissful smile on your lips.

As your orgasm rocked through you, and you tightened around Ethan, he pulled out, releasing his hot cum on your ass.

He placed you back down on your feet, but still held on to you as you tried to balance yourself.

“If you have any other fantasies you want to act out, let me know,” you said with a laugh.

Your eyes connected with his in the mirror as he kissed your shoulder.

“Oh, baby. I have several different fantasies about you.”

[the-slasher-files]

WORKING HARD OR HARDLY WORKING

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

A smutty fic totally inspired by a friend who said he was hungry and wanted to leave work so he could eat pussy lol... and Mr Soap is the man with that energy. Fem reader with female anatomy... enjoy🤍🔪

MASTERLIST

A typical rainy UK day had passed you by. Johnny was home from deployment, but he wasn't completely yours, and he never would be. It was something you had accepted in the early stages of a playful, blossoming relationship. The army was his North Star and had melted into the very fibre of his being. Mundane but beautiful, Johnny had risen before the songbirds, brushed his teeth, and swapped the sleep shorts for boxers and his fatigues. Lazily stumbling through the dim light of your bedroom, placing a soft kiss on your temple and headed out to the base.

You would be lying if you had said that the work and life balance did not frustrate you, but he made up for every little moment when Johnny was home. Today was no different.

The clicking of typing and shuffling of papers filled your small office room within your townhouse. Voices over patchy computer microphones faded in and out as your team went over the last quarter of reports and statistics.

"May through June was our best..."

Your manager's voice dragged on as you tapped your pen against the pages of your lined notebook, pursing your lips and watching your bored coworkers upon your screen. That was until you nearly screamed, catching movement behind you on your camera before whipping around with your heart in your throat and wide eyes. It was just your fucking handsome boyfriend making you almost have a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ, John!" You whisper yelled at the scot before quickly muting your mic and shutting your camera.

Normally, the warm and playful energy would be beaming within your space, however, Johnny seemed oddly preoccupied. "Lass, I just..." A frustrated sigh passed his lips, "Had to come home to ya,"

"Is—are you okay?" There was an instant pull of worry on your features, about to stand from your office chair, "Johnny, what's wrong?"

Large hands, gently kept you seated and knelt on the fluffy rug beneath you. Furrowing your brow in concern, the meeting was completely fallen on deaf ears as you cupped his strong jaw, searching for an answer on Johnny's tanned face.

"I needed you" He gruffed out, lust coating each word.

Finally, he gazed up at you with his signature smile and calloused hands smoothing up your thighs.

"Fuckin—" You breathlessly laughed, the worry and concern melting away in his azure eyes.

"I'm hungry" Johnny groaned, thick fingers needing your hips slowly and bowing to kiss each knee.

"Sweetheart, I'm in a meeting right now, but there are leftovers in—"

"No, baby." There was a deepness in his chest when he replied, a tingle sparking within your spine at it. Rough yet skillful fingers almost pulled off the button of your trousers. "I'm hungry for you,"

With a call of his name on your lips, you protested but lifted your hips anyway, allowing your pants to be pulled off and tossed across the floor. Exposed only in your black lace underwear and button-down blouse, your face flushed and breath caught. Each kiss the scot had placed on your soft skin from ankle to thigh lit you on fire. Wetness growing fast as you squirmed beneath his wildfire touch.

"Y/n? ... Y/n?"

You froze at your manager's voice and Johnny just chuckled between your legs, "Continue your meetin' darling"

Cursing under your breath, you turned on your camera and microphone, "Sorry... um, my connection went out for a few m-minutes"

"That's alright, let's review the new topics f—"

"Such pretty little lace" John muttered against your hot core, lips sucking and kisses on the sticky fabric.

Trying to desperately compose yourself, face red and a hand gripping your pen with white knuckles, you flinched once his hot tongue laved across the clinging lace. Nudging your clit softly, those sea blue eyes met yours seeing the struggle, want, need and anger swirling through. He couldn't get enough. Spanking your cunt lightly with a rapid succession, Johnny motioned his head to your computer as your coworker as you question about something you were lost on.

Flying your eyes to the screen, there were puzzling looks, some just zoned out and others awaiting your response. "Sorry, my, um, dog is annoying me," you placed emphasis on the word dog, glancing down quickly to see John's squinted expression. This earned you a gentle warning bite to your clit, wanting to jump back but his hands held you still.

"To answer your question, I have been working closely on this with..." You fought on against the assault of your partner down below, voice professional in placid answers.

Only he could notice the dips and croons within your voice, as he basically spoke directly to your pussy in hushes mumbles, "such a sweet, wet cunt... a needy girl... look how wet she's getting as she tries to focus.."

It was manageable with a steel, stubborn focus you had fortunately been born with, but those walls were crumbling fast. There was a click of a knife, cool metal faster than you could realize and your panties were gone. Hot swipes of his wide tongue made you grip the brown fluffy Mohawk on top of your man's head, fingers tangling within it, reminding you to cut his hair after he ate you alive. Catching your bottom lip to hide a whine, it only made Johnny work faster like a man starved.

The hot magma licked inside the pit of your stomach, managing to reach foreward to mute your mic once the direction of the meeting was turned upon your coworkers, you couldn't help but give out the moan. Needy and wanton, leaning back in your chair, your hips rolled against against his face feeling rough stubble, hot saliva and your own juices now pooling underneath you.

"Fuck, hen... Christ you taste so good" Johnny hummed, the deep vibrations of his voice only made it harder to look normal on your Webcam. "Couldn't stop thinking about this pretty little cunt. Begging me to come home and fuck you..."

"John, J-John" Sweetly, you begged for it feeling so close yet so far in your pleasure.

Bringing the hand that held your pen up to your mouth, chewing on the plastic, hoping you didn't look too suspicious, but in the same breath your shits to give was dwindling. A deep rumble of a groan shot through him, lapping up every single drop of you as he plunged in a finger.

"Oh my god, baby, please" Johnny added a second finger quickly, making you gasp and twist. Your heel digging into the wide plans of muscle that was his back.

He pulled back with a string connecting you two, "Well would you look at this greedy little girl, huh?... Fucking needy angel,"

Flushed, hot cheeks were visible now to your team, along with the obvious wiggles, and you begged this fucking meeting to just be over. John's fingers curled inside you and his skilled lips sucked on your clit, feeling just how close you were it made him chuckle.

"Well, that concludes our meeting fo—"

Instantly, John slammed down your laptop, standing in front of you. Crashing his lips to yours, you grappled against him. Thick muscle flexing under your touch and his fingers pumped faster, noises of your slick, squelched sloppily as your end came strongly inside you. Moaning his name out as his tongue fucked your mouth, the effect of your orgasm splashed his large hand, bringing you slowly down from your high.

"Fucking missed you today" Johnny's accent was heavier with lust, drawing out his fingers to bring them to his own mouth and humming at the taste of you.

"I'm gonna need a good explanation in the next metting." You smiled, breathing heavy.

"It was just your dog" He beemed back, leaning down and laughing against your lips in bliss.

"I need to buy you a collar"

"I'm not opposed to that"

[whorety-k]

Ebony Coasts [Part 7] [Final]

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: The Night - Aurelio Voltaire “This just seems very strange to me / that her quiet lonely streets / Draped in all their mystery / could be so sweet and comforting / But the night / she calls me.”

Warnings: NSFW, Ocean mentions / potential thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, SMUT, I repeat NSFW CONTENT, utter fucking FILTH, author’s interpretation of merfolk anatomy, likely unrealistic anatomy, consent and communication are sexy, praising, temperature, scent kink, size kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink talk, disgustingly fluffy and sickeningly sweet

Word Count: 3.4k

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

A phosphorescent haze clouds your vision and blurs the edges of each shape. Sounds muddle in your ears and everything became unclear around you, but you had been here before and you knew the way to go. Each step simultaneously feels like a light year and an inch as you make your way through the cavern, and it was difficult not to find yourself dizzy on the suffocating atmosphere. When had you become so out of breath?

You duck your head into the bedspace, eyes catching on the myriad of shining treasures lining the walls once again. Corvus sat alone in the center of his nest, teeth worrying into his lower lip. The ebony and ivory merman lie twitching on his side and covering his eyes with a slick forearm, huffing out little fluttery breaths. You couldn’t see so much as hear the wet slide as he rolled his hips and grunted with each thrust. 

Parched, you lick your lower lip and try to approach the squirming figure, feet heavy with each labored step. Each footfall makes no sound within the small space, swamped by the needy huffs and twists. You reach out to place a hand against Corvus’s wide back, surprised to find the surface hot to the touch. A massive arm rolls up to reveal pleading black eyes, consuming you whole as the pale mer reaches behind you and harshly drags you over. 

The hand at your back plasters you against his clammy skin, Corvus rolling onto his back to make it easier for him to hold you close. His lips move, but you’re unable to decipher any of what he’s saying as you move forward. He tugs you closer again, a bit more roughly than you’re used to. The action sets you off balance, pressing chest to chest with your mer and gripping on tightly to avoid slipping. Drunk on the aura of musk, you lean forward to kiss him, lips parted as he melts into you—

A final jolt through your body finds you waking with a start, panting against porcelain skin like you’ve just finished a marathon. You sit up with a groan. That dream again. You’ve been having them since the admission of Corvus having to share his ‘genetic material’ to craft his ‘sons’. He hasn’t done much more to explain that scenario, letting your brain run wild with the concept in all sorts of traitorous ways.

Your entire body feels hot in your lounge clothes and you grip your shirt collar to fan yourself out, blind to the hand on your shoulder until it shakes you once again. Bashfully, you look up.

Corvus is staring down at you with squinted eyes, scenting the air carefully. He moves a cold thumb to stroke your burning cheeks, speaking in a voice laced with concern, “Are you well, my pearl?”

Still winded, you nod your heavy head… only to notice the red streaks your nails have carved into the soft canvas of his chest. Oops. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!” you squeak, running a palm over the lines in an attempt to soothe them. 

Corvus places a calming hand over yours, stopping you. “That dream must have been intense for you to have attacked me so,” he banters, chuckling, “There is no need to fret. Your claws are far too dull to harm me.” You look into Corvus’s eyes with a guilty expression, and he tuts at you before bowing down to place a kiss at the crown of your head. “You are forgiven,” he says, and you smile. You feel Corvus readjust himself beneath you.

“Intense is a way to put it,” you reply, sweatpants rustling as you shift lower into his lap to lessen the strain of looking at one another. Corvus’s nostrils marginally flair at the movement, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, a cold hand finds your hip and keeps you from going any lower than the first line of scales over his tail. 

Corvus nods his head, “You had been tossing fitfully for a long while, but the clawing prompted me to wake you. I apologize for interrupting your slumber.” He takes one of your hands in his, rolling your fingers between his idly as if studying them. 

You make a claw-hand with the opposite and pantomime the motion of swiping at him. Playfully, you announce, “Maybe you should be more careful of having an apex predator in your bed.”

Corvus eyes you incredulously, blinking once. “Perhaps I should,” he rumbles. The bastard taps you with one of his own claws as he lets your fingers go, resting his hand on your thigh.

You scoot forward, accidentally placing your hands beside the mer’s cool gill covers as you frown up at him in challenge, but you’re almost sent tumbling when Corvus reflexively twitches upwards. He’s quick to catch you and apologize, but now it’s your turn to give him a skeptical look. “Can’t handle my ferocity?” you taunt.

Corvus’s cheeks tinge a dusty mauve and he averts his gaze, focusing on a rusted coin on the wall. “I argue it’s your intensity,” he admits, taking another heavy breath of air. 

You recline, intent on staring at him until he explains himself, but the action of sitting back causes your hands to brush against the soft fins at the front of his scaled hips. Swiftly, you place them to the side and bark out a, “Sorry!”

Corvus’s eyes blow wide, chest broad with a held breath as he forces himself to calm down. His mouth hangs open as he lets out a tense pant, easing back against the bed of furs with a thump. His head rolls back, and you hear a mutter of, “Throne, give me strength…” under his breath before clawed hands grasp your hips, holding you firmly in place.

Beneath your palms, the smooth expanse of scales distorts, noticeably tented under your fingers. Shifting causes Corvus to suck in another breath, snapping his head forward to stare at you.

Oh.

Oh. 

The mer holds strained eye contact with you as you both sit in silence, neither of you daring to move and break the tense moment. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears as the ever-watchful gaze of the mer pins you to the spot. Tentatively, you press a hand into the bulge, your careful caress rewarded with Corvus’s eyes rolling back into his head and a careful buck into the touch.

You try to press against him again, but Corvus uses the grip he has on your hips to slide your body lower, thrusting up against the apex of your thighs. A moan spills from your throat as you throw your head back from the rough contact, rocking your hips back to meet him. 

When you look forward again, Corvus is staring at you, expression hesitant. He rakes his eyes up and down your body, taking in the pretty curve of your back. Internally, the mer is at war with himself: torn between what he knows he wants and what he thinks is right. His mouth opens and closes as he attempts to find the words to say.

“This isn’t… wise. I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Corvus is caught off guard by need in your tone, eyes snapping up to meet yours again. His mouth closes in a grimace, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks. He teeters the line of reason and yearning, so afraid of hurting your fragile body, and so unable to handle the consequences if he does. What would he do if you were injured by his unnatural strength? He could not take you to an apothecary, nor could he get you to another human. He was useless outside of his designated purpose, and you had no business entertaining his biological responses.

“Corvus.” You say, reaching toward him.

He hadn’t even noticed his eyes drifting until you called out to him. Reluctant eyes find yours once more, and he sighs. He presses his face into your palm, squishing it between his hand and his cheek. Though still so full of want, his eyes regard you with a tender reverence that his dream counterpart could never get right.

You smile at him as he gazes at you.

“I want you,” you breathe.

The words cause Corvus’s shoulders to visibly relax, and he discards his former train of thought. Who is he to deny you this? You’ve been nothing short of caring, both in regards to him and to his sons. His little human that fought to protect his home, always brought him little treasures, and treated him so kindly despite what he is. He could have wed you the moment you sacrificed your sweet treat for Shrike despite having only just met him, only proving the radiance of your kind heart. 

For you, Corvus could do anything.

You let out a startled yelp as Corvus lifts you up, switching your positions with a graceful roll. He places you down onto the makeshift bed gently, taking advantage of the new position to place his large head between your thighs. 

The scent of you so close drives him wild, causing the mer to salivate at the intoxicating aroma of your arousal. He maintains eye contact as he drags his long tongue across the damp fabric of your sweats. The taste makes him whimper, and he can’t help but grind his hips into the furs. 

You gawk down at Corvus, rolling into the contact with a hot breath. “Do you want me to take those off—”

“Yes.”

Corvus sits upright, watching as you shuffle out of your sweats, dragging down your underwear with them. You kick off the fabric as it pools at your ankles and lay back, completely bared before him. The sight awaiting you has you salivating.

Dressed in a rosy flush, Corvus leans over you with hungry eyes, propped up on his hands. The fins at the front of his hips are parted, a purple-grey slit drooling desire as the head of his cock pushes its way out. His chest rises and falls with heavy pants. Your mer looks utterly ravenous.

You stare at his length as it emerges, swallowing the saliva pooling on your tongue. He’s huge, tapered from head to base not unlike a dolphin, and as if to prove the point, Corvus brings his hips to yours, resting himself over your abdomen. You’re almost surprised by the cool sensation, but not nearly as much as he is by the warmth.

“There’s no way I’m taking all of that without some really good stretching.”

Corvus seems to agree, nodding, but he doesn’t stop himself from rutting once between your folds before shifting back, eliciting a soft moan from you. He looks down at his clawed hands with a frown, lamenting the inability to do such a task himself. 

You give him a sympathetic look and make to reach between your legs. “It’s alright, I’ve done this plenty of times before—”

A lightbulb flickers behind Corvus’s eyes, and he pushes your hand aside. Instead, the pale mer leans you back against the furs once more, tilting your hips up and parting your thighs. You watch as he licks a stripe between your folds, flicking your bud with the tip. The pads of his thumbs have no trouble opening you up before he’s pressing the tip of his tongue into your tight little hole.

You keen out a noise of pleasure, unable to contain yourself as Corvus devours you like his final meal. He pulls away to plant kisses along the inside of your thighs before delving back in for more of your honey, chin glistening with a mixture of spit and arousal. The burning stretch of his tongue is delicious, drawing forth more pleads and cries. Corvus thoroughly explores your dripping cunt until you can feel that distinct coiling in your abdomen, heart hammering and breaths leaving you in ragged whines.

“So sweet, little gem,” he sighs, laving your nub and pressing a kiss to it, “So good.”

The tension in your body snaps as he dives back in, and you come hard on the giant’s tongue, heels digging into his shoulders and holding his head still. Corvus moans with you, helping you coast down from your high with a cool hand rubbing circles on the outside of your thigh. 

You shudder as Corvus withdraws his tongue and licks you clean, before doing the same to his sopping chin. You give him a hazy look as endorphins flood your body, moaning as you feel his cockhead tease against your entrance. “I wish it wouldn’t be so difficult to kiss you like this,” you murmur, and Corvus’s ear fins droop. 

“Alas, there is little we can do to remedy that,” he replies, sliding back and forth between your folds. You can’t tell which of you is wetter, but the easy glide is intoxicating and makes you feel all the more empty. “Do you feel ready?” Corvus asks with another drag along his shaft.

You nod your head, pulling your legs closer to your chest to make the impending stretch easier. “Please, I do not know how much longer I can— Oh!” He didn’t either.

The feeling of his cock breaching your cunt makes your head spin. It’s cold, but it feels divine. You swallow him greedily, breathing heavily as you adjust to the intrusion. Even with the combined slickness, the stretch burns. You throw your head back, eyes clenched shut as the mer works you open.

Corvus leans forward, bending at an awkward angle to get as close to you as he possibly can. “You’re doing so good, so warm,” he whispers, waiting for your body to acclimate. He kisses the crown of your head tenderly while stroking a parted thigh. When you think you can take it, Corvus presses in the final few inches until his hips are flush with yours, stretching you to the hilt.

You let out a deep breath before opening your eyes, staring into that comforting abyss you’ve come to love. He cups one of your cheeks and smiles down at you, curtains of black silken hair tickling your cheeks. Reaching down to feel the connection between you, you’re surprised to feel a prominent bulge in your lower abdomen. You lean up to look at it, and Corvus follows.

“You take me so well, my pearl,” he mutters, placing his hand over the mound and gazing longingly at the rounded flesh. His voice is heavy with thought, almost distant as he speaks, “You would be gorgeous, carrying my sons.” 

Corvus’s tone carries melancholy, and it aches you to have such a beautiful moment tainted by it. You place your hand over his to redirect his attention to you, clenching down around him. “Then fuck me like I could.”

Your words draw a snarl out of the giant, one of his hands clutching the bedding beside you before slowly withdrawing his hips, then slamming into you. The first thrust jolts you half a foot up the bed before Corvus’s hands find your hips, dragging you back to meet him as he fucks into you. His cock punches up into you in a way that has you blabbering utter nonsense. Your thighs are slick with your juices and his, a symphony of wet slaps as his hips repeatedly meet yours. 

Above you, Corvus’s head hangs as he moans praise. “Humans… are so hot. So tight,” he babbles, losing any semblance of higher thinking as he drunkenly plunges his cock back into your pussy with a gasp, “Such a good girl, taking all of me…”

Your walls flutter at the praise, and you drop your hold on your legs, letting them splay wide around Corvus’s waist. With a shout, your nails find the meat of his forearms, scratching the white flesh there and pulling a hiss from the giant as you clamp down around him. You’re grateful for this beach being protected and so far away from anybody, else you would be fearful to face another living soul later from the sounds you’ve been making.

Corvus slows, lost in the feeling of your cunt pulsing around his cock as you cum again, gently rocking his hips into you to help you ride out your pleasure. 

You pant and whimper beneath him, encouraging him to continue. “You haven’t cum yet,” you whine.

Corvus’s hips continue their unhurried roll, grinding against you once more before they still. He sits back to pull out, stating, “I do not need to. I am content with this.” 

You, however, are far from content with that. Even thoroughly fucked open and tired, thighs coated in a dusty purple liquid and your own cum, you have at least one more round in you, and you are not leaving here without a thorough examination of a new species. 

Your heels lock against the sides of his hips, only just able to hold him there. “I want you to finish.”

Corvus shakes his head, “I can finish another time—”

You’re having none of it. “Inside of me.”

He stares at you, and you stare back. The sudden feeling of being speared open once again sends a shock of heat up your spine, Corvus’s hips meeting yours in an instant. Instead of fucking into you with abandon, though, he savors the feeling of you around him. The languid pace allows you to watch each shudder of his pale skin, or admire how his eyelids flutter when he pushes all the way in. Gorgeous groans erupt from his chest when you clench down around him, causing the rhythmic bucks of his hips to stutter. Inky black eyes gaze down into yours as if you were the moon and the stars.

You reach out for him, palm open and patiently waiting. And, just as he had in your dream, he meets you halfway. 

But this Corvus is your Corvus. Gentle. Sweet. Caring. A far cry from the rough pulls and pushes your subconscious had imagined.

His pace begins to falter as he grasps your hand in his own, eyes rolling back. You snake a hand down to your clit to help finish yourself off, and the tremors of your walls tip Corvus over the edge. For a final time, your body trembles as you cum on Corvus’s cock. The moan Corvus emits is nothing short of sinful when he spills cold seed deep inside of your core, cock twitching with each spurt of semen. His hips continue to grind against you until the spasms stop, drawing back and pulling out. 

Corvus gently pushes your body to the side before dropping like an anchor onto the bed, panting like a dog. He tucks himself away, then rests his head on folded arms, hair completely disheveled. 

You turn to face him, wincing at the feeling of lukewarm cum dripping down your inner thighs. The air is moist and heavy with the smell of sex and salt. A little cleanup is going to be necessary— some of the furs underneath you are genuinely beyond saving— but, for now, it can wait. 

When your hand finds Corvus’s shoulder, he picks his head up to look over at you, face full of adoration and wearing a soft smile. “Are you satisfied?” he mumbles.

You nod your head, lifting yourself up to rest your chin on his bicep. Corvus lifts a knuckle to stroke your cheek, and you lean into the affectionate touch. A strong midnight tail curls around your smaller body, bringing you close enough for Corvus to turn and wrap his arms around. In a dance you’ve practiced what feels like a hundred times before, you tuck your head under his chin and close your eyes. 

“I love you,” you voice, placing a kiss to the top of a pectoral.

Corvus freezes around you, dumbfounded. His mind races with a million different reasons why you shouldn’t— but for once, he shuts it down. You love him, and nothing would stop the fact that you would do everything to prove it, just as he would. You offered the pearl, and you accepted the pearl. To Corvus, you are greater than any piece of treasure he could bring into his den, and that’s all he needs to know.

Instead of a voice of complaint, you’re suffocated half to death within the grasp of an ecstatic purring merman and he holds you tighter.

“I love you too, my pearl.”

Sticky, satisfied, and happy, the both of you drift off to sleep in the disaster of a bed of your own making.

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

@bispecsual

Happy final day of Mermay everybody!! I hope this has been worth the long wait it took. I had a lot of fun with this mini-series and Iearned a lot as a writer.

Not as a person, though. I'm a freak for Big Men and I know that. You know that. We all are afflicted.

Thank you guys for sticking around!!

[terrence-silver]

Can you do one with violent sex with drunk old man Terry? Beloved get’s apreenssive cause she already knows what’s coming for her when she sees drunk old man Terry stambeling late night into the house

---

Scorpions are 100% unpredictable.

They will sting you, even if they kill themselves in the process.

Several species of Scorpion have a courtship ritual that appears to walk a fine line between wooing and attacking. A male Scorpion will lead a female on a dance-like walk, known as a promenade à deux, holding her by the pedipalps (large claws). During this waltz, males have been observed stinging their partners;

--- Idle trivia pounded through his mind even as he stumbled over the manor's threshold, shoulder rubbing against the frame of the door, leaning on it as he attempted to maintain balance. He knew you'd be waiting. He knew it. You always waited for him. Even though it was three in the morning, little loyal devoted thing that you were, he knew you would be right there, diligently expecting his return and he isn't wrong. He's never wrong as he hears your voice call through the darkness of the lobby, undoubtedly alerted by the sound emanating from the hallway. He wasn't exactly trying to be quiet. Wasn't exactly trying to be sneaky or discreet. He wanted you to realize he was coming. Oh, did he ever.

-”Terry! You’re back!”-

He sees your form emerging through the shadows, seeming worried, moving at a brisk pace, arms extended, reaching towards him like he needed any fucking help. He was old but he wasn't a fucking cripple. He wasn't handicapped. He was more capable than you were at your green age. More agile. Stronger. Thirty years back, he'd show you a thing or two about endurance. Real power. Real damage. He clicks his tongue, brushing you off, stumbling wordlessly forward. Your brows shoot up, overshadowered with concern, like you were confused with the gesture --- hurt and attempting not to show it, right before trying again, stubborn in your devotion. He knew you would do that as well. So predictable. Everything you did was sweet, stupid and predictable. The fact that you were eager to him coming home, even though he was coming him in a state...it ached so much he could feel his skin shiver. His jaw goddamn nearly trembling. -”Terry, let me help you, please!”- You grab his forearm, tenderly, doing so without asking, stepping in front of him, cutting his space of movement off. Now, that he doesn't appreciate. -”I don’t need your,”- Terry seethes, not caring how inebriated he sounded, his words laced with hiccups. -”Or anyone’s help!”-

Maybe that would give you a hint to keep your distance.

-”You’re not doing well.”-

You remark, ever so politically correct and caring of his fucking feelings, trying to avoid calling things by their proper name. He wasn't doing well? No. Correction; he was drunk. Plastered. Shitfaced. A lesser man would be crawling all over the floor by now, but he? He was no lesser man. He still had enough tenacity in him tonight to smite you for even giving a damn what he was up to. Terry reaches forward, not bothering to give you a warning, snatching your wrist and squeezing on the gentle flesh. -”And who do you think is to blame for that, huh?”- He slides forward, face to face, until he was certain you could smell his breath; Perfect. Be repulsed by it. You should've been a smart little robot and gone to sleep by now. Instead of your disgust, though, against all anticipation, he's met with profound grief. You yelp. -”You’re hurting me!”-

-”Good.”- Terry coos, feeling his gut grow warm at the notion.

It was either that or all the whisky in his Limo's minibar.

Possibly a little bit of both.

-”You deserve a cruel tutelage.”-

He murmurs, looking you up and down, his eyes finally landing back on your face. Your mouth partially open in shock. Eyes befuddled and lost. Sharp intakes of breath burdening your chest with a visibly panicked pace. Fear is palpable. -”Do you want to know why I’ve been getting shickered up tonight? Do you really?”- He chuckles, feeling the bitterness coil inside of him like a wildfire. He's been drinking because of you and here you were, acting the saint. All worried and concerned about him. A patient paramour, waiting for him to come home. You should've ran. Should've ran while you had the chance. Now, you were faced with the scorpion and he was about to prick. Then again, what was he thinking? You, running? Where? How? As if he'd let you go. As if he'd let you get away. You shake your head, your teeth gritted with pain, not knowing the answer to this question. Ever naive. Ever dumb. With his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, he drags your forward, further into the dark lobby and down the foyer. You squeal in surprise. -”For the past thirty years, my life’s been bullshit.”- He confesses, chuckling at the notion. No, really. It was complete and utter tripe. You sound distressed even as he pushed you forward, like you wanted to dissuade him. Convince him his life wasn't wasted in a feeble attempt to console him.

Figures.

-”Terry!”-

Your voice is horse and he shakes his head, leading you down the corridor by force. Force is just about the only language you and your pigheaded attempts at pity would understand right now. -”Shrinks, reinvention, pills, damage control, living up here —”- He taps the edge of his own forehead as he lists everything that came to mind off in a haste. -”Those schmucks I’ve kept around.”- He digs his teeth into his lower lip, feeling particularly infuriated at the thought that he's wasted time with a bunch of mimes when he could've had you instead. But, you weren't in his life then, were you? You only came into his life recently. Fucked everything up. -”John.”- He adds, reaching a door, grabbing its handle. Another person he loved. Another person that fucked everything up. Just like you did. -"Denying myself every impulse! Everything that ever made me happy! For what?"- Terry slings the door open not caring if it hit the interior room's wall with a loud thud, pushing you forward and shoving your back inside. You stumble forward. Terry shuts the bedroom door behind himself. The loudness of the sound resonates. -"Did anyone ever say 'Thank you'?"- He murmurs, looking at you. He could've had you. Ten years ago. Twenty. Thirty. When he returned from Vietnam, or even before. If only you were older. Born earlier. Instead, he was there idly wasting his time trying to shed his skin and reinvent himself into a happiness that wasn't even born yet. If that wasn't the biggest irony of his life, he didn't know what was.

Yeah, he drowned the conclusion in a bottle.

What else was there to do?

Let it drown him instead?

-”And you come into my life when its about to end.”-

The scorpion pricks when he saunters forward, fingers coiling into your hair, hardening into a fist, pulling your head backwards and trapping you like that. You moan in pain. Your hands attempting to grab at his own hand, peel him off somehow. Your knees coming up helplessly, trying to put distance between you and him. Your expression fading into a blur. There was four of you in front of him and he'd fucking break all four tonight. -”Legs. Open.”- Terry growls his order, pushing your thighs apart. Placing his own leg between them as a barrier, right before he thrusts on the mattress behind your back. You fall limp, bouncing ever so slightly, hips parted, just as he liked them. There's no finesse to the act. It is crude. It was meant to be like that. He grabs you by the shoulders, holding you down with his weight as he grips the hem of your blouse, dragging it forward and ripping the fabric, splitting it where the buttons connected, sending them flying like bullets ricocheting off of the floor. You shriek. Hands coming up to conceal your chest. -”Why? Couldn’t? You? Let? Sleeping? Dogs lie?”- Terry feels his own voice coming out like a growl and no, there would be no mercy. He grabs both of your arms. Away from your torso, pinning them over your head.

-”Why did you have to poke the bear?”- He breathes furiously, close enough to sense your nostrils flaring hot breath as you exhaled and inhaled at a rapid pace. You blink, protesting. About to defend yourself.

-”I didn’t, I —”-

-”You did!”- He cuts you off, insisting, seething through lips pushed together firmly. You know what you did, and now, you would bear the brunt of the consequences. Determined fingers pull down his zipper and he feels himself hard before he's ever even done anything, even though he was certain the potent mix of tonight's Cognac will have him cumming quickly and sloppily inside of you, spilling a mess of anger, desperation, inebriation, his own age and desire inside of you like a hot flood, that's a chance he's willing to take as he starts stroking, preparing himself, unkind to his own flesh, kneading back and forth to the point of it being almost painful. -”You made an old man happy. That’s war.”- He grunts, never looking away from you, because there was nowhere he'd be rather looking in the whole fucking World. You did, you know? You really did. You made him happy. Profoundly, unbelievably happy. Terry Silver never liked ironies he had to endure on his own back, and him finding the love of his life at nearly seventy years of age was an irony that made him want slam his fist into the wall into he bled. -”I should finish you for that.”- He nearly spits as he throbs into his own fist, leaning forward, until his face was between your legs, split apart by the presence of his knee. Removing his own thigh as a barrier, he leans down, licking you and humming. Pleasure mingled with a half-growl.

-”But, I love you!”- You plead, this time, through a hiccup of oncoming sobs.

You try to squeeze your legs shut, but not before long, the head of his cock is massaging your flesh, up and down, up and down, preventing you, slipping into your loose, slippery, wet slit. -”See! That right there! That’s exactly the problem!”- Terry finds time to be analytical and smiles somewhat bitterly, letting go of where he was holding you, below your knee, wiggling his index finger and smiles somewhat bitterly, amused by how critically the point was flying over your head right now. And yet, he was the drunk one. -”I don’t have the time left for that shit.”- He thrusts as he speaks, pushing into you, groaning. He loved you too. Loved you more than a mosquito craves blood, but that crap wasn't anything that he could actually live to its fruition. How did you not realize that? If he ever fucked his children into you, he'd be dead before they ever went to school. You'd be far from middle aged by the time he would be turning centennial. How the fuck was that not a cause for grief and wrath!? It would be easier if he simply never cared for you. If you were some warm body. Someone he was compensating with loads of cash. Favors. Trips. Garden cocktail parties. By kickstarting your inane, idiotic business or something. They all wanted a business kickstarted nowadays, but not you. You were actually in it for love and you made all of it for free and fuck you for that. For making it ache like a motherfucker.

The Scorpion's out to kill.

-”This right here! This is just about the only thing we have time to do.”-

He feels himself growling, rutting into you, sweat trickling down his forehead, heated by the alcohol. By you. Gesturing to where his cock connected with you for emphasis. Yes. Sex. Validly, he couldn't start planning anything concrete with you because he didn't have the decades necessary to pull it off. Fucking you until he physically could for as long as he still could was believably all he had left and he'd utilize every moment like it could be his last, because it could. It could be his last. Maybe if he just dropped dead from a stroke while still inside of you, it would be a perfect way to go. Sure. He was always meant to die on the battlefield, but dying with lodged inside of living heaven incarnate was a step up the figurative ladder. Yeah. Sex was all he had. -”That’s not true, Terry! No!”- At this point you're crying and something lurches in his gut. For a second, he thinks it is arousal, seeing you like this, and then he recognizes it as the putrid, horrendous swell of regret. He finds himself slowing down, nearly growing limp inside of you. Not true? What else was there? Could he have a family? Could he be with you all of his life? No. This was the winter of his life. You were a spring turning summer. That's why he was drunk. That's why not even a whole private cellar worth of bullshit would help numb him.

Because you came too late.

And there was nothing in the world he could do to change that crap.

-”You don’t get to decide what’s true and what isn’t when you’re the one getting pounded.”-

He threatens you, or at least he tries and for a moment or short-lived glee, arming himself with a sort of barb he never gets to use to the extent he wanted to use it and he isn't certain if the saltiness of sweat from his scalp was running down his cheek or if he was silently crying too, without making a sound, the rage deflating along with his body and he slips out of you with a moist popping sound, entirely flaccid and soft, his shaft leaking cum over his fingers and unto the bedsheets crumpled from the onslaught as he practically falls over, or rather, lets himself fall in a half-embrace, holding you for dear life, feeling you return the hug, ragged sobs shaking against him, his cock twitching painfully. Fuck sake. Your care would get him off faster than what he just did to you. Humiliation, indignity, yearning and wrath mixing, he wants to hold you like his and squeeze you until your bones crack and turn to dust under his vice grip and this very bed becomes your funeral shroud. Instead, he just lays there, inhaling your scent, his lips finding it in themselves to touch the nuzzled spot of your neck, peppering it with saliva ridden spots, licking you, finding that even now, like this, disheveled, shitfaced, unbuckled pants, he was still happy.

Desperate, but happy.

-"You know that bullshit fable,"- He slurs, feeling his eye lids grow heavy.

Voice heavy with desire and intoxication.

You no longer fight. Wiggle. Struggle. You're perfectly still. Listening.

The bedroom dark, suddenly achingly quiet.

He swears he can hear you gulping and swallowing.

-"When the Scorpion pricked the Frog crossing the river on its back, the Frog asked why and the Scorpion answered he had to, because its in his nature. They both sank."- Terry doesn't see your face, but he hears you sniffling --- your breathing and heartbeat stabilizing and he nuzzles even closer --- needing to be closer like life itself depended on it, chuckling, hand squeezing itself around your waist. He doesn't know what he was trying to say with that or what he'd conclusively add to it as he closed his eyes, finding your warmth soothing from the sudden dizziness and the profound headache he knew was coming, but he figured, that if you and him sank, at least you'd sink together --- and he'd be capable of that. He'd be capable of piercing himself on his own venomous needle after he was done with you. There was nobody Terry Silver would rather sink with.

Nobody else he'd ever allow you to sink with but him.

[galaxyedging]

No outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Dave York x f!reader

WC:5k

Summary: An unexpected guest crashed the reunion between you and Joel.

Warnings:Unprotected P in V sex. CNC elements. 69. Use of toys. Swearing. Dave Motherf*cking York.

Adult Education

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Masterlist

"I'm so sorry. Tommy's busy. I can't even get him to take over." Joel sounded as disappointed as you felt. 

"It's fine we waited ten years, what's another day?" You tried to ease his guilt.

"It's one day too long for me. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"You'd better or I'll be taking a sledge hammer to my walls to get you over here."

The early morning deliveries that Joel left to meet ran into some trouble. Joel was going to have to drive out of state to personally oversee a few things. It was disappointing but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. This whole thing was just insane. 

Ten years had passed, you couldn't just pick up where you left off, surely? You weren't a teen in need of a little safe harbour before you went out into the big, wide world anymore. The second you stepped back into Joel's arms, you felt it, safety. 

Joel didn't seem to have changed a bit but he must have. Ten whole years of living his life, he could be a completely different man. You were certainly different. At your core, you still had the same morals and outlook on life, you'd always had a strong sense of self. Everything else, your likes, dislikes, ambitions, they'd all changed, grown, evolved. 

When your home grew too loud with your thoughts echoing in your mind, you decided to take yourself for dinner. As the waiter sat your indulgent dessert in front of you, Joel sent you a message.

I sent you a present. Let me know if you like it.

Your ex-husband never bought you surprises. It was nice to feel like you were on someone's mind when they weren't there. 

Pulling up outside your house, the first thing you noticed was Joel's gift. A long golden box set outside your door. A quick tug of the elaborate bow allowed you to lift the lid and see the beautiful long stemmed roses inside. Carefully balancing them in one arm you took out your phone to snap a quick selfie of your smiling face with your gift. 

I love them. Thank you.

The two blue ticks indicated that Joel had read the message. Opening the door you managed to get in just as his reply came through. 

They're not from me. 

Setting your things down, you got into your normal routine. Keys away. Alarm. Wait, your alarm wasn't on. Damn. It wasn't like you to forget. Kick your shoes off. Hang up your jacket. Picking the flowers and taking them into the kitchen you rooted around for a card. A small cream envelope was at the bottom of the box under the delicate tissue paper lining the box. It slid open easily. Inside was a small golden embellished card. The simple handwritten words said…

Your alarm system is shit.

Every hair on your body stood on end. Your heart was in your mouth. You screamed around it as someone touched your shoulder. A hand came around your mouth to silence you. Instinctively, you struck out. A swift elbow connected with your attackers ribs. 

"Easy now. You don't even know my safe word." The voice was all too familiar as he grabbed your arms to hold you in place.

"Dave?" You turned enough to see his perfect profile and the shit eater grin on his face.

"I told you I'd catch you soon."

Petals rained over the kitchen as you grabbed the stem of the roses and proceeded to hit him about the head with them. "You asshole. You scared the hell out of me!"

"Ouch. Those things have thorns!"

"Torns are the least of your worries! I could call the police! You broke into my fucking home!"

"I wanted to surprise you. Joel said…"

"Joel? What did he say?"

"He said you might want to catch up since you were free tonight."

"And breaking and entering is your way of catching up?!"

"I thought…"

"Get out! Get out, Dave!" Anger burned in your veins as you screamed at him. To his credit Dave actually looked ashamed of himself before he left. 

It took cleaning all the rose petals up and a long shower for you to calm down enough to look at your phone. 

Ten missed calls. One from your mom. Nine from Joel.

Tapping on your conversation, you scrolled through the new texts.

Dave told me what he did. I'm so sorry.

Please answer.

I'm sorry. I forgot Dave is an asshole. I thought he could take you out for dinner, not scare the life out of you.

Please call me.

I'm really sorry.

The thought that Joel hadn't intended to put you in that position made you feel a little better. The other thoughts that scraped at your consciousness, the ones that had enjoyed what Dave had done, didn't. Deciding that Joel had suffered enough, you texted him back.

It's okay. You're not responsible for that asshole. I'll call you tomorrow.

His reply was instant. 

Okay, Darlin'. Sleep well.

With the adrenaline rush wearing off, it wasn't long until you were fast asleep.

The moonlight streaming through the windows was joined by a single beam of light. It swept the floor and up onto the walls. When it came your way, it completely obscures the dark figure behind it. The flashlight thudded on the mattress as the dark figure discarded it in favour of grabbing your ankles. In a display of its strength it pulled you down the bed towards it. Only then could you see its face. Dave. Your panties were swiftly pulled to the side as he penetrated you with his thick length. Bracing himself over you his lips ghosted over yours as his steady thrusts built into a frenzied pace. They still hovered over yours as you both moaned in unison as you climaxed together.

The sheets twisted below you as you jumped awake. The room was still streaked with moonlight but there was no Dave. A little pang of disappointment settled low in your stomach. Just below that a twinge of something else flared. Your panties clung to the wet flesh of your folds. It took two rounds with your favourite toy to settle you down to sleep again.

The next time you jumped awake it was to the sound of your doorbell. Checking the camera you were surprised to see Joel at your door.

"I'm so sorry." He greeted you as you let him step inside.

"It's fine, Joel. Really."

"No. It's not. I'll do anything to make it up to you." Dramatically as he could given his stiff knees, he dropped down to beg you.

"Stop!" You laughed, shoving his shoulder. "Although, while you are down there."

He raised an eyebrow before shuffling closer. Lifting one of your knees over his shoulder he pulled your loose sleep shorts out of the way.

"Jesus. You're soaked." Just as two of his fingers traced your folds he stopped. "Is this from last night?"

Feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over you, you removed your leg from his shoulder. "Joel." You sighed.

"Honey, I'm not judging. You and Dave have a past. I just didn't think he'd make a move on you. Not with knowing how I feel about you."  

"Do you think Dave and I…? He didn't make any moves."

"Oh. That's good." He sounded relieved and so much younger than his years almost like the uncertain teen you'd once been. "So you two didn't…?"

"No. Why would I when I have you?" You caught how that sounded. "I mean when we're whatever this is…"

"You can have me if you want. I want to be yours. I know it's a weird set up but I just wanted you to know. You can take all the time you need to think about how you feel. I know you will, you're way smarter than me." 

"Thank you, Joel. How about we just start with that dinner you own me?"

"Sure." He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist. "Do you still want me to?" He looked down between you.

"The moment has kind of past. How about I get a shower and we can make that dinner a breakfast?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Breakfast was spent catching up on everything and anything. Views on everything on politics to every pop culture fad of the last ten years were exchanged. Thankfully you and Joel agreed on all the major things. It really was like being with an old friend. It felt so natural to be with him. Breakfast turned into a walk in the park. Then a museum and a late lunch. Then back to your place for a movie and cuddling on the sofa. Even when dinner time rolled around neither of you mentioned Joel leaving. Dinner was cooked together. The two of you working seamlessly together. Joel cleaned as you chopped, mixed and cooked. 

"What happened to these?" Joel was standing over the open trash can looking at the pieces of flowers.

"Oh, so Dave told you intimate details of us having sex but didn't tell you I beat him with some roses?"

"You what?!" Joel laughed in disbelief. "Good for you!"

"I actually feel a little bad. For the roses, not Dave. He scared the shit out of me."

Joel hugged you from behind and hummed thoughtfully near your ear. 

"What?" You half turned to ask him.

"Nothing. Just this morning you were so wet…"

"And…?"

"I don't know, maybe part of you liked it."

Getting defensive you tried to dismiss him. "I masturbated, twice, that's all that was." 

"Do you usually masturbate twice at night?"

"Joel." You warned.

"Again, I'm not judging. I always thought it was kind of hot when you two fucked. Dave used to get so worked up that you preferred me. He's the most competitive bastard I know." Joel laughed lightly.

"Is this really a conversation you want to have with the woman you just started dating?"

"I did Google dating etiquette. Oddly enough it didn't cover this particular situation."

Huffing at his comment, you moved from his arms to the spice rack.

"Look. I just think if we have so much stuff unresolved. Then maybe you had stuff with Dave too. I want this, us, to have a real shot. We can't do that being stuck in the past."

Suddenly the mixed herbs in your hands became really interesting as you studied them. Begrudgingly you admitted to yourself that Joel was right. You didn't love Dave but he was your first. He was a huge part of informing your sexual tastes. And if someone held a gun to your head you may even admit to liking him, just a little.

"Did you get wiser in your old age?" You finally returned to Joel's arms.

He mock gasped as held you. "Less of the old!"

"Maybe I do have a teeny tiny amount of unresolved…" feelings doesn't sound right "...stuff with Dave." Adding he herbs you held up a spoon for Joel to taste. It kept his eyes off you for a moment so you could open up. "I may have gotten off on the danger of being with him. Out of the two of you there was always something that scared me, just a little. Now the whole CIA agent thing makes sense. Lying bastard. It doesn't mean I want to do anything with him now."

"Okay." Joel stated simply, yet you could tell there was a lot more behind the simple word. Casually, he tossed the spoon to be washed later. Mirroring how he put this particular conversation aside for later.

The two of you finished up making dinner and settled down to eat.

"So, back then, did Dave tell you everything?" You asked in-between bites of pasta.

"Everything. The hot tub. The time in college. Everything." Joel confessed.

"College?!"

"Who do you think told him where you were?"

Your chin nearly ended up in your food as your jaw dropped. "I take it back. I want to fuck him again but his time I wouldn't let him tell you a damn thing about it."

Joel shrugged. "Still hot."

"Shut up." The two of you grinned at each other like children. 

Dinner was done, dishes were washed, dried and put away. Another movie was put on. Joel didn't make it through this one. With half an hour left he was fast asleep against your chest. Even though he was asleep you carried on massaging his scalp. His soft curls tumbled soothingly through your fingers. The weight and warmth of him against you, finally having him in your arms like you had ached to when he told you he wanted to be wanted, had you in a state of bliss. When you phone chimed you were happy to ignore it until you remembered you hadn't called your mom back.

A message was there, from a number you didn't recognise.

I'm sorry for last night. I thought you'd like it. I guess I forgot you're not the woman I knew anymore.

Thank you for the apology. You weren't entirely wrong. If you'd have done that back then or maybe didn't try it out of the blue after 10 years, I may have liked it.

I'll keep that in mind. These texts won't disappear. You can save this number if you want.

I will, under 'Asshole.'

You're saved under 'Whore' with that picture of your cum covered tits as your icon.

Asshole.

You imagined Dave's amused smile matching the one that spread on your face. The slight rumble of your chest as you chuckled woke Joel. "Sorry, Sweetheart. Long day. Did the movie end? Do you want me to leave?" He muttered this all sleepily against the swell of your breasts.

"I'm not going to make you drive in this state. My guest room is made up….or you can share my bed?"

Joel padded up the stairs as you guided him. It was strange to be the one looking after him for a change. After giving him a spare toothbrush, you returned with some sweats that you stole from your ex. "Here. Let's get you to bed."

Joel was asleep on his back when you returned from getting yourself ready. The blanket was only pulled up to his waist. His chest was bare allowing you to admire him. His middle was a little softer than you remembered. His arms were still roped with well earned muscle. The freckles that you used to try and map littered his golden skin. Seeing him in your bed just felt so right. Sliding in next to him you rested your head on his broad chest. His heartbeat thumped steadily in your ear. Just like the summer ten years before, you decided you wanted Joel and you were going to have him, consequences be damned.

One year later….

Sometimes you hated Tommy. Even if he was a ray of human sunshine most days and made sure to tell Joel how lucky he was to have you at every opportunity. He was still the one that convinced Joel to take risks and grow his business. A business that was now thriving. Which meant Joel had to be whisked away from you from time to time. Most of the time you understood. Today, you weren't in the most understanding of moods. Work had been a nightmare, all you wanted to do was come home. Now that you had you were reminded that your boyfriend was away on your anniversary. 

It had been a whole year since Joel first slept in your bed. Over that year there had been more nights that he'd slept there than anywhere else. He just sort of stayed. He'd been renting a place not too far from you while he worked there. When his lease was up, he moved what he had with him to your place. There was no fuss, just two people seamlessly blending their lives together. Like you had always been that way. Maybe you should have. 

The bad mood you were in seemed an ideal time to go over your regrets. If only you had stayed a year. Maybe you could have had a whole decade with Joel? Your brain huffed at you. Maybe it could have all gone to shit because you weren't grown yet, who knows?! 

The foul mood worsened when you couldn't get through to your favourite take out place on the phone.

"Fuck it." It was only four blocks away. The walk might do you good.

With your order in your hand you checked the time on your cell. A message had come through without you hearing it. It was from Joel.

I sent you a present. Let me know if you like it. 

The walk home seemed much shorter than the walk there. Your feet carried you like the wind. The alarm beeped steadily when you got home before you turned it off. Disappointment set in as you typed in Joel's birthday. Placing the takeout on the counter you crossed to the fridge to get a drink. Grabbing a soda, something caught your eye as it fell from the door when it swung open. It was a piece of paper with a handwritten note.

Your alarm is still shit.

The soda nearly fell from your hand as you were shoved into the counter. A body pressed into yours pinning you in place.

"Don't go trying to take a swing at me again." Dave breathed against the shell of your ear before biting down on the lobe. 

Your hands came down to brace yourself on the counter as he pulled up the skirt of your dress. He pushed the material over your hips exposing your ass to him. He grabbed a handful of it. The same hand then caught the soda can that fell from your grasp, the other one was already too busy peeling off the very expensive and very tiny underwear you had on.

"Did you wear these for me?" He grunted with the effort of tugging them down your legs.

"You're not worth the effort." You snarled at him.

A sharp sting spread across your scalp as Dave tugged your hair, bringing you tight to him. Blunt teeth found your shoulder and bit down. The pain coursed through you melding into pleasure at some point. Every nerve in your body sang. Every touch felt heightened. Even your own clothes on your skin were too much.

"Over a decade and you're still a brat. Someone should fuck that out of you." With his hips still pinning you and one hand pulling on your hair, Dave was able to keep you in place and use his free hand to take off his belt. The hand in your hair travelled to your mouth to pry it open. His thumb pushed roughly past your lips for leverage. As soon as there was enough space, he shoved his belt in there. 

"That should keep you quiet. Don't want the neighbours telling your boyfriend another man was making you scream his name." With that he brought his large palm down on the meat of your ass. A muffled shout left your mouth. "Come on, say it." Another smack. This one was harder and added to the sting already there. All you let out was a defiant groan. Another hit. "Say it." Another slap echoed. "Fucking scream it, bitch." 

Another hard hit of his hand, coupled with his words earn him it. "Dave!" Muffled but unmistakable.

"I knew you had it in you, screaming another man's name. You little cheating whore." As he spoke you chanced a look at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were dark, even with the all back outfit, you could see the bulge of his cock straining to be freed. He looked feral and so goddamn good. "Don't move. I brought you a gift. Close your eyes." He almost sang the last bit.

Obeying him, you stood still. When he returned he kicked your legs apart. A dark chuckle left him when he saw the jewel nestled between your cheeks. "Poor Joel. It seems like you had quite the night planned for him. Oh well, his loss…"

The blunt tip of something pressed at your entrance. It slipped in easily with the slick gathered there. "Good girl. Take it so well."

The toy was fully seated inside you, held in place by your thighs, when Dave returned to pining you to the counter, his hips dropped his time so his hard cock pressed into the jewelled plug in your ass. He grinded his hips into you. "I can't wait to fill you with this cock. We've got work to do first though. Open your eyes." In his hand in front of you he held a small oval remote control. With one tap the toy inside you jerked to life. It started thrusting against your G-spot hard and fast. Once you were over the initial intrusion it made you come in no time. Your whole body curled in on the toy and the belt dropped from your mouth as you gasped. Dave tapped the remote to halt the tiny but powerful machine. "All that for a piece of plastic? All Joel's bragging, maybe you just come too easily. Is that it? You're such a little slut that you're permanently on the edge. It doesn't take much to push you over. Let's see if you have another one in you. The toy started up again this time Dave added a small vibrator, that he pulled from his pocket, to your clit. Moments later when your legs tensed, your toes curled and your vision blurred. Shakily you wiped the corner of your mouth as you whimpered. 

Dave only laughed. "See? Such a fucking horny slut. How many can you give me? Hmmm?" He ragged your hair again. Your head moved easily as all your muscles were completely softened by your release. 

Reaching between your legs he shoved the toy deeper. A whimper tore from your throat. "No more."

"What was that?" 

"I said no." You tried your best to stare him down. 

"So you're going to let me play with this pussy. Get me all worked up will all those pretty sounds, your moans, the wet sound of your pussy and say 'no'." He laughed before dragging you up on shaking legs. "You don't get to say no to me."

Throwing you face first onto the kitchen island he pressed your chest into it and started to grab your hands. 

"No!" You managed to pull them back for a second until he shoved the toy deeper again. As you cried out he grabbed your hands and tied them with his belt. 

"Stay, fucking, still." The toy and the plug hit the floor you winced as each one was removed from your still clenched muscles. 

"Fuck. Look at how wet you got that thing. And you're going to try and deny me getting my cock that wet? Fucking tease. Do you want me?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" Two thick fingers pressed ever so slightly inside you. "Because it seems like you do." His thumb brushed circles over your pink hole.

"No. I don't." Your voice was more steady now.

"Well what kind of a man would I be if I fucked you now?" He chuckled. 

The air was thick and silent for a moment. Not a move was made until Dave rushed you. His hands pushed you down onto the counter, pinning you in place as he almost split you in two with his thick, solid cock. The two of you resembled wolves howling at the moon as he did so. The sounds of ecstasy fell from your lips as you practically drooled on the work top. Each thrust of his cock was magnified by how sensitive you were. 

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this." He reminded you with another bite to your shoulder. 

"The word you used was 'defiant'. I'm being defiant of this little scenario right now." You panted as he still steadily thrusted.

"What if I told you that I gave that shit security system a little upgrade?" He grunted as he pushed deeper.

"What?"

"I installed a couple of cameras. There's one in your fake ficus over there."

Looking over to where he was talking about you could see the little round lens peeking over the rim of the pot. "You CIA motherfu…" You began to jerk away from him. 

Strong arms pinned you down. "Ex CIA." He slammed into you harder. "Feel like telling me 'no' now?"

"Fuck you!" You spat.

"Oh, yes." If possible Dave grew even harder inside of you. It made you even wetter, something you didn't think was possible.

"Is that what you like? Acting like the bad man, David?" His hips faulted for a second. A grin spread on your lips. "You are such a bad man. You took a barely eighteen year old girl and set up her sexual tastes for life. Do you know how many times I beg Joel to fuck my throat or degrade me? How many times he has to fuck me in my ass and fill me with his cum so I feel dirty? Do you know how many men I've let fuck me roughly? How many women? All chasing the high that you gave me when you first forced all of your cock inside me. Pinning me on it until I was hopelessly lost in pleasure. You've always been a bad man to me, Dave. And a fucking hot one." Dave's ego swelled with his cock as it pulsed wave after wave of cum inside you. He chanted your name as he did so.

Once he was spent, he collapsed over you. "Fuck. Me."

A giggle bubbled out of you; it was cut off with a hiss when he pulled out. "Wait here."

It was easy to follow that instruction. You doubted your legs could carry you anywhere else. You were vaguely aware of the microwave humming and beeping. When Dave returned he'd pulled a chair from the kitchen table with him. 

"Here." Gripping your waist he pulled you up to untie your hands. He then guided you down into lap. The smell of lavender caught your nose. A heat pack was set on his thigh as he pulled your ass onto it. "We'll get you cleaned up in a minute. I haven't finished with you yet. How do I always neglect these pretty tits?" His hand began to pull down your dress. 

"Dave." One of your hands stilled his, suddenly shy. His eyebrows furrowed. "It's been ten years, they might not be how you remembered."

Gently he carried on tugging until you were bare for him. "No. They're fucking prettier."

His tongue licked a strip from under your boob right up and over your nipple. He repeated the motion on the other side before blowing across them gently watching you shiver. In turn he sucked on each one until you shuddered with over sensitivity. He then kissed around them covering every inch as he did so he slipped his hand between your legs. His fingers rubbed gentle, slow circles on your clit. 

Dave had never treated you with such care. The tenderness of it alone lit something in you that fuelled a soft climax. Dave kissed you for the first time that night as you moaned. He pulled away to rest his forehead on yours. "Good girl." 

It was odd how you suddenly felt bare and vulnerable in front of Dave, given everything he'd done to you. You were driven to fill the silence with a question. "When did you become the king of aftercare? What made you so soft?" You teased.

"Since I became a grandpa I guess. Now I always offer a lady a tissue if I come inside."

"Ew." You snort-laughed at him. "How is Oliver?"

"He's great. Growing like a weed. The last time I saw him he was just learning to sit up."

"That's great, Dave. I'm happy for you. Like I said, you're a terrible human being but a great dad, and now grandpa."

Your phone chimed on the counter next to your long forgotten take out. 

Joel

Are you and grandpa quite finished?

You 

Are you watching us?

Joel

Dave has a lot of faults but I can't knock his security upgrades.

You 

Did you like what you saw?

A picture came through in reply. It was of Joel's spent cock cover in his cum. You licked your lips subconsciously.

You 

I guess you did.

Joel 

I know Dave did. My dirty girl has the best little cunt. Make sure he licks it out before he leaves. Show him what I get to have any time I want.

Dave's phone chimed. He read the message before saluting the camera with a sarcastic "Yes, Sir." A grin spread over his face "Let's get you cleaned up." You pulled you behind him. "There's no cameras upstairs." He tossed over his shoulder.

"What did your message say?"

"He told me to eat your pussy." He yawned.

"I'm glad to know you find the prospect of eating my pussy so exciting."

"I'm fifty-three years old. You're lucky that blowing my load that hard did lay me out for the night." 

"Fair enough. How about I ride your face instead?"

For his moaning about his age Dave still got it up again after a few minutes of you dragging your pussy over his lips, tongue and perfectly curved nose. Admittedly he didn't last long when you showed you how far your blow job technique had come and once he emptied himself down your throat he was out like a light. 

"Good night, Asshole." You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him in the guestroom. Dave hadn't quite gotten you there before he came groaning against your folds. It only took a few pumps of your own fingers to finish you off. Taking out your phone you sent Joel a couple of pictures of the resulting mess clinging to your fingers and thighs. After a well needed shower you returned to find another photo from Joel. His softening cock covered in even more cum with the caption 'Happy Anniversary, Darlin'.'

Series tag: @popcornforone @myrealmofchaos @casa-boiardi

Dave York tag: @movievillainess721

[good-beanswrites]

Just going to drop another idea in the hat. How does Mahiru feel about all that's going on with Fuuta in OoA? (Dunno if she would have visited him alone or with Yuno or Amane. Up to you.)

(Sorry for the mini drabble dump, I hope you enjoy 😅 Thank you for all the reminder asks!! I appreciated it since it took a million years to get to, and sure enough it was super fun to play around with all these ideas >:3)

Ough, on the surface she'd look exactly the same, but I feel like she would have a lot going on. She pities him. She pities herself because of him. She's glad she isn't him. She's jealous of him and Amane. She's toeing the line between her a bad first impression of him and finally seeing his human side. This takes place with enough time after the attacks for the dust to settle, but early enough where everyone's still adjusting.

“Fuuta~ Big sis Mahiru came to check on you! How are you feeling?”

For the entire first trial, Mahiru had constantly given Fuuta advice on his volume and outbursts. She’d scolded him for shouting, for bickering, for butting into conversation that weren’t his business. She’d spent so much time wishing he would just be more quiet. 

Now that her wish had finally come true, she would do anything to take it back.

“Mmn.”

The old Fuuta would have launched into detail about how he was feeling – about Milgram’s treatment being unjust and how the other prisoners were annoying him. Now that he was slumped in bed, bandages practically holding him together, all he could muster up was a half-shrug. His eyes had lost their usual shine, hardly looking focused at all. 

“If you need some medication, Shidou says he has more ready.”

Fuuta nodded. Mahiru knew what question was coming. It was the same every day.

“Did he offer it to Amane first? How is she?”

“She’s still coming around to it. She’s doing alright. I know you think she’s putting up an act when she visits, but honestly, she tells you more than any of us! I didn’t even know she could talk that much!” With her heart already heavy, it was easy to let the pang of jealousy slip into her mind. She was happy the two of them found each other, but Amane was opening up to him far more than her. Mahiru had done everything she could for her – what did Fuuta have that she was missing?

“Hey, look! I brought you some games. Everyone is requesting more supplies, and Shidou is still working on getting that wheelchair for you. I thought that this is just as important, yeah? I found some games that other prisoners didn’t mind lending. See ~ these cards are from Kazui, and Yuno left her cat’s cradle string, and I think Haruka even left a board game that he liked. I even wrote out the instructions to some word games, since those are my favorites.” 

“Eh, I don’t need ‘em.”

She refused to let herself deflate. Instead the smile stayed painted on her face. “I’ll just leave them here, then, if you ever get bored. I’m always up for playing something, but a lot of the games can be done by yourself, too!”

At that, he laughed. It was a terrible, bitter sound. It revealed how wheezy his lungs were from his injuries. 

“Oh yeah?” He said through a panting breath. “How am I supposed to play cat’s cradle by myself?” He shifted his left arm, bound up in a sling. “Am I supposed to balance the board games on the bed? With all the fucking pieces falling off?”

Mahiru’s smile wavered. “I only meant –”

“I can’t use my hands.” His voice was defeated. “Can’t get up. My head is killing me. Maybe literally. How am I supposed to play any of these? I know you were just being nice… but don’t bother.”

“I am going to bother.”

“Why…?” He let his eyes slip shut. “It’s not like anyone gave a shit about me before. They only care now because I’m dying. Everyone who knew me before… and even everyone here… they all treated me like crap until I got hurt. Now they’re all falling over themselves for me. It’s pathetic.”

It was a phrase he’d used often enough before, but Mahiru was struck with how differently he spoke it, his voice wavering.

The words “that’s not true” hung on her tongue. But it was, wasn’t it? Her stomach twisted in shame. It was horrible. That couldn’t be it – she must have a good reason to care now. After a second of scrambling, it hit her.

“Well! The thing is… what Kazui was saying about Kotoko’s plan… If I hadn’t been with Yuno… It should have been me, Fuuta. And I need to make it up to you.” She shook her head. Another man’s face flashed in her memory. “It should have been me…”

“Yeah, it should have been.”

The two were silent. She studied his face, but he looked firmly away. 

Internally she begged herself to leave it there. To learn her own lesson and be quiet. To bid Fuuta well and walk away from the person who was going to say things that would break her heart. But, as every other time in her life, Mahiru couldn’t control herself.

“I’m so, so sorry.” She clasped her hands together as she bowed. “I feel awful about it. Everytime I see you and Amane… I had been so selfish, going to Yuno to cheer myself up, instead of looking out for the two of you. If I could go back and change everything, I would in a heartbeat. I’m sorry. I know that you must hate me. I hate myself. I’m sorry.”

She thought offering her emotions would help. She thought it would be good for him to hear, since he was asking for a reason and she had such a good one. She gasped, seeing tears slip down Fuuta’s miserable expression. 

“What –”

“That’s exactly what I was talking about.” She would have preferred his yelling to this quiet resignation. “You’re not here because you care about me. You’re here because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. I don’t need your pity. Just leave.”

“No, it’s not like that! I wish it hadn’t been you that got hurt and –”

“Yeah I wish it wasn’t me, too.” He finally looked at her. “But I don’t wish it was you. That’s not how this works. Be grateful you made it out, and don’t come wallowing in self-pity to me. From now on, only come in here if you actually want to. Not to boost your own ego.”

Mahiru stood with her mouth agape. She tried to muster up something to say, finally finding it was easier to just stay silent. She turned to the door.

Why, oh why couldn’t she do it right?

[reiningsoral]

Sticky-Note Stories: Breaking Walls (emotionally and physically)

a/n: tws for swearing, mild descriptions of violence? not very bad, nobody really gets hurt

Lynx crashed through a brick wall. Okay, so this maybe wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill villain, then.

“Mgh… ow,” She mumbled, sitting up and shaking the brick dust out of her hair. She took the moments of the villain focusing on her crime-fighting partner, Ren, to collect herself and regain her balance on her feet.

“LYNX! I GET THAT YOU WERE JUST SLAMMED THROUGH A WALL-” Ren shouted from atop a building, where he was doing more dodging than fighting, “-BUT LIKE, I'M GONNA DIE OVER HERE!”

Lynx cursed as she tapped her comms device, running over to her partner to help. Just her luck, of course, that it broke on impact. Fantastic.

The purple-clad hero made it to the building and scaled the fire escape, narrowly avoiding a piece of debris flying by.

This villain certainly was… different. For one, she hadn’t seen a powered villain in a while, or ever, even. Definitely not in her time working for the institute. The only powered person she really fought on the regular was that one vigilante that worked with Black Cat and Poison… What was their alias? Fox, or something?

Lynx sighed as she hauled herself up onto the roof of the building, her limbs feeling heavier than she’d liked to admit.

“Well, hello!” her green-themed friend greeted far too cheerfully as he swung his scythe to block an incoming attack.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lynx grumbled, ducking under Ren’s swing at the villain, “ugh, I’m gonna sleep for a day and a half when we get back, I swear…”

The two heroes both narrowly dodged another piece of debris. Gods, it’s a damn good thing they weren’t near any densely populated areas.

—

The fight went on longer than either of them would have liked, and were too proud to admit.

“We didn’t even catch the guy, fuck they’re gonna be pissed,” Lynx groaned, hanging herself off of Ren as they made their way back to the Tower.

“Dude, they’re not gonna be that upset. We’ve only known about that villain for like, a day. Literally nobody knew how weak or strong he’d be.” Ren shoved Lynx away. “Dramatic ass.”

“Oh, shut up, you-!” Lynx cut off her half-formed insult as something caught her eye in an alleyway below them. “... yo, did you see that?”

“Hm? What?” Ren looked up from his watch, “what was it?”

“Dunno… hang on.” Lynx quietly jumped down into the alley, using the soft yellow glow from her eye to look around. Maybe it was a rat. “Must’ve been an alley cat or someth-”

“You got that part right!”

Lynx yelped.

The cat-themed vigilante cackled as Lynx jumped, whipping around to face her. “Hey! Long time no see, eh?”

Lynx growled. “You are a piece of-”

“-piece of vigilante shit and I deserve to be arrested and held forever for my crimes, yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, calm your shitbags, I just need to give you something.” Black Cat rolled her eyes. The soft glow of Lynx’s cybernetic eye illuminated the cat-slit pupils of the young vigilante.

Lynx’s posture relaxed ever-so-slightly as she ignored her partner’s voice. Something about running off real quick taking care of a robbery.

“...And that would be..?”

The vigilante held out a folded piece of paper with her vigilante trio’s symbol– a circle with a “V” drawn in it, the edges of the V crossed outside the circle a bit and an eye in between the lines of the v– stamped on the front.

“I don’t actually know,” she shrugged, “Ve- uh, Poison just told me to give it to you.” She grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, as Lynx cautiously took the paper.

“...Thanks.” She pocketed it.

“Aaaaaanyway, I’m gonna get going before you arrest me, bye!” Black Cat was gone before Lynx even had a chance to process.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Revelations Part Two - a Malevolent fic

Tears welled in Odd’s eyes, dripped down his cheeks as he played. And just as he had hoped, as he had gambled, he felt the King in Yellow’s presence. Closer than usual. In fact, allowing Odd to feel him directly. In fact—

“Why do you weep?” said that deep voice, which buzzed through the ground even when quiet.

Odd let his violin peak, crescendoing to a high, tremulous note—and then he cut it off, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s been a week, huh?"

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

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

Carcosa was quiet.

It was a nervous kind of quiet. Nobody fully understood what the hell had happened, and the rumors did not clarify. Some said an attack. Some said an invasion. Some said somebody overcharged Faroe in the market and now everyone was boned. 

Larson was pissed. He’d missed it! Some kind of craziness, the Saint nearly killed, and he’d missed it! The fuck!

The Librarian didn’t know, either, and kept flipping to different images which only confused him more. Larson only knew he was now confined to two places: his room, and the archives. There wasn’t even family dinner happening at the moment.

Whatever went down, it had been big. 

He would find out. Somehow.

Eventually.

#

Odd was just glad that, relatively speaking, everyone seemed to be okay?

No one had seen Parker or Sunny yet, but when he’d swung by their room with a plate of food, he could hear them talking within. There was warmth, comfort, joy—he’d had to sit down for a while, behind a nearby plant, and just let the feeling of relief wash over him.

Faroe was not doing well. Odd suspected she had a case of broken heart, and that was something no one could really fix.

Not that he didn’t try. He found her and Nibbles out in the lower garden and settled beside them with his violin, playing a rambling song, focusing on being steady and grounding. Before long she’d scooted over to lean against him, a tricky proposition when playing the violin, but Odd had managed.

She gave him a hug when he finished. He’d need to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t okay.

Arthur… Arthur was the tricky one. Arthur had slipped into a kind of full-body, all-encompassing grief that Odd didn’t know what to do with. He’d healed Arthur’s bruised jaw, and Arthur had not even fought or complained which was…

Perhaps that was why this was so jarring.

I am the King in Yellow.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.

Odd should not be here for this.

But the claim made sense in a weird way. It did. John was too… similar. One could make jokes about being cut from the same cloth, but Odd could find the echoes of the King in John’s voice, his mannerisms, everything else. Though just how this could have happened…

No one told Odd to leave.

Arthur was still, so still. “No,” he said patiently, too patiently. “You’re John.”

I am, said John. But I am also the King in Yellow.

Arthur was too still. “Okay.”

That’s all you have to say? Okay? And John (King?) was too amused about this earth-shaking conversation.

“I’m not in the habit of feeding your bullshit,” said Arthur, who’d somehow gone even more still.

It all felt like something fragile on the edge of a knife—balanced, but for how long?

Arthur, John soothed, voice going to melted chocolate—and this time he must have triggered something, because Arthur’s face went pale, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Don’t,” Arthur warned. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing, you’re not the King. You’re John.”

I remember Lilly, Arthur. She matters. She’s why I chose my name.

And the stillness shattered like ice in a pond. “Then why the fuck are you bringing it up, huh? It doesn’t matter!”

Silence, as if waiting for that pond’s ripples to still. If you lost your memory of life as a father and husband, would you be the same?

Arthur’s gasp was painful.

Odd should not be here. He swallowed, wanting to look between the two but only able to focus on Arthur, who hunched as if in pain.

“How could you say that?” the man whispered.

Because it’s true. I’m John. I’m your John. I haven’t lost anything—even if I am fucking embarrassed about how the last months have been, John added in a mutter.

Arthur laughed weakly and wiped his eyes. “You have been… a handful.”

A grunt.

“Fucking possessive. ”

Silence.

John’s hand was lightly tracing runes on the bed—nothing wild, ones Odd had seen used often for crowd control and other tense times. All they did was take the edge off wild emotions.

But Arthur didn’t know he was doing it.

Arthur, said John. We need to talk to Hastur. We can’t both… be here like this.

“We’ve managed for most of Faroe’s life,” Arthur quipped. 

Odd got up, moving silently to gesture at John’s hand and shake his head.

John’s eyes snapped up, following him; sharp, confused.

Trust him, he mouthed.

John’s eyelids flickered. Then he stopped.

Whew.

We can’t both be King. And if Sunny ever comes into himself, it will be three of us. It will be a disaster.

Arthur sighed and un-kidney-beaned. “I don’t think it’s going to be nearly as big a deal as you think.”

Oh, won’t it?

That question, that challenge, asked that way, made pain flit across Arthur’s face for some reason. “Yeah. You’re stuck in me, remember? There’s no threat to the power structure here,” he said a little bitterly.

I crushed the assassin.

Odd’s eyebrows shot upward.

Arthur’s eyes went wide, a strange contrast to John’s gaze through them (which was focused on Arthur’s hand). “What?” said Arthur, flexing his fingers. “But… how?”

Arthur believed him. That meant something.

I extended my essence from you. It’s why you passed out.

“Extended… John, what are you talking about?”

We need to talk to Hastur.

“John. Extended? Passed… I…”

You don’t remember much until Parker.

Arthur rubbed his jaw and winced. “No, but… you can’t do that.”

I did. And I made him suffer.

Arthur’s expression changed. This wasn’t his own hurt; this was concern. “John…”

He nearly killed you. He’s lucky I let him die.

Okay, now Arthur was edging toward afraid. “Maybe we should talk to Hastur.”

Odd knew he would regret saying anything. “I think that’s a good idea. Tensions were high, things… happened, a lot of things that people don’t really understand yet. He may have some insight.”

Arthur hunched. “Yeah. Confirmation, right?”

You’re wise, Odd. I see why he likes you, said John with loftiness bordering on condescending.

“Oh, quit it,” said Arthur, popping that kingly bubble at once. “I’m sorry. He’s going through a phase, apparently.”

A phase!

“Don’t we all?” Odd said, mildly, but at least it seemed Arthur wasn’t quite afraid anymore. “What a time to get your memories back, though.”

Arthur hesitated. “I really passed out?”

You… stopped.

“Stopped?”

John fell silent.

Arthur pursed his lips, thinking, then nodded. “So I scared you, is what you’re saying.”

I did not say that.

Arthur placed his right hand gently on his left. “I got scared after the poison. You stopped, then. I was fucking terrified, John. I thought I might have lost you.”

John took that in silence.

“Poison?” said Odd quietly.

“Someone tried to kill John.” Arthur pressed that left hand to his chest, over his heart. “Fucking almost managed.  We haven’t figured out who yet, either.”

So this was court intrigue, in the home of a Great Old One. Huh. Who knew it would feel absolutely shitty?

(But damn, would it make for good songs later.)

“Let’s go find him,” said Arthur, rising, swaying, sitting again. “Fuck.”

“Maybe a medic?” suggested Odd.

“No, we… we’ll just… some healing magic, maybe?” said Arthur.

John hesitated. I don’t feel comfortable casting magic through you right now. Not until we… are sure you weren’t harmed.

“Medic, then,” Arthur conceded.

“I’ll help you get there,” said Odd, and did, and left him there in the hands of conjured nurses, who fussed over Arthur as if he were their favorite chicken come home to roost.

#

Odd wandered off to find Hastur. 

Hastur was rarely around this time of night—usually a few more hours before he’d show up absolutely torn to hell and back—but who knew? The last couple of days had been a little unusual.

Carcosa didn’t really travel in the normal sense, as far as Odd could tell; when it was in-between places like this, one couldn’t just jump out a window and find themselves somewhere in the Dreamlands. It was mist out there, aggressively nothing; it wasn’t overly pleasant, and staying away from the far walls was a good plan in general.

But Carcosa wasn’t in-between now. It seemed they’d landed.

Out there, a stunning night silvered somewhere new. Hill country, evidently, which meant the Lake created open space where there had been none before. Twinkling lights far, far away indicated a city of some sort, though there was no way to be sure just what it was.

The stars gave some indication: they were far east, way further than Odd had ever followed the Path. The wilderness of Mhor was not kind to foot traffic. What were they doing out here?

He had a suspicion. Namely that this was far, far from anyone who might show up at the gates, begging for an audience, while Hastur tried to mitigate this calamity.

Odd didn’t bother sitting; he stood, proud and tall, tucked his violin under his chin, and he began to play.

The song that wept from his violin made his previous ones look like the first forays into music by a child. It arced and danced, it screamed the way Parker had when Sunny did not respond, it sobbed with Faroe’s grief; it reflected Arthur’s music, borrowed and transformed, threaded through with Arthur’s pain as his family fell apart, and his best friend’s suffered, and he feared for John.

Tears welled in Odd’s eyes, dripped down his cheeks as he played. And just as he had hoped, as he had gambled, he felt the King in Yellow’s presence. Closer than usual. In fact, allowing Odd to feel him directly. In fact—

“Why do you weep?” said that deep voice, which buzzed through the ground even when quiet.

Odd let his violin peak, crescendoing to a high, tremulous note—and then he cut it off, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s been a week, huh?”

What had to be a half-step for Hastur closer, but was more than the length of Odd’s body. “Yes. It has. Why do you weep?”

“Lots of things to weep about right now,” Odd said, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. “My friends are hurting. Faroe is devastated—I can just tell she blames herself, because she’s ten and she doesn’t know any better. Arthur blames himself, because the assassin or whatever-the-fuck was sent after him. Parker thought Sunny was gone—though the last time I swung by to check on them, I heard them both talking. But that’s going to be a hurt that lingers.” He took a shuddering breath. “Where’d you take us?”

For a long moment, the only sound was breathing. “I don’t know why I hesitate,” Hastur mumbled as if to himself, then finally answered. “Far east, at the edge of the Hungry Sea.” He moved closer again—barely an inch this time, hardly noticeable.

Oh. That was very, very far. Odd nodded. “Pretty far from any potential enemies, then.”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean you’re going to take a few nights off from zipping away and fighting people?”

Hastur went dead still. It was funny, after seeing Arthur do the same thing; one had to wonder if they came to that response independently.

A beat. Only breathing.

“How do you know that?” Hastur said, low, and it wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it wasn’t super friendly, either. Wary. Tense.

Odd was very, very far from anyone that would find him, assuming there was a body left to find. “I’ve seen you come back some nights, torn to shit,” Odd said, voice even. “There have been rumors going around for a bit about you being on the warpath, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself. It can’t be directly related to Faroe, or Arthur; you wouldn’t be subtle about it if it was. You’re not just… conquering. Any number of people would have said that the places you went to had changed hands. And you’re very, very careful to be hidden while you do it. So.”

“So smart,” Hastur said as if to himself, barely audible, and he moved yet closer. Almost in reach now. “A keen observation. You are correct… and it seems you’re wise enough to keep this to yourself, as well, since no one has approached me.”

“What good would it do to blab?” Odd shrugged, helpless, but made no move to step away. “Arthur would be furious if he knew, I’m sure, but he’s got enough on his plate. Dis is brilliant, but this is almost certainly not under her purview. That would leave me tattling to Dagon, and while he’s a trusted member of your court, I don’t know him—either he’s already in the know, or he’s not, and those are decisions best left to you.” He took a breath. “Except for this one. This… What the fuck is going on?”

A beat. Only breathing.

“You leave me at odds with myself,” said Hastur, and the curling of the finer tips of his tentacles said he was serious and making a joke at once. “Do you have any idea how things would have gone for you in years past here?” Those tentacles rose, still not touching, but now—at some distance—on either side if Odd, not caging him in, no, but communicating that they could. “I suspect you do. One with your talent and intelligence—and evidently, ability to see through at least some of my wards—would know what it means, ordinarily, to approach a court such as mine.”

“I told you in our first conversation: I never, ever would have left this place,” Odd said, and his voice only trembled a little bit. His eyes darted, taking in the tentacles creeping around him, but he stood firm.  “In years past, I don’t know that I would have even survived my introduction to your court. I haven’t forgotten what it is you can do, Your Majesty. I know what a dangerous game I’m playing. But down there is a little girl—” He swallowed through the lump in his throat. “There is a very sad little girl that I want to make sure has her dad, because from the way you speak, it seems like you aren’t sold on this ‘restful sleep’ at the end of a few years business. It seems like you think you have no choice.”

Something changed.

Odd had no way to know just what, but something he’d said had hit home. The golden eyes behind that mask were wide, gleaming.

There were few times in life when the weight of someone else’s decision thickened the air like oncoming storm. This was one.

Odd took a deep breath. “I want to help you,” he said softly. “I could have fucked off. I could have written the Songweavers, I could have done a million other much smarter things than corner a Great Old One, throw secrets in his face, and demand answers. I have been thrown in the middle of this situation without a lifeline, without a gods-damned clue what the fuck is going on, but I have a feeling that no matter how we slice it, Faroe is going to get hurt. I want to protect her from that as best I can.” The rest came out in a shaky, horrible sigh. “Please.”

The god shuddered. That was a thing to see. “You wish to help her?” As if he needed it absolutely verified.

“The only thing I know for certain about this whole situation is that you love her,” Odd said softly. “And fuck, I barely know her, but I think I might love her too. She’s easy to love.”

“I do love her. Odd. Walk with me.” He slowly moved past Odd onto the balcony, which silently unfolded before them into neat, Odd-sized steps.

He followed, tucking his violin beneath one arm, aware of the sting of the cold air against the tear tracks on his cheeks. Beneath them the badlands of Mhor stretched, dizzying, silver.

If he was wrong… There were worse places to die.

Hastur had done something. No sounds from the city reached them now. Starlight made him void, a golden cloak and white mask floating in writhing darkness. “She needs all the support I can find for her,” Hastur said slowly. “A thing I am… inclined to reward well.” A volley, to see what Odd would say.

“I don’t give a shit about reward. I want her to be safe.” He eyed Hastur, a brief frown on his lips.

And that seemed to have cinched this decision. “Odd,” said Hastur in a calm, unremarkable tone, “in five years, I am going to die.”

Odd stopped walking.

For a long, long moment, he eyed the god beside him; his expression was neutral, though his eyes were sharp, calculating. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said, at last. “Gods like yourself… You don’t age, you don’t get sick. How do you know?”

Hastur seemed to be watching the stars. His mask was turned up, reflecting starlight. “Because the same Outer God which dropped you here as a joke has promised to kill me at that time.” He let a moment pass as if to let Odd parse that.

That information hit like Odd had been punched in the gut by a tentacle.

“My entire goal until that time is to ensure she is safe.” Hastur hardly needed to say who she was. “Along with… this strange family I seem to have gathered. She is a child, Odd. She will still be a child when I die. I must give to her a Dreamlands that will not seek to end her life, but will vie for her favor. I must.” He finally turned to Odd. “How do the humans say it? I’m… not my own man at the moment.” His chuckle was dark, and bitter.

“You really are dying,” Odd said, almost a whisper. “That’s why you’re leaving at night, and not telling anyone. You’re dealing with other powers you don’t have direct alliances with yet.”

“Yes. They will ally, or they will die. I will not leave her a trail of enemies—or opportunists.” Hastur bent lower, mask near. “And I do not tell my strange little family. Nor will you. They would grieve; they would fight against it, uselessly hurling themselves against that which cannot be stopped. I rather they are prepared, as best I can make them, so they may stand safe and strong when I am gone.”

Odd took a shuddery breath. “That’s why you keep mentioning that you don’t have time. And the way you spoke, on Faroe’s birthday.” He ran a hand over his face, up into his hair where it passed over the nubs of his shed antlers; he took a brief grip of his main antlers, the prong still sensitive after the shed. “When are you going to tell them?”

“At the end. I will give them time to yell, demand, blame, weep.” He sounded sad, but amused, like he expected nothing but the wildest drama. “But not enough time to damage themselves, or attempt anything that could garner his attention.” One tentacle neared Odd, then pulled back. “I tell you this in confidence. I tell you this because she will need support. Help. Friends.”

“That’s going to be a disaster. They’re…” He let out a shuddering breath. “There’s no good way to handle any of this. You’re going to die. Fuck.”

“There is no mitigation,” he said quietly. “And I dare not try too hard, lest he turn his attention to them instead.” His voice tightened. “Every moment I have with them is… become something beyond price or value. Perhaps this is why I have spared you—and yes, that is the right word. You know how it would have gone. But I never before appreciated… helplessness. And the terror of oncoming doom.”

Odd couldn't handle this. He turned away, looking instead toward the expanse of Mhor below. “So… what can we do, then?” He said at last, the tears welling up again.

Hastur’s sigh was deep. “I don’t know. I’m doing what I can, without inviting opportunistic attacks. Beyond that, I don’t know.” A smile touched his voice. “Does that frighten you? To hear one of my stature saying such things, admitting such things.”

“It makes me feel a lot of things,” Odd said thickly. “You… I spent most of my life scared of you, and others like you, but mostly just you. And you’re going to die.” He took another shuddering breath. “Fuck me sideways, that Outer God has a sick sense of humor. Another finger curls on the monkey’s paw, and—” He let out a bark of a laugh. “And I am focusing on myself, because I’m upset, and I’m not even important here. We have to figure out a way to keep Faroe safe in five years.”

“I have a way,” said Hastur, who, whatever else he was, definitely still was arrogant. “I am inviting you to join it.” Yet he’d already showed himself adjustable. Perhaps the arrogance was… not as concrete as it might have been. 

“Sure. Talk to me. I’m already in this far, may as well say I do, right?”

Was that relief? Odd had been watching this strange body language for a while now. That was relief. 

“My plan has several steps,” Hastur said, turning fully toward Odd now, as though the act of telling him was more interesting and more exciting than all the stars and all the arid beauty of these wastes. “She will be too young when I go; fifteen, with all of Carcosa on her shoulders? No. There must be a buffer, and that is where John and Arthur come in.”

“John’s not your offspring,” Odd said. “He has your memories. What is he?”

“A rare thing called a Forgotten One. He is a piece of me, unwillingly torn away.” A pause. “So is Sunny.”

Holy shit.

“Okay,” Odd said, soft. “That… makes sense. I know about Forgotten Ones. It tracks for Sunny.” His brow furrowed. “But John… You’ve claimed John as your offspring, not as a fragment. And he seems far too independent to be a true Forgotten One.”

“He is. He’s been with Arthur Lester for over a decade. He’s grown. Quite frankly, he’s doing things Forgotten Ones are not supposed to be able to do, but then, Arthur himself is something of an odd specimen, too.” Hastur must not have told anyone this. He was lower now, mask almost on Odd’s eye-level, tentacle-tips twisting. “I have announced him as offspring so he has a claim to step up—with Arthur—and fill the gap until Faroe is old enough to take her place. Parker and Sunny… were not in my original plan, but my hope is their brand of wisdom and their camaraderie will give the kind of aid John’s prickliness tends to evaporate.” He couldn’t seem to help himself. “Even the transformation of Carcosa is part of this. Soon, I will change it back to welcoming for all, and it will be clearly at her request, earning her favor among merchants and travelers that will not be quickly forgotten.”

“You really have changed,” Odd said, very quietly. “All of this, for them. For her. John must have split off… what, more than twenty years ago now? And since you adopted her… you changed.” Absurdly a small, helpless laugh bubbled from him, even as he sniffled and wiped at the tears that dripped down his cheeks. “It would be just my luck, I suppose.”

“I…” It figured a being wired like this might not realize he’d changed, or how much. “I… for her, I would change.” Hastur considered. “For her, I suppose I have. Arthur experienced both sides. I’m afraid I wasn’t very kind to him in the beginning.” And that felt like an understatement. “What would be your luck? You weep again.” And again, one tentacle came near as if to catch those tears, then pulled away.

“Vulgtmog was watching the situation with Arthur closely, you know? We know how he was treated. I was… gods, I was just coming into my adulthood then, going out on my own for real. And even through all that, he forgave you—and that man is keen. He wouldn't have forgiven you if he didn’t believe it.” 

The god… colored. It pulsed in waves, undulating; and even in the starlight, it seemed to be kind of purple. “I was not subtle in what I did to him,” he said quietly. “Perhaps only one like Arthur could forgive John and… myself.”

“Maybe. He’s something, alright; I’d be half-convinced he was mad if not for the fact he’d probably be enjoying himself much more.” Odd let out a choked sob, scrubbing at his eyes with his hand. “Poor bastard. He’s never going to forgive you, after. He’s going to think he could have done something. And you’re going through all this effort, just to never—” He stopped, choked silent by tears.

“He may,” said Hastur quietly. “But he will be alive to do so—and our daughter will be safe.”

Odd’s chest shuddered with the effort to keep calm; he tilted his head back, toward the stars. “Fuck me. I spent over twenty years running from the sight of gods, and then as a joke I am dropped in the lap of one that maybe, after all this time, would be worth worshiping; and you’re dying.” His voice broke—into a laugh, into a sob. “What a cruel fucking joke.”

Hastur pulled back. Not up; he seemed determined to stay at eye-level now, so the impression was almost like a train backing away. “You…” He stopped. “You… what did you say?”

“Just feeling rather sorry for myself, Your Majesty.” Odd said; abruptly he sat on the edge of the magical walkway, tail curling around himself, violin in his lap as he buried his face in his hands. “The irony is getting to me, is all. Find a god who’s worth it, and whoops, he’s marked for death. Don’t even get to enjoy thinking about—about worship or any of that before it’s just—” He made a gesture, like skipping a stone across a lake. “Gone! Don’t know why I thought it would be different. Been like that since I was born, you know, at least some things stay consistent.”

“You would…” The ancient, terrifying Lord of Interstellar Spaces seemed to have forgotten how to speak. “You…”

“Explains why you didn’t do anything. You didn’t want to leave me feeling shitty when it all happened; I get it.” Odd let out a sob. “Carcosa was always meant to be my last stop, because I just… I knew that once I got here, I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t want to. And as it turns out, maybe you would’ve been worth it all along, and I could have been—” His voice cracked and at last Odd decided that words would no longer do. Instead, he set his head on his arms and cried.

Another flash of purple over that dark hide, almost like some sea creature. Hastur reached. Hesitated. Considered. And then said a thing he might never have said in his long and selfish life: “May I touch you?”

Words were definitely hard right now. Odd nodded, head in his hands.

It was the gentlest touch. Stroking his hair first, then raising his chin. Hastur had produced a handkerchief. It was as gaudily gold as anything he’d ever made, and delicately, he dabbed at Odd’s face.

It wasn’t funny, really. “Are you still willing to help my daughter?” said Hastur.

“Of course I am,” Odd said, snotty and teary and feeling like absolute shit. “I’d decided already. Just… The irony isn’t lost on me, is all.”

The touch—warm through silk—lingered. Slowly tending. “You could still come to me. If you wished.”

His brow furrowed. “I thought… but you said no.”

“I said no to simply taking you. Melting your mind to make you worship me. I will not do that to you, Odd. Ever.”

Odd sniffled. “Reassuring. That meant a lot. I appreciate it,” he said, trembling. “But I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what it is you’re asking of me. If it was before, I could make a pretty compelling guess, but now…” His voice cracked. “You’re dying.”

“Nothing can stop that now,” Hastur said softly. “But I could still give you such good things until all is said and done.”

“Good things, huh?” Odd cracked a fragile smile. “It’s not going to make it so you can stay, or ensure I help out. You don’t… have to. I’ve committed, for Faroe if no one else.” He shuddered. “Gods, this hurts. But if it will make you happy, why not? What do either of us have to lose?”

Hastur tilted Odd’s face toward him. “Will you let me make you happy?” 

Which was an incredibly vague question, all things considered.

And all things considered, Odd was all-in. “Who am I to say no to you, my King?” he said, smiling.

#

“I don’t care what time it is,” Arthur snapped again. “We’re seeing him now. This is a whole new development.”

We should wait until breakfast! John said again. This is ridiculous! It’s three in the morning!

“I don’t care,” said Arthur again, and pushed open the enormous throne room doors.

Music slid over him like warm oil, and he inhaled.

Hastur sat on his throne. It wasn’t time for Court; he wasn’t performing for anyone, but draped there like a cloak, tentacles largely limp, except for the tips which moved in time to—

Odd, who sat on a stone ledge right by the throne, making music.

The bard smiled as he looked up, his fingers working on his lute in a rolling melody that flexed and sighed. “My King,” he said, nudging one tentacle with his foot; he did not stop playing.

Hastur seemed to stir as if from deep meditation. “My own,” he said, and held out one enormous hand. “Come to me.”

Arthur stood there. 

He’s holding out his hand.

“Is he okay?” whispered Arthur. “He sounds weird.”

Fucking… how should I know? Yes!

Hastur chuckled, low. “Come.”

“Okay,” said Arthur, slowly approaching. “Why?”

“Because I wish to have you near me,” said the King.

Arthur exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, my own.” And Hastur paused. Looked over at Odd.

It was a distinctly… considering look.

Hastur, said John, his gold fuming, his voice rising. I am the Ki–

Hastur grabbed them, and Arthur yipped.

“Hey,” Odd said, and promptly whacked one of Hastur’s tentacles with his tail. “You know he doesn’t like being grabbed. Be nice.”

“Ah, true,” said Hastur. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur stared in his direction. “Did you hit your head, or something?”

Hastur chuckled again.

I… hey! I wasn’t…

Hastur put them down.

I am the King in Yellow! John blurted out with significantly less drama than he’d planned.

“Yes, you are,” Hastur agreed, which deflated whatever was left.

“Would it be best if I leave?” Odd stretched out a bit, toes flexing in his boots.

“Not at all,” said Hastur.

“John remembers,” said Arthur. “Everything.”

Hastur stilled. “Everything?”

From before. Everything. All. Of. It.

Hastur picked them up again, but this time to bring them close and study. 

Arthur didn’t wriggle this time. “Is he okay? He said something happened.”

I murdered the assassin, growled John, and I did it too quickly.

“John,” said Hastur slowly. “Exactly what did you do?”

A good question, really. I…I reached.

Hastur waved his enormous hand just beside Arthur, almost like brushing away cobwebs.

Arthur shuddered, inhaled.

[“He’s all right,” said Hastur slowly, “but you are very lucky. He didn’t tear. John… you grew.”]

John huffed. [I have been. It’s nothing new.]

[“This is.”]

“Excuse me,” Arthur said tartly.

“It’s personal, between the two of them,” Odd said, hushed. “About John. I’m sure he’ll fill you in after.”

You’d have known if I’d hurt him! You’d have felt it! John blared, and fear made his voice slightly higher.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “I don’t understand what I’m seeing, though. Don’t do that again until we know, John. You’ve stretched him.”

A pause.

“He what?” said Arthur.

What the fuck does that mean? said John.

“When I know, I’ll tell you,” said Hastur, and put them down with a sigh. “It’s always something with you two,” he added, and his tone was fond.

Arthur smoothed his robe down. “So. That was less upsetting than I feared.”

But… but I… I am the King in Yellow! John said.

“You always were,” said Hastur.

John didn’t seem to like that. When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem so momentous.

“Oh, it is momentous,” said Hastur. “So is this: Odd, for your first city-wide performance, do you want help? Or would you like to charm my people in their entirety all on your own?”

Arthur blinked. “Performance?”

“Odd is particularly talented,” rumbled Hastur, “and our city needs… help after the events of the last few days. If he performs, spirits will lift. This is guaranteed.”

“So it’s not on me,” said Arthur with clear relief, then caught himself. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Hastur and I have been talking. You’re shouldering a lot already, Arthur; it’s about time you had someone who could help, at least in this regard.” Odd smiled, warm, leaning back against the tentacle that rested behind him. “I think it depends on how grand a spectacle we want it to be. I can certainly perform myself, though we’d likely need some magical enhancements for my voice and instrument; not to say I wouldn’t enjoy a backdrop of accompaniment, but I’m more than capable of handling it alone.” He paused, tail flicking. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You shall have the greatest stage,” said Hastur like melted chocolate. “The best equipment. All will love you when they see you.”

Arthur, he’s leaning into him.

“Of course, that’s a given,” Odd laughed, low. “Hey. Will you give Arthur the day off? He and Parker might enjoy walking around the city, enjoying the rest of the festival. With protection, obviously, though I think John might be able to handle it.”

Arthur blinked.

Hastur hesitated. He looked at Odd. So gently, he touched Odd’s cheek. “That is wise advice.” It wasn’t agreement, but it also wasn’t a shut down.

“I… I haven’t done… anything like that since John,” said Arthur very quietly, and that swung the jury.

“Then it shall be so,” said Hastur. “And then…” He stopped.

“What?” said Arthur. “Then what?”

Hastur looked at Odd again. “We’ll see if there are to be more celebrations after. Go rest, both of you. It has been a trying week.”

Arthur, he’s—

“Thank you,” said Arthur softly. “Can we take Faroe into the city?”

“Not as she is,” said Hastur. “Disguise would be necessary. Let’s temporarily table that.”

“Temporarily,” said Arthur firmly. “She needs to see things outside of this place.”

“Of course, my own,” said Hastur. “Off you go.”

Thought he’d be more upset, John grumbled as they left.

“Don’t you think we’re really damn lucky he wasn’t?” said Arthur, and the doors closed.

Hastur looked at Odd again. “The evening has left me drunk.”

It didn't sound licentious. It sounded… pensive.

Odd strummed his lute, picking a song back up. “Good drunk? Emotional relief drunk?”

“Drunk enough to consider something perhaps… extreme. But then, you like extreme things, don’t you, Odd?” said Hastur.

“With consent and discussion, yes,” Odd said, tail flicking. “And with someone who is sober.”

Hastur couldn’t smile, per se. He managed anyway, a full-body thing. “Good. When I am sober, let us discuss your marking.”

[j-graysonlibrary]

Heartbeats; Paradise XXI

Title: Heartbeats; Paradise

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 112K

Genres: Psychological thriller, drama, sci-fi, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: Melvin Hardy and Kade Axel appear to be a match made in heaven. After a meet-cute in the rain, the two quickly find themselves in a burgeoning, wholesome relationship.

Yet, things feel…off. It isn’t the ghosts of their pasts that resurface to test the strength of their partnership—no—it’s something nebulous. Something indescribable. Melvin can’t put his finger on it but, the more time he spends with Kade, the more he starts to wonder what’s real and what’s pure fiction. 

XXI:

That first shake is enough to knock me off balance but the next one actually throws me down to the ground. In fact, Oz is the only one who manages to catch himself but he’s just barely staying upright by grasping onto the pavement under his feet.

The next hit is much nearer and brighter.

It must be only a few blocks away because the explosion of fire into the air lights us all up in bright orange. I can feel the blast and I worry it’s not the last.

The siren continues to blare but it’s the least of our concerns now. It seems everyone is thinking along the same lines as I am.

“We need to find cover!” Kendra shouts.

“Where?!” Kade asks.

Oz takes the lead and we all scramble up to chase after him. A couple of planes rip through the sky as we run and the ground tremors again but it’s at least a little farther away this time.

We head to the side of the road where a few buildings are squeezed together and we slip in the tiny path between their outer walls. I doubt it would help us any if a bomb is dropped on us but, at least, we are out of sight.

“Was this happening when you went into IVAR?” Starla asks—her face inches from Kendra. We’re all a bit close in here so it can’t be helped.

“No!” Kendra, honestly, looks the most confused out of all of us. “Not at all…”

“Well it’s a fucking war zone now,” Kade points out the obvious, “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know!” Kendra frowns and glances down though there really isn’t any room to look away from us.

“Maybe we should head back to your apartment and wait it out,” Oz suggests.

“What about food?” I remind him of our original intent.

Oz turns his head from me to Kendra. “Surely you have some nonperishables still?”

“Um…maybe some rice?”

“We can split it for the night and come out in the morning,” Oz states definitively.

“Let’s keep off the main road on the way back,” Starla adds.

I can’t argue there and I’m glad we haven’t gone too far from our starting point. Though I’m sure, given the circumstances, the trip back is going to feel excruciatingly long.

Oswald leads again but Kendra is right behind him with Starla attached to her hip. That leaves Kade and me in the back. Kade shoots me a quick but loaded glance. I can’t tell if he’s worried about me or more so concerned that I’ll slow everyone down.

Our group slips past the building but still keeps along the back of them rather than running toward the street. Oz stops at the edge of the wall and peers over so the rest of us fall in line

Flashing lights illuminate the night briefly accompanied by the loud, piercing sound of gunfire. Each fierce ripple fills me with fear and adrenaline courses through my body, begging me to run.

But Oz stays still and holds his hand out, asking us to do the same.

The gun fire ceases but talking fills the silence. Whoever is attacking this town isn’t from here—I’m guessing—because they aren’t speaking English. I can’t decipher what language it is though. It seems Romantic or maybe Slavic but I really have no clue.

They shout at each other and I hear a man laugh.

Then a new, scared voice enters. They also speak a different language but it’s not exactly the one the soldiers are speaking either. I raise my brow and listen harder as if I’ll be able to understand by willpower alone.

The man sounds like he’s begging and then he adds, in English, “Please, I have a family.”

My eyes close when the gun fires.

Part of me hopes the soldiers don’t know English—even if that means they still would have shot down a (presumably) unarmed man in the streets. But I have a gut feeling they understood him just fine and simply chose to kill him anyway.

We absolutely cannot be seen.

Oz watches the scene without moving—I’m not even sure if he’s breathing or not. After a long moment he pulls away from the wall and looks back at us. He doesn’t say anything but he beckons us with his hand and starts to run again.

We flee from building to building, sometimes having quite the distance to run before we find cover again. It’s panic inducing, that’s for sure, but I have yet to hear any soldiers near us since those gunmen.

There is another explosion but that, too, is further into town. The ground shakes under our feet as we run and I nearly trip over myself but I make it to the next building as the tremors slow. I fall down on one knee and rest my shoulder against the brick surface.

Even when we do make it back to Kendra’s apartment, I wonder what we’ll do there. Eat, sure, maybe, but do we just huddle in a corner and wait for the bombs to stop? What if they bomb the apartment complex itself?

What if we’re making the wrong move?”

I can’t imagine what else there is for us to do, however. I can only follow the group and stay with everyone as that’s the closest to safe I can feel but my gut is churning with unease and uncertainty.

Those feelings are only amplified when we come to a wide open space between us and the outskirts of Kendra’s neighborhood. There is no way for us to head directly to her home without putting ourselves in the direct line of sight of anyone who might be out and about.

“What do we do?” Starla asks, her gaze jumping from Oz to Kendra and back again.

“We can make it if we run real fast,” Kade says with a shrug.

“That feels too dangerous…” Oz mumbles.

“I know a long way around,” Kendra offers, “It’ll take us further toward town though.”

My frown deepens. Both options sound terrible, really. I’m not sure one of them is the correct pick above the other.

Everyone looks to each other, hoping someone will step up and make a decision for all. It won’t be me and I can tell they all feel a similar way as no one lingers on me for long.

It really comes down to Oz and Kendra. Oz because he’s so level headed and Kendra because she—while also being rather levelheaded—knows the area the best. Kade must know his opinion is going to be looked over because he stays quiet as well.

“We make a run for it,” Kendra finally decides. She’s tense and I can see her gulp down her fear.

Like before, Oz charges out first. We all follow but I’m still at the caboose, keeping my eye on everyone as we run as fast as we can. If anyone trips or falls—especially if there’s another explosion—I’ll be able to help them up and keep them going.

My lungs beg me for relief and I gulp down air, trying to keep up with everyone. The muscles in my thighs burn and I feel like my heart will explode out of my chest at any moment.

This run is far longer than I realized. I don’t even see the apartment complex yet and I’m about ready to give in.

My face meets the pavement as a scream rips through the air and gunfire pierces my ears.

My glasses fly off of my face, landing several feet away and my leg is in agony. A sharp and jabbing pain shoots out from my calf to the rest of my body and I can’t move.

A second and more intense explosion of pain blossoms from my abdomen. Something besides skin and muscle is nicked, I’m sure, and if I couldn’t move before I really can’t now.

“STOP!” Kendra screams.

Another gunshot sounds and it’s followed by Kendra’s muffled grunt. Starla screams but is interrupted. I can’t see why but I imagine it has something to do with a gun in her face.

“What were you doing here?” Kade asked, indignantly, “Waiting for people to try and run home? You pricks.”

I hear yelling in that foreign language and Kade goes silent. Oz hasn’t said a word and I worry about him. There was a lot of shooting earlier…

What if…?

I can’t linger on it as the men speak to each other, probably deciding if they want to kill us quickly or torture us some first. I feel I’m already being tortured with the amount of pain pulsing through my body. I think I’d much rather have a bullet through my head about now rather than bleed out like this.

My mind starts to grow distant from me, even as I try to listen to the men speak in hopes I’ll recognize one word eventually. But it’s difficult to concentrate when every beat of my heart is leaking massive amounts of blood.

But then I hear the word, “American” out of the fog of unrecognizable speech.

Would us being American help us or hurt us? Are we even, technically, Americans? Kendra is, I know that for certain, and, as Liam, I was but I don’t know what I’d call myself now. Anika set our fake town as some made up place in America, I believe, but all of our bodies were given to us by a giant flower creature in an alternate reality so I’m not sure that counts for anything.

We definitely don’t have papers to prove who we are or where we’re from. An oversight that might have become a problem later on down the road had we ever survived to see it.

But I don’t think it’ll be important soon.

I turn my head and look up at my limited view. A soldier stands over me in a uniform I’m not at all familiar with but it is clearly beholden to some country’s military. The gun he points at my head is long and thin. I see only the bottom of his mouth as he talks to one of his brothers in arms.

The gun comes ever closer, as if he means to press the barrel to my head before executing me.

I can’t even close my eyes when the shot is fired.

It’s not my head that’s blown off though. Blood sprays from the side of the soldier’s head and he crumples to the ground beside me.

The remaining soldiers all point their guns away from us and start firing wildly. There’s plenty of yelling too but I’m sure my eardrums are busted from all the gun fire.

I notice a few more bodies falling and, while I can’t turn my head to see more, a woman comes into view. She’s wearing a casual button up shirt but with an armored vest strapped over the top. Her helmet doesn’t match her vest and her pants are a different color altogether as well. It’s like she’s put together what armor she can find.

There are more people than just her but she’s the only one I can see. She and the others talk, not in English, until Kendra speaks up.

I’m so glad to hear she’s okay after everything, even if she sounds like she’s speaking while I’m underwater.

“Thank you for taking care of those guys…can you help us?”

There’s an uncomfortably long pause.

Then an answer; “You only speak English?” A heavily accented voice asks.

“…Yes. I’m sorry but, you understand me right?” Kendra is getting desperate, I can hear it in her words, but she’s trying to keep calm.

“Yes, we do.”

“My friend is hurt really bad. He needs medical attention now.” I can guess she’s talking about me but I actually don’t know how bad off everyone else is.

“You five don’t look like spies of the Federation to me,” a new, deep voice bellows. My ears finally begin to readjust as well though everyone still sounds a distance away still. “We can take you to our base but we’ll keep you under surveillance until we’re sure of your position.”

“That’s fine—just help Melvin,” Oz says and I find myself smiling, or at least wanting to.

He’s okay. It’s such a relief I could cry.

“We’ll be your damn prisoners of war or whatever you want,” Kade adds on.

“Shawn, give that man emergency first aid then we’ll escort these civilians to base,” the deep voice commands.

“…Who are you guys?” Starla asks as hands fall on my body. I still can’t move but my wounds are wrapped with some sort of gauze. It won’t stop the bleeding, of course, but I do think it will slow it down.

“We’re rebels,” the woman answers, “We’re just trying to defend our home.”

“And the homes of others like us,” the deep voiced man replies. “My name is Fredrik. I’m in charge of this group.”

“Karl,” the first voice sounds off.

“Shawn,” the one closest to me says as they finish tying up my bandages.

And, finally, the woman answers, “Nina.”

“I’m Kendra,” I hear her begin the introductions on our side and my consciousness slips away from me. I attempt to hold on but only darkness greets my mind. 

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

5 times Merlin does something that requires a considerable amount of strength;

+1 time the gang has time to actually bring it up.

Everyone is baffled, half distracted by Merlin’s surprising buffness and half amused by Arthur’s gay panic:

1)

The clearing fills with the sounds of a brutal fight. 

The Knights of Camelot, along with their King, had given up on trying to figure out how bandits always managed to find them in the woods. It seemed impossible for there to be so many mercenary groups that it was just coincidence for them to stumble upon each other so often, but equally, the knights moved quietly and always covered their tracks well, so... yeah, who knows.

The point is, they’re outnumbered three to one, and all of them were starting to regret not listening to Merlin’s earlier suggestion that they keep riding for another hour or so; their camp was destroyed and the fight was tiring them out.

Three to one weren’t bad odds, especially for knights with such a high level of skill, but it was exhausting and time consuming and they just wanted it to be over. Merlin was having similar thoughts as he stumbles through the middle of the crowd, trying to get out of the way. He was keeping an eye on them of course, but his friends were winning so his magical intervention wasn’t really needed; he was just annoyed that Arthur was almost certainly going to make him clear everything up afterwards.

His attention is suddenly caught when Percival’s voice rings out across the clearing:

“Merlin! Behind you!”

All of the knights’ gazes whip to the servant when they hear the giant’s yell, and they all abandon their own battles to step towards him despite knowing that they were too far away to be able to help in time. The servant takes in a sharp breath at Percival’s warning, becoming suddenly aware of a fast-moving presence behind him; he forms a fist and turns, swinging blindly with all his strength and following through even when his knuckles crunch with surprising accuracy against the temple of a bandit.

The man, not expecting the rapid attack, doesn’t have time to move out of the way, and his head jerks to the side, his entire body following as if an afterthought. He crumples to the floor gracelessly, unconscious before his head makes contact with the trampled undergrowth.

Merlin hisses at the pain bursting through his knuckles and up into his wrist, shaking his hand out as he steps over the bandit’s still form without even blinking, back to focusing on attempting to find a tree to sit behind and sulk, as if nothing had happened.

The knights only have a fraction of a second to freeze in shock before they’re dragged back to their own fights, forced to defend themselves lest they get skewered. 

The battle only lasts a few more minutes; despite being outnumbered, the knights far outmatch the bandits in skill (and sufficient armour) and Merlin was correct in his assumption that they wouldn’t need any of his DIY luck, which is a good thing really, considering how much his hand is throbbing. He peeks his head around the tree when things go suspiciously quiet, getting up and making his way to the abandoned bag of medical supplies when he sees the knights victorious.

The servant runs a quick gaze over them, taking stock of any potential injuries as he makes his way through the clearing, injured hand clenched tightly and held to his chest. He may have knocked the bandit out, but that just meant that the punch was hard enough to do damage to his hand as well as the other guy’s head. When he finds nothing more than the odd bruise on the others, he grabs a roll of bandages for himself, quickly wrapping his hand almost painfully tight, before turning to Arthur with a scowl:

“I told you we were too close to the road, I told you we should’ve kept on going. But do you ever listen to me? No, because you’re-”

He’s cut off by The King stepping towards him and taking his bandaged hand, cradling it gently and looking to Merlin in concern:

“Merlin, are you alright?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and huffs, snatching his hand back and retreating to check on the horses, thankfully tied and uninjured at the edge of the clearing:

“No, my hand fucking hurts, because, surprisingly enough, these idiots have skulls almost as thick as yours. We need to move camps, like I said earlier. Prat.”

Arthur frowns, looking down to Merlin’s unconscious bandit at his feet, and then glancing back to the other knights, who all just shrug with wide eyes. The King sighs, reluctantly nodding at Merlin’s assertion as he stares up at the darkening sky, deciding that Merlin must’ve... hit a pressure point or... something:

“Everyone pack up, I want to be moving on in three minutes.”

2)

Merlin had foregone his jacket and rolled his sleeves up in the surprising Spring heatwave.

Which was a sight in itself.

But what really made the knights look twice (I mean... Arthur was just outright staring, but Leon had long since glared the others into not mentioning The King’s little... crush) was the way the supposedly wimpy servant had two sets of chainmail folded on one shoulder, his arm curled over them to keep them balanced, and a few odd bits of mismatched armour clutched in his other hand. He was making his way from the training field up to the castle, presumably to find an empty room to sit quietly and clean them.

Elyan waves at him across the field, the movement just about catching the servant’s gaze as he twists around, flashing a bright, sunny grin in place of waving back. 

Arthur gulps, eyes drawn to the vein standing out from Merlin’s uncovered neck; apparently the heat had encouraged him to abandon his neckerchief as well. The King takes a deep breath, sending a scowl Merlin’s way to cover his... surprise, holding in a smirk when the servant just rolls his eyes and turns back to the castle.

His stride was strong, and though his arms were straining against the weight, he looked entirely unbothered, not even breathing deeply as he picks up his pace, jogging up the citadel steps.

Training had all but stopped at this point, the roundtable knights staring in confusion as Merlin carefully pulled the door open, making sure he wouldn’t drop anything, before nudging the door shut again with his hip. Gwaine was the first to break the silence, quirking one of his eyebrows up as he speaks in a slightly surprised tone:

“Didn’t know he had it in him. Wearing one set, when the weight is evenly distributed, is hard enough, let alone carrying two sets. And armour. Up steps. Huh.”

Arthur clears his throat, looking away with a slight blush as he asserts:

“Yes, well, knights carry the same weight in armour and weapons everyday, if not more. If you’re that impressed Sir Gwaine, perhaps you should work on your strength.”

Gwaine turns to him with a smirk, but Leon’s warning glare stops him from teasing, or saying anything else that could be considered treasonous. Instead, he rolls his eyes at the first knight before humming non-committedly and pointing his sword at The King:

“That, Princess, sounds like a challenge.”

Arthur, blush forgotten, looks up with raised eyebrows and a chuckle, noting with satisfaction the way the other knights spread out to form a circle around the two of them, swords lowered and expectant looks on their faces:

“Does it now? I suppose you’ll have to take me up on it then, won’t you?”

3)

The knights were on some stupid (in Merlin’s opinion) quest.

The group was currently making their way through a complicated cave system. They had maps, thankfully, but they were old, and provided by a small village of locals who hadn’t spoken common very well. 

They’d had to trade away half of their supplies in return for the maps, so Arthur was already in a foul mood, but a dotted line on the page across the path they were following was worrying him. The note written next to it was in some old, almost lost native language, so The King had just resigned himself to carrying on and hoping for the best.

Which is why he let out a series of echoing curse words when they turned a corner to find a ragged overhang, about eight feet above the path. The wall curved in on itself before jutting out again at the top, making it impossible to climb, even without armour and swords and packs.

Elyan is the first to break the tense silence after Arthur’s outburst, his tone half amused, half annoyed, as he mutters:

“That’ll be why the locals kept pointing at that ladder then.”

Arthur huffs, glaring at the knight with a rare venom, but Leon gestures to the map in his hand before he can retort:

“We can always go back, or is there another way around?”

Arthur huffs louder, letting out a short growl as he thrusts the maps to Leon’s chest and paces closer to the overhang:

“Feel free, if you can find an alternative route, please, enlighten me. The village is a day’s journey away, we don’t have time to go back.”

Leon covers his annoyance at Arthur’s harshness well, but Merlin scowls at The King openly before moving to stand at the junction between the wall of the corridor, and the overhang in front of them:

“Don’t be an arse, Arthur, it’s not Leon’s fault that none of us can understand Old... whatever it was. And it’s not that high, just-”

With that, Merlin braces his foot against the wall, bending his knees slightly before pushing off and jumping up, reaching out and grabbing the overhang, his feet dangling off the ground. The knights stare in shock, but before they can say anything, Merlin swings his feet forwards, and backwards, and forwards again. When they swing back for the second time, he uses the momentum to pull himself up, his arms locking out straight beneath him as he lifts his knees up, crawling over the edge and onto the floor above them.

Arthur blinks, looking from the floor, to the wall, and up to Merlin again, trying to figure out how the hell his manservant had enough strength in his arms and core to pull himself up; he hadn’t even taken his pack off.

Lancelot clears his throat, tilting his head and frowning as he slowly speaks:

“That was... impressive. But we’re wearing armour, Merlin, I don’t think we’ll be able to manage that with all the extra weight.”

No one mentions that they don’t think they could do it even without armour.

Merlin just rolls his eyes and sits on the edge, his feet dangling below him as he gestures vaguely:

“Well if you just get your hands on the ledge then I can pull you up. Take your packs off and throw them up first if you’re so worried, you can give each other a hand up, and Percival can go last because of how tall he is. Come on, it wasn’t that hard.”

Lancelot shrugs, taking his pack off and throwing it up with all his might. Merlin leans out, catching it with ease and chucking it behind him as he motions Percival to interlock his hands. The knight does so, allowing Lancelot to step on them and throw himself up, just about managing to catch the ledge and groaning at the strain in his arms. Merlin brings his feet back over the overhang, bracing his heels against the stone as he reaches down, gripping Lancelot’s wrists and hauling him up and over the edge.

Lance yelps as Merlin yanks him up, rolling onto his back and panting at the ceiling as he blinks in surprise. Merlin doesn’t pay him any attention, frowning down at the others and gesturing at them to hurry:

“Come on, I thought we were in a rush?”

With that, they all huddle below, taking turns to be thrown up and hauled over the edge. Merlin drags Elyan up on his own, Lance still recovering from his slight shock, but the more people gather at the top, the less work Merlin has to do. Which is good, because he may be strong, but he’s not sure he could manage Percival on his own. The giant has to take a running leap at the ledge, and it takes four of them to pull him up without dislocating any shoulders or throwing out any backs.

When they’re all successfully at the top, Merlin wordlessly picks his pack up, shrugging it onto his shoulders as he begins a quick pace along the corridor as if he hadn’t a care in the world; the knights break out of their stupors and jog to catch up, knowing that Merlin was right and they needed to hurry.

4)

Arthur was glaring resolutely at the floor, trying to psych himself up to confront whatever arsehole had managed to get the drop on him and his six best knights. The others were arguing in whispers around him, trying to figure out some way to escape the dungeon unscathed, though The King kept silent, knowing that the only way out was if someone unlocked these infernal chains first.

They’d only been there for around an hour, so no one from Camelot would have realised they were missing yet; their only hope was that Merlin was making his way back to the city to get help. He’d been off gathering firewood, and he’d already been gone half a candle mark when they’d been ambushed; Arthur would never admit it, but he had faith that Merlin would be able to sort everything out.

The King harshly shushes the knights as he hears the guards begin to yell, but frowns in confusion when he hears “They’re going crazy up there!” and “What the fuck?!” before the unmistakable sound of armoured boots running up the stairs and away from the dungeons reaches them.

The knights all look to each other in confusion, straining against their chains to try and see through the small barred window at the top of the door. A shadow passes through the square of light on the floor, and they all shuffle back against the wall, staying silent. None of them manage to hold in their surprised yelps however, when the door suddenly bursts in, the wood around the lock splintering violently and spreading shards across the dungeon floor.

A strong arm extends out, stopping the now broken beyond repair door from swinging shut again, and the knights look up, taking in sharp gasps when they see Merlin stood there, scowling disapprovingly with a ring of keys in his other hand and one foot in front of the other, as if he had... as if he had kicked the door. Leon is the first to break the silence:

“Merlin?? What are you doing here?”

Merlin’s scowl deepens as he glances down the corridor before stepping into the dungeon, sorting through the keys to try and figure out which one would open which set of chains:

“Well I’m rescuing you lot, obviously. I leave camp for barely a candle-mark and you get yourselves kidnapped. Honestly, how hard is it to not find trouble, for once?”

Arthur is too busy staring at Merlin’s apparently muscled legs to say anything, even when Elyan clears his throat and kicks him, so Percival is the next to speak as Merlin unlocks his chains:

“Why not just... unlock the door?”

Merlin doesn’t look at the largest of the knights as he moves on to the others, unchaining them one by one as he responds, his scowl still firmly in place:

“The key was on a separate ring and I only had time to grab one, figured the door would be easier to break than the chains.”

Arthur finally blinks and shakes his head free of.... distracting, thoughts as Merlin finally turns to him, holding his hands out to be unchained as he clears his throat and says strongly, forcing the waiver from his voice:

“How did you distract the guards?”

Merlin finally smiles at that, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a lumpy looking bit of plant:

“Snuck in and pretended to be one of their slaves, laced all the jugs with mandrake root. They’re all going loopy with hallucinations upstairs, a few of them vomited and I think one guy might have shit himself. The guards went to see what was wrong, so we don’t have much time, come on.”

Arthur nods impressed, and was the last of the group to sneak from the dungeon, pausing briefly to run a hand over the splintered wood and warped metal of the kicked-in door, before shaking his head and following the others out of the not-quite-abandoned fort.

5)

It had been almost a year since Merlin had last seen his mother, so when the servant requested two weeks off to visit home, wanting to help the village out with repairs before the winter set in, Arthur agreed immediately, on the condition that he and a couple of the knights could tag along.

Merlin reluctantly gave in, but only after insisting that he wouldn’t be Arthur’s servant, and whoever came would have to dig in and help out. To be honest, Arthur was mentally exhausted after months of work on repealing the magic ban, so Merlin was silently grateful that he was coming; The King needed a break, and Merlin knew how secretly fond the man was of Merlin’s mother, and her simple country life. 

In the end, Leon and Mordred were the only ones who could come; Lancelot and Elyan were left in charge of patrols, Percival and Gwaine were left in charge of training, and Guinevere, Gaius, and Morgana were left to oversee the council and the general running of the Kingdom. Arthur wasn’t worried to be honest, they were only going to be gone for two weeks, and if disaster set in they were only a two day’s ride away at most.

It was chilly, the winter was setting in early so Merlin and Hunith were eager for work to start as soon as possible. There were numerous leaks and fences to fix, and one of the village’s barns needed clearing out so it could filled with grain over the snowy season.

That, and as much firewood needed to be collected as possible so they could stockpile. They normally barely had enough to last them through the winter; Arthur had nodded in approval when Merlin had meekly asked if they could take a cart of wood with them from Camelot, but they still had a lot to gather.

It was the afternoon of their first day, Leon had been sent to a neighbour’s to fix a roof, Merlin was doing something outside, and Mordred was just about to head over to one of the livestock pastures to strengthen a few of the fences. Hunith was preparing the evening’s meal and Arthur stood politely in the doorway as he spoke:

“Merlin said that firewood had to be gathered? I can get started on that if you can point me in the right direction.”

Hunith smiles over her shoulder briefly, and Arthur ignores the warm fuzziness in his stomach at the sight as she speaks:

“Oh don’t worry about that, we’ve only one axe in the village and Merlin is out by the barn chopping wood now. I know there’s a leak somewhere in the basement of the village hall, a few of the boys are already down there if you’re looking for something to do?”

Arthur raises his eyebrow at Hunith’s insistence that Merlin, his lanky manservant, was outside with an axe chopping wood, and he glances at Mordred over his shoulder, who just shrugs, nodding to Hunith’s turned back. The King responds quietly, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice:

“Hmm. I’ll go check in with Merlin and then head down to the hall, if he doesn’t need help.”

Hunith hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t reply, mumbling under her breath about herbs and measurements as she stirs something into the pot. Arthur smirks at Mordred and the two of them head out, neither mentioning how Mordred was following Arthur to find Merlin instead of getting to the fences.

They walk in silence, though they both freeze on the spot when they turn a corner to see Merlin, once again with his sleeves rolled up, hefting around a huge lump of wood, a ginormous axe resting on his shoulder. He gets the wood where he wants it, stepping back and wiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead before lifting the axe and swinging it down again. The stump splits easily beneath the sharpened metal, and Merlin wastes no time in repositioning the new pieces of wood, ready to be chopped again.

Arthur doesn’t even realise his mouth is hanging open until Mordred looks at him and smirks, biting his lip before giving in and snorting quietly:

“You’re the colour of our capes, Sire, and you might want to shut your mouth. Don’t want to catch flies, do you?”

Arthur’s jaw snaps shut with a clack, and he frowns as his teeth begin to ache. Mordred chuckles slightly and though Arthur is grateful that the young knight is finally comfortable enough to joke around with him, he desperately wishes he wasn’t at Gwaine’s level of comfort.

Instead of retorting, Arthur just clears his throat and turns around, striding towards the village hall:

“It appears he’s got things handled. Those fences won’t fix themselves, Sir Mordred.”

Mordred only just manages to hold in his giggle, looking up to see Merlin staring confusedly at him and Arthur’s rapidly retreating back. He waves briefly, sending a quick “I’ll tell you later.” over their mental link before turning himself and heading in the direction of the pastures.

He knows full well that he has no intention of telling Merlin about Arthur’s crush; watching them tiptoe around each other was the funniest thing ever, and he didn’t want to ruin the bet that Gwaine had going.

+1)

The fight was vicious, more so than any of the skirmishes the knights had dealt with in the last several months.

They were vastly outnumbered, and the addition of four powerful sorcerers to the enemy ranks meant that Merlin and Mordred were quickly running out of energy, having to focus on both the magical aspect of the fight, and trying to keep everyone else alive.

The metallic scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and the constant clang of metal on metal mixed with the whooshing echoes of sorcerous fire and vines was deafening. The fight went on a lot longer than Merlin had thought it would; the enemy was clearly more skilled than predicted, but the Camelot knights did prevail eventually, Percival ending the fight with the smooth slice of his blade across the last mercenary’s throat.

Merlin wastes no time in running his gaze over the knights, giving special attention to Arthur as he searches for any injuries that need seeing to immediately. The last of the sorcerers had managed to escape, so they needed to get out of there as soon as possible: there’s no way they’d survive a second attack if he came back with reinforcements.

Merlin was relieved to see nothing too serious; Lancelot had a gash on his temple that would need a thorough cleaning and a few stitches, and Gwaine was holding his wrist to his chest in a way that told Merlin it was likely broken, but everyone was on their feet and no one was crying. That’s a good start.

Merlin relaxes, but his shoulders quickly tense again as Mordred’s voice echoes weakly through his head:

“Emrys... I’m... I’m tired...”

Merlin whips around quickly, his eyes wide and panicked as his frantic gaze lands on the young knight. He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes hooded and focused on the floor. Merlin leaps towards him, catching him just before his head lands harshly on a boulder, and pulling the collapsed younger man into a more comfortable position as Arthur rushes over:

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t see any blood, was he hit with magic?”

Merlin waves him off, checking Mordred’s pulse and breathing before he relaxes again, sending a tired, but relieved smile up to The King:

“He’s fine, just exhausted. This is the first time he’s used this much magic in years, he’ll need a little while to recover his strength, but we need to get out of here in case they come back.”

Arthur lets out a relieved sigh and nods, leaning down to take one of Mordred’s arms and waving Gwaine over to pick his legs up, but before either of them get even close, Merlin stands up, dragging Mordred with him and settling the armoured knight across his shoulders. He looks to Arthur next to him, not seeming to notice The King’s shock as he quickly says:

“I know you’re The King and all, but would you mind carrying my bag?”

Arthur nods dumbly, picking up Merlin’s dropped medical bag without taking his gaze off the Warlock, who wanders around double checking that the other knights were ok and that all the bandits were dead as if he didn’t have about 240 pounds of man and armour dangling from his shoulders.

Leon catches Arthur’s eye, nodding pointedly towards the path they needed to take, trying to pull Arthur back into the present before the others notice him gawping. Arthur gulps, blushing as he nods his thanks and moves away from the battlefield, Merlin’s bag secured on his shoulders as he confidently speaks:

“Merlin’s right, we need to get as far away from here as we can. I saw a cave about two hours’ back North, we can make camp there before heading back to Camelot in the morning. Gather as much as you can carry, we’ve no hope of finding the horses before nightfall, hopefully they can make their own way home.”

The knights all nod, following Arthur’s lead as he steps carefully through the underbrush, trying not leave any obvious pointers to their direction. He keeps his gaze resolutely ahead as he hears Percival ask:

“You alright, Merlin? Sure you don’t want a hand?”

Despite keeping his gaze stubbornly forward, Arthur strains his ears to hear Merlin’s response, refusing to acknowledge the sudden weakness in his knees at what the Warlock replies with:

“Nah, it’s fine, he’s not that heavy.”

Leon subtly sidles up to walk next to The King, glancing behind him before leaning in close, talking quietly as they moved:

“Perhaps you should... let him know of you affections, Sire?”

Arthur’s blushing gaze quickly finds the older knight’s before he looks away again:

“I don’t know what you think you’re implying, Sir Leon.”

Leon just raises his eyebrow in an unusual display of amused defiance:

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur. He’s been by your side for ten years, you’ve been through the unspeakable, both with each other and for each other. That, and he has a surprisingly... admirable physique.-”

Arthur’s blush deepens and he clears his throat, crossing his arms petulantly and staring resolutely ahead. Leon puts a hand on The young King’s shoulder as he continues:

“-You’re...-”

The knight sighs and bites his lip again, debating with himself over whether he should say it or not:

“-you’re head over heels for him, Sire, perhaps it’s time to do something about it? Gods know he feels the same, and the Gods also know that he’ll never make the first move. He’s still... nervous, about messing things up, I think. His-”

Leon glances over his shoulder again to make sure no one could hear him before dropping his voice to a whisper:

“-his magic being outed put him... on edge, even after all these months. He won’t do anything that he think could push you away or anger you.”

Arthur sighs and nods, before turning to him slowly with an embarrassed scowl on his face; he doesn’t shrug off Leon’s hand, which the knight takes as a good sign:

“Not a word to anyone, Leon, I swear to the Gods.”

Leon holds his hand up and uses his other to wave a cross over his heart:

“I swear, Sire. Though I feel the need to tell you that... at least three of the other servants, and I do believe Lady Bronwyn and Sir Galahad, also have... uh... their eyes on him, as it were.”

Arthur’s scowl gets impossibly deeper as he huffs, muttering to himself:

“They do, do they? Well, we’ll see about that.”

Leon just smirks again and rolls his eyes fondly before falling back to walk with Elyan.

~

They finally make it back to the cave, though it took them even longer without horses. Merlin had requested they stop around a candle mark in so he could remove some of the heavier bits of Mordred’s armour, passing them off to the other knights, but he had once again rejected any offers of help, saying that he was slowly siphoning his own magic into Mordred so he would wake sooner. Apparently they needed to be touching for that to happen, and though Merlin had been teaching them, none of them had enough knowledge on magic to know whether that was true or not, but they did know that Merlin was incredibly protective of the young Druid, so they let it be.

A fire was lit quickly and supplies were laid out. A map had been saved, thankfully, so they could figure out roughly where they were and how long it would take them to get back home as Merlin quickly treated Lance’s gash and Gwaine’s wrist.

Mordred begins to stir just as Percival serves up food, groaning slightly and rubbing at his eyes before struggling to sit himself up. Merlin had rushed to his side as soon as he felt the Druid begin to wake, and helps prop him up against the cave wall, handing him a water-skin as he stares at him with concern. Mordred takes a long drink, nodding his thanks and clearing his throat before speaking, his voice gravelly and slow:

“This... this is the cave we passed a few hours ago...”

His voice trails off, and Arthur answers the question in his tone:

“Hmm. We had no horses, so we were never going to make it back to the city, but we couldn’t stay where we were.”

Mordred nods, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes again as he asks:

“How did you get me this far without horses?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, blushing slightly as he looks away, but thankfully Gwaine butts in, answering with a grin on his face before anyone notices The King’s flush:

“Merlin here is stronger than he looks. Carried you the whole way, didn’t use magic or anything.”

Mordred turns his incredulous gaze to Merlin and he just shrugs absentmindedly:

“You don’t weigh that much, it was fairly easy.”

Elyan laughs and shakes his head, joining in on the conversation quickly:

“Are you kidding me? I mean... sure, I could’ve carried him for maybe an hour, if I was at full strength and it was easy terrain. You carried him for three, only took his armour off in the second hour, down what could barely be classified as a path, in a barely tamed forest, after a pretty hefty fight. That’s... impressive.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, looking around the room in bafflement as he realises that everyone is staring at him with varying levels of impressed confusion:

“You guys... you guys know that I grew up in the country, right? I spent my childhood climbing trees and running away from predators, and my teenage years chopping wood, building things with barely any help, and fighting the odd bear. I then arrive in Camelot, only to immediately be given a job that involves carrying a shit ton of heavy stuff, including, but not limited to: armour, luggage, hunting equipment, and the occasional unconscious idiot.”

Arthur sits up straight and scowls slightly when Merlin gestures to him instead of Mordred:

“You have never had to carry me anywhere.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, gaze sinking to the floor as he smirks and coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like “Sophia”.

Arthur’s blush deepens and he jabs an accusing finger in Merlin’s direction:

“That. Didn’t. Happen.”

Merlin bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, but his dimples still show through despite his best effort and he holds his hands up in surrender:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur just clenches his jaw and sits back against the wall with eyes focused on his food and cheeks red, stubbornly ignoring the knights’ curious stares as everyone eats their food. Merlin fusses over Mordred for a few more minutes but is quickly waved away by the younger man; the Warlock huffs and rolls his eyes, but gives in to the fact that Mordred did not need, nor want, to be babied. He moves subtly around the cave to sit down next to Arthur, barely a foot of air between them despite the abundance of space elsewhere.

Arthur forces his blush down at Merlin’s proximity, refusing to think of anything but his food and the difficult journey home, desperately keeping his gaze on his meal instead of Merlin’s strong legs stretched out next to him.

The King doesn’t acknowledge him, but doesn’t move away either, which Merlin takes as a good sign as he settles in, wrapping himself in a blanket to protect his body from the impending cold.

The other knights have long since finished their meals, scarping the lot in a matter of seconds in an attempt to gain back a little energy after the hours of riding and fighting and walking; they quickly settle into the blankets and cloaks and bedrolls they had managed to carry, though Leon seems to deliberately move slower, waiting for Arthur to glance up at him so he can give a pointed look to Merlin, just finishing his food, before laying down and attempting to sleep.

Arthur blushes with wide eyes, but Leon turns around before he has time to glare at him, and The King huffs quietly, risking a glance to a shivering Merlin next to him. He quickly frowns, not moving his gaze away like he had intended to, instead whispering softly:

“Cold? Can’t you use magic to warm up?”

Merlin looks to him tiredly, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyelids droop slightly:

“Hmm. I gave most of my reserves to Mordred, he was worse off than I first thought so he needed a lot more magic than I realised to keep him alive long enough for his energy to build up again.-”

Arthur widens his eyes at the fact that he was so close to losing one of his knights, but then shakes his head, huffing as he glares at the Warlock disapprovingly, but Merlin closes his eyes and continues before he can get told off:

“-I’ll be fine by morning, I just need-”

He’s interrupted when his body is wracked by a particularly strong shiver:

“-I just need some sleep.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, shuffling into a more comfortable position before opening his arms, spreading his cloak wide as if they were a pair of majestic wings:

“Come here, you idiot. I can’t have you freezing to death because you refuse to look after yourself.”

In normal circumstance Merlin would’ve argued, but he really was cold, so when he cracks his eyes open to see Arthur ready and waiting, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl hurriedly over. Arthur ignores the flush rising on his cheeks as Merlin clambers over one of his legs, settling between them and shoving his head under the blonde’s chin; he wraps his cloak around the two of them and rubs his cheek into the Warlock’s soft hair. 

He can feel Merlin grin against his collarbone, and it’s enough to distract him from the surprising, but not unwelcome, weight of Merlin’s muscled form against his chest:

“You know, Arthur, if you wanted to feel up my muscles so badly you just had to ask. You stare far too often to think you’re subtle.”

Arthur’s flush deepens and his body goes rigid as Merlin giggles. He clenches his jaw and lands a punch, far softer than he would normally go for, on the other man’s shoulder, but that just makes him giggle harder, and Arthur has to hush him in fear of waking the others. Merlin looks up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking tiredly with a satisfied smile on his face:

“Just let me know if you ever want carrying around, I’m more than happy to help.”

Arthur gulps, refusing to make eye contact as he stares resolutely at the opposite wall and not acknowledging the red hue of his cheeks:

“When we get back to Camelot, I’m hanging you for treason.”

Merlin snorts quietly, re-burying his face in Arthur’s chest and curling up tightly in his lap to stave off the cold:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur gives in, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes as he tightens his hold on the other man. He lets his cheek fall back to rest on his soft hair as he closes his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to take over and descending into an easy sleep.

~

THE END!!

We stan Arthur gay panicking and all the knights (bar Leon of course, who handles it as tactically as he’s able) ruthlessly taking the piss :D

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you anon, I loved writing this!!!

Same as always, someone wants to write it up in full, go for it!! Drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

[akirakurusuimagines]

had the idea of reader getting marin karin'd and it not wearing off after leaving the metaverse so our dear boy helps her out by gently overstimulating her in front of a mirror 👉👈

I'm sorry for how long it's been taking to get this out! Hopefully the others won't take as long. Please enjoy! (minors DNI)

It only takes one mistake for everything to fall apart.

Akira believed they were sufficiently prepared to waltz right into Mementos and explore the depths that opened after the public’s response to their latest and greatest heist. He disregarded Morgana’s incessant warning that he was running low on ailment-curing items and revival items, reminding the cat that he was already planning on putting him and Makoto on the front lines this time so there was nothing to worry about.

So really, this mess was his fault. As leader, he knows he shoulders the responsibility of anything and everything that happens, even if his teammates don’t blame him.

It began to storm back in the real world as they reached the end of the current depths⁠; a painstakingly slow thirteen floors⁠ to comb through in search of treasure and experience. Everyone was nearing their physical and mental limits for the day, but at the sight of a rare challenger on their way back, they let their youthful recklessness seep through. One more, they all thought, one more to end the trip on a high note.

The high note they sought after quickly⁠ and almost comically⁠ became shrill.

The battle turned for the worst: unable to find a weakness, you and Mona were left with minimal SP, Queen had suffered an ill-timed critical attack and was knocked out cold, and Joker himself was running on fumes. Mind scattered in desperation, Joker attempted to regain some footing by attacking the particularly strong enemy with Marin Karin, hoping to charm it.

He didn’t expect that the enemy would end up reflecting it back at him.

Nor that you would take the brunt of the attack by jumping in front of him last-minute.

Joker and Mona finished the battle through sheer dumb luck, and all of the thieves expected things to return to normal. Queen stood up on shaky legs and thanked Panther for medicine, but when they turned to look at you, their hearts dropped.

Your face was flushed and eyes glassy, no different than how you were in battle. The unspoken rules of Mementos was broken⁠—somehow you didn’t come to once the fight finished.

Joker took to your side immediately, helping you up but freezing at the garbled moan that slipped past your lips the moment his hands landed on you. The others looked on with concern and fear, not understanding why this was happening, but it was obvious to everyone that they needed to leave immediately. He apologized to them and announced that he’ll be taking you home to make sure you’re safe and resting while the others research the strange divergence.

His arm wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you steady as you mindlessly clung to him, and ushered you out of Mementos and towards the trains.

Akira felt like he was suffocating. If this is how he was feeling, he could only start to imagine what you’re suffering through right now.

He kept you hidden from view as best as he could, squished in the corner between the door, the seats, and him. Akira put you in a spare face mask he had and slid his glasses over your nose, hoping to protect your identity in case any snooping individual lingered on you two a little too long.

“Hold on just a little longer for me, okay? We’re almost there.”

He watched your knees buckle and your thighs clench together at his words and felt his mouth run dry. Akira willed himself to stay calm, to steady his heartbeat, but it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do when you were in a state like this. Especially considering he harbored feelings for you.

“Please,” you begged. He almost didn’t hear it with how quietly you murmured it. “Akira, I… I need…”

Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

“Yeah?” he leaned in closer, hoping to catch the rest of what you’re saying.

Your hand grabbed his thigh, tugging his leg closer to you and causing him to stumble forward, balancing with his forearm next to your head. He stared at you with wide eyes as you shifted his leg with no resistance between your thighs and sat on it, slowly and carefully grinding against it.

Akira’s head whipped around, making sure no one was watching as you shamelessly used his leg to relieve some of the pressure that Marin Karin’s charm had on you. He nearly stopped breathing when you whined right next to his ear, a sound too soft for anyone else to notice as the train screeched to another halt.

Your stop was next, but there was no way he was making it out of this without a boner. He looked back at you and swallowed hard, only able to see the way your eyes were screwed shut and eyebrows knitted with frustration and concentration, pressing yourself a little harder against the meat of his thigh.

“Need more, ‘s too hot,” you blabbered softly, hands gripping the lapel of his blazer. “want you, want you so bad⁠—”

“We⁠—we’re almost home,” Akira choked out, each passing moment more difficult than the last. He wanted to pinch himself, wondering if this was actually some wild porno dream he was having back in Leblanc, but the way you felt rutting against his thigh like this was far too real for him to deny this was reality.

“Akiraaaa...”

He nearly lost himself when he saw your teary-eyed expression, suddenly grateful for the crowded train dissuading him from bending you over the train seats and giving into temptation. Akira wanted to know every part of you: every touch that makes you keen, every kiss that makes your head spin, every position that makes you cream.

Akira almost praised the gods aloud when the announcer comments on your stop, pulling himself off of you despite your whines and taking your hand in his, squeezing it tightly as he nearly runs out of the train the second the doors behind you open.

It was quite the ordeal dragging you back home. Every moment he stopped, your hands would wander, gripping his shirt or his belt loops, sliding your hand underneath to feel the warmth of his skin. You pressed closer and closer against him, your inhibitions far-gone, leaving only your charmed mind.

He grabbed your wrist firmly when you reached for his crotch at the door to your house, sucking in a large breath and hoping you’d be able to contain yourself enough for him to open the door with your keys and lead you inside.

Akira pushed open the door and dragged you inside, kicking it closed and locking it quickly. He couldn’t help the whole-body sigh that passed through him with the relief of privacy.

You, however, took it as your cue to tackle him to the ground and relieve yourself.

“Shit, wait, hold on⁠—” Akira staggered back, gripping your hip and arm and barley catching himself. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t want to try to get… uh… get off on your own?”

“No no no no no⁠—!” you shook your head adamantly despite your slurred voice, the sheer panic in your voice and face surprising him. “Want you, only you, please.”

Akira pressed his lips together in a tight line and hoisted you up in his arms, silently thanking the rough training he’s been enduring with Ryuji. The way your eyes lit up as he carried you to your bedroom made his heart palpitate, the rational side of him quickly losing to the promise of passion.

He really was weak to you.

He grunted as his legs hit the bed, falling down with you on his lap. Akira barely had time to speak before your lips were all over him, kissing all over his face and jaw as you roughly grinded against him. He choked down his moans and tangled a hand in your hair, hoping to slow you down with a sharp tug to your scalp.

Akira felt you seize up the moment he did, nails digging into his shoulders despite the layers of clothing, pressing your hips harder against his, and with a loud cry, he felt dampness against his crotch. It took a moment to process that you came untouched, just from him having you in his lap and tugging your hair.

“Did you just…?” his hand wandered towards your pants, slipping inside your underwear and feeling the sticky substance coat his fingers as he reached your thighs. He pulled them out, observing the strands between his fingers and licking them clean with a low groan. “That’s so hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

Akira palmed your crotch and felt you shudder as you rolled your hips against his again. “But… it isn’t enough, right?”

“Nnno…”

He looked around the room briefly and caught his own eyes in the floor-length mirror in your room.

“Stand up for me and strip, sweetheart,” Akira instructed with a gentle slap to your thigh.

He loved the way you scrambled off of him, shedding your clothes and looking at him with the same hazy doe-eyes that made him spend countless private hours fantasizing about. You looked at him with so much lust, being so obedient for him in hopes of getting another orgasm.

He shrugged off his blazer and tossed it aside, shifting closer to the mirror until it stood in front of him. “Turn around and sit back on my lap.”

Akira steadied you with gentle hands on your hips as you sat on his lap and pressed your sticky thighs together to feel some kind of friction against the torturous heat. He pried them open, spreading your legs to straddle him and spreading you open for the mirror.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he gently chided, “keep these pretty thighs open for me, okay?”

Akira refused to touch you until you nodded.

“Perfect,” he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you’re absolutely perfect.” Akira guided his hands up from your thighs to your chest, brushing against your nipples and continuing his path up until he reached your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and tilted your face up, forcing you to look at the shameful display you created with him. “I want you to look at yourself as I touch you,” Akira explained, “I want you to see everything.”

You nodded dumbly, anything to get his hands back to pleasuring you. “Please,” you continued to repeat with breathless whines, “I want more, I want you in me.” You pushed your ass harder against his hard cock, hoping he would take the bait. You wanted to be fucked silly and at this point you really didn’t care how you got there.

Akira sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and stilling for a few seconds as you continued to grind yourself on his dick. “Later, okay?” his voice wavered and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his own word with how enthusiastic you seemed about riding him.

He let go of your face and skimmed your inner thighs, catching the cum from your first orgasm on his fingers and finally touching you properly. You keened, head falling back as he slowly pressed two fingers into your hole. “Yes⁠!” you groaned, spreading your thighs a little further and bucking your hips into his hand, “More, please, oh god it feels so good⁠— hnn!”

Akira’s hand steadied your head, once again pushing you to look at yourself as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. “Come on, baby. Don’t stop watching,” he purred as he scissored his fingers inside of you. “Oh, you liked that?”

You grasped his hair and his wrist, incoherent noises fumbling from your lips as Akira brought you to another orgasm within minutes. Marin Karin had quite the effect on you: keeping your stamina high and your libido higher, giving you more orgasms than you’ve had in your life, emptying your head and leaving nothing but pleasant buzzing.

He stared at you in the mirror, catching your unfocused gaze as your eyes shifted from his face to his hand and back again. “You’re doing so good,” Akira mumbled strings of words he barely paid attention to as you squirmed in his hold. He added another finger, stretching you out further and curling his fingers inside of you. He felt your legs shake and watched your jaw go slack as pleasure only continued to build.

“Again?” he asked, groaning at how you clench around his fingers, barely giving him room to move them. Even still, you continue to thrust your hips into his hands⁠, unsatisfied. “I’ll give you as many orgasms as you need,” Akira promised, kissing your cheek and resting his temple against yours, “I won’t stop until you’re begging.”

[house-of-kolchek]

Don’t Let Me Go (18+)

Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animals

This fic contains explicit sexual content; 18+ only please!

Word Count: 4.1k

MASTERLIST

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You were so close. You could still feel the sun warming your face during those few seconds of freedom. The way his hand had snuck into yours, squeezing it and reassuring that you did it. 

And then of course, it all had to go to shit. 

You followed close behind Jason as he kicked the door into one of the shepherd huts. The screeching was ringing in your ears as he ordered everyone to border up the windows and doors, any crevices those things could get through. 

Suddenly his face filled your vision, and he grabbed both of your hands, before reaching up to cup your face. You snapped out of your daze, meeting his gaze head on. 

“We’re gettin’ out of this, okay?” His voice was low as he spoke to you. You nodded, and his lips twitched upwards. “Stick close, you hear me?” he ordered before lining up with the rest of the group, back to back. 

You aimed your pistol, and let bullets fly. 

“Shit, I’m on my last clip!” 

“Need more ammo!”

“Anyone got any bright ideas?”

Your breath caught in your throat as your gun clicked. It was empty. The screeching was only getting louder, claws tearing holes into the thin walls of the house. The only barrier between you and the horrors outside. 

Eric flew past your vision, dropping two metal boxes and flinging them open. 

“Flares? What the fuck, where’s the ammo?!”

“We work with what we’ve got, light ‘em up!” Jason called. 

With a lit flare in one hand, and a knife in the other, you gathered back to back again. You pressed into Jason’s side, embracing his warmth for what could realistically be the last time. 

The first vampire broke through the barriers, falling into the house. You rushed forward, stabbing your flare forward before swinging your knife down at the beast. It cried out, and you dodged a swipe of its claws before stabbing it in the chest over and over. 

The vampire fell limp, and you whirled around. You watched in horror as Jason fell backwards on the floor, cornered by one of the beasts. You cried out, lunging forward to stab it in the back. 

Jason regained his balance, pushing himself to his feet before attacking it from the front. The two of you stabbed at the creature repeatedly until it fell, dead. You gave the marine a quick smile. 

His eyes widened, falling on something behind you as he yelled your name. You whirled around, only to be met by a sharp pain across your chest, down to your stomach. 

You screamed as you fell back, clutching at your front as it flared up in white hot pain. Your ears were ringing, and you could just barely feel Jason’s arms as he caught you, lowering you to the ground. He was yelling, you could tell, but it was muffled under the senses that were blaring in your head. 

You felt warmth hitting your face, and your senses snapped back just in time for you to see the vampires falling back, some igniting in flames from the sun. You choked out a laugh, finally victorious. 

“(Name), (NAME)!” You heard a voice above you. Looking up, you were met with Jason’s desperate face. He hovered over you, his hands shaking over your chest. You heard him muttering, “that’s a lotta blood… shut up, get yourself together,” under his breath. 

Everything hurt. You could feel spit pooling at the back of your throat. Your entire torso felt like it was on fire. Yet, as you looked into Jason’s eyes, as frantic as they were, the world seemed to calm down just a bit. Your hand flew up, waving around until it was caught in his. 

“We did it?” you asked, and he nodded frantically. You could see the shadows of all your other comrades hovering over the two of you. “Good,” you mumbled. 

“You hang on, you hear me? The choppers are less than a minute out, so you hang on!” he muttered, leaning in close and pulling your hand into his chest. 

“Jase, c’mere,” his eyes widened as you reached behind his neck, pulling him close to plant your lips on his trembling ones. 

He held your face, kissing you back desperately. As he pulled back, your lips tugged up into a smile. 

“Hey, that was our first kiss,” you sighed. Your eyes were heavy. 

“Yeah. And it ain’t gonna be our last, you hear me?” The door busted open, and a few marines piled in as Jason was talking to you. You heard distant yelling, as one leaned over you, pushing the lieutenant aside. 

They immediately got to work on you, emergency medical supplies being put to good use as they covered your wounds. 

“We have to move her,” one of them ordered. 

“Let me,” Jason butted in, coming back around your other side. 

With assistance from the masked marine, Jason lifted you into his arms, his heart breaking at the pained yelp you made. He muttered incoherently in your ear as he carried you up to the helicopter, his arms held firmly around you until the very last second, when they pulled you away and into an emergency medical ward. 

—-

Jason banged his hands on the table. 

“FUCK!” he yelled, paying no mind to the startled interrogator. “How many times do I have to answer your damn questions? Where’s (Name)?!”

He was frantic, they’d taken you away from him over an hour ago, dragging him into this room to ask him the same question over and over. The interrogator sighed, shuffling in his seat before leaning forward. 

“We understand you’re under some stress right now, but we’re looking for details on what happened down there. We need to iron out any… irregularities.” 

“Irregularities? The whole fucking thing was irregular. Now I’m not answering anything else until you tell me if (Name)’s okay!” he demanded, hands slamming onto the table again. The interrogator leaned back, getting up from his seat and turning around to speak through a radio. Jason held his breath without realizing. The man sat back down after a moment. 

“Miss (Last Name) is being tended to. Her wounds weren’t fatal.” Jason fell back into his chair, relief flooding through his body. He asked again if you were okay, and the officer cleared his throat. “I would like to get back on topic. You cooperated with an Iraqi soldier down there?”

—-

Jason was practically crawling up the walls. Everything around him was white, save for the small metal cot in the corner of the room. 

It had been weeks since he was placed into quarantine, the days blending together into one painful period of isolation. All he could think about was you, if you were okay, where you were, what they were doing with you. 

The only thing helping him keep track of time was the daily visits from officers. They would step into his room, bundled up in hazmat suits, to take his blood, and ask him about the temples yet again. 

Every single day, he demanded to know where you were, and every single day, they deflected his question. It was driving the man mad. 

He paced around his room, kicking dust along the floor and banging his fist against the plastic-wrapped wall. He swore he’d worn grooves into the floor with how much he paced, letting out his nervous energy and frustration. 

He sat on his cot, rather ungracefully, running his hands down his face. The mattress underneath him creaked - it was incredibly uncomfortable, he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep even if his mind wasn’t racing with a million thoughts about you. 

The door to his room opened and he sighed, automatically holding up his arm and gesturing to it with his other hand. 

“Just get it the fuck over with,” he grumbled, his head falling back against the wall. 

“Lieutenant Kolchek, you’re free to go.”

“What?” He sat up, his arm lowering to his side. An officer stood in front of him, holding a clipboard and a small duffel bag. He wasn’t in any suits, and Jason could see the man’s face as he made eye contact with him. 

“You’re free to go. We’ve set you up on a flight and a hotel. I need you to sign a few papers, and then we’ll get you on a helicopter out of here,” the man said, with a tired tone behind his words. 

Jason took the clipboard from him, dumbfounded. He glazed over the sheet, signing the non-disclosure agreement without even thinking. He was getting out of here, he was finally free. He could finally see-

“What about (Name)?” he asked, and the man in front of him sighed. He couldn’t help the twitch of anger at the man’s clear disregard for her. “Where is she?” 

“Miss (Last Name) has also been released. She’s already on a flight back to America,” he answered, handing him the duffel bag. Jason stood, heading towards the door. He turned to face the officer one last time. 

“Is she stayin’ at the same hotel?” He was desperate, and by the way the man’s eyes softened, just slightly, he knew he’d gained at least some sympathy. 

“Yes,” he said simply, guiding Jason out the door. His heart flew. Just mere hours from that moment, he would finally have eyes on you again. He’d finally know the extent of your injuries. He’d be able to give you your second of many kisses. 

Jason was practically vibrating in his seat for the entire plane ride, impatience breaking every resolve. He busted out of the plane and into the provided vehicle, where he shifted in his seat once more until he finally reached the hotel entrance. 

He didn’t even speak to the driver, bursting out of the car and racing to the front desk. A woman smiled up at him, asking for his name. 

“Kolchek,” he gasped out. “Where’s (Name) (Last Name)‘s room?” The woman frowned. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Kolchek, we have to maintain confidentiality for our other guests. I’m afraid I can’t tell you-“

“Ma’am,” Jason started, his voice barely held together. “I have had a very hard few weeks, so I am not beyond reaching over that desk and finding it out for myself. Now I like to know where my girlfriend’s room is. I’ll be staying with her.” His stare was hard, and he felt a little bad for the way the woman gulped, her eyes widening as she frantically typed on the computer. 

“Room 1504,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I apologize sir-“

She didn’t have the time to finish, because he was marching up to the elevators, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited for the doors to open. 

With a ding the elevator was waiting, and he stepped inside, pressing the button for floor fifteen. 

His heart was racing, and his hands were shaking. He was just moments away from you. A million possibilities ran through his head as he exited the elevator, directing himself until he was standing in front of a door. The gold “1504” was staring right back at him. With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. 

After a moment, with his breath stuck in his throat, the door opened, and there you were. Standing in front of him, your eyes bright and a shocked smile making its way on your face. 

-

“Jason?” you asked under your breath. The man stared back at you, his jaw dropping as he took in your entire form. 

You felt your heart swell as he pulled you into a tight embrace. Tears welled up behind your eyes as you buried your face into his shoulder. His hands came up around your back, one resting on the back of your head, holding you as close to him as possible. His chest trembled. 

“They wouldn’t tell me where you were or what happened,” he mumbled into your hair. You held him tighter, if even possible. “I asked, every single day I fuckin’ asked but they just wouldn’t tell me.”

You pulled away, far enough so you could match his gaze. 

“I’m okay Jase. Just some scratches, they’ll leave scars but I’m all healed up now. I promise.” He sighed, his shoulders falling with relief. 

“Those assholes couldn’t spare a breath to tell me that? Jesus Christ,” he sighed out. Shaking his head before letting it fall to your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just so glad you’re here now.” He raised his head, narrowing his eyes slightly as a small smile graced his face. His face drew closer, enough so his nose brushed against yours and his breath mingled with your own.

“Darlin’, I’m here to stay.” With that, he finally pressed his lips onto your own.

His kiss was desperate, filled with every emotion he hadn’t been able to tell you since the temple. You kissed him back just as desperately, your hands resting on his chest for just a moment, long enough to feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat, before you slid them up and over his shoulders. 

~ Aight we gettin spicy here now ~ 

Jason mumbled incoherent things between your lips, tilting his head to the side and allowing him to deepen the kiss. You let out a hum as he pulled your bottom lip between his, biting down on it gently. 

His hands wandered from your back, up to your shoulder blades and back down, coming to reach the backs of your thighs. Without hesitation, you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist as he leaned back against the hotel door. 

You broke the kiss with a gasp, leaning back enough for him to access your neck, leaving long kisses along the curve of your throat. With a quiet moan, you squeezed his shoulders, a silent encouragement to the marine as he started to suck on the skin. 

“Jase,” you hummed out, and he pulled back to meet your gaze. The heat in his eyes matched yours, his chest heaving as he panted. “Do you want… this?” You gestured between the two of you. You weren’t sure just how things had heated up this quickly, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“That even a question?” he answered. “I’ve been waiting how long to see you again, without even a clue if you were okay? You’re lucky I haven’t busted already.” You cackled at his response, and he just grinned back at you before catching your lips with his own again. 

This time, he put his tongue to good use, brushing it against your own and causing a shiver to run down your back. His hands were wandering everywhere, across your legs, over your ass and up your back, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

He broke away to press more kisses to your jaw, and back down your neck, his tongue and his teeth working together to leave several dark spots along the skin. You let out a long hum as he found that spot just above your collarbone, and you felt him grin against your skin. 

You barely processed the fact that you were moving, until your back hit the mattress. With a small gasp, you watched as Jason stood straight, taking just a second to strip off his shirt. 

As he went to lean back down, your hand shot out, pressing against his stomach. He hesitated as your eyes raked up and down his form. 

“One sec, I wanna look,” you breathed out. 

You admired everything, the lean muscles that had been developed over his years as a marine. There were some faint freckles around his shoulder, scattered amongst a few scars that had been collected over time. You could see both of his tattoos now, the dark ink on his bicep catching your attention. Your lower stomach twinged with that familiar heat, and you gripped his hands, pulling him back down over you. 

Your fingers ran along his stomach, against the curve of his muscles and up to his chest. The feeling of his skin under your fingertips sent sparks shooting all the way up your arms, and he groaned as you ran your nails gently along his chest. 

Panting, he gripped the hem of your own shirt. “This is coming off now,” he gasped, and you sat up just enough for him to yank it over your head. He threw the shirt to the floor, taking a moment to admire your own body just as you had done. 

He ran his fingers gently along the pink scars, running all the way from your stomach and up your chest. You inhaled sharply, and he froze. 

“What’s wrong?”

“No nothing,” you gasped. “The skin there is just really sensitive still.” 

Jason’s lips quirked upwards, and before you knew it his hand was at your back, unclipping your bra and laying you back down. He took one more moment to ogle at your exposed chest, running his fingers along your skin before he dove down to press countless kisses against your chest, making sure to avoid the scars running down your skin. 

He grabbed at your hips, pulling them against your own and grinding against you just slightly, as his lips finally reached one of your breasts. His tongue darted out, running against your nipple and causing a long sigh to escape you, your nails dug into his shoulders, before you tangled your fingers up in his hair, and the man let out a groan. 

He played with each of your breasts, his tongue and his teeth working together again, caressing and sucking and leaving you breathless as he continued to rut against your hips. His hands wandered down, pulling at the waist of your pants, and leaving you in nothing but your underwear. 

He pressed his hand to your panties, right against your core, and you gasped. Your legs wrapped around him again, pulling him as close as possible. He leaned down with a chuckle, pressing his lips to your neck once again as he pulled your panties to the side. 

He ran a finger up and down your folds, circling against your clit once, twice, before plunging it into your entrance. A moan escaped you as he thrusted his finger in and out, adding another as he mumbled incoherently in your ear. 

Your hands wandered across his chest, his back and his hair, your nails scraping just gentle enough against his pale skin. He curled his fingers, reaching that spot that had your back arching into his chest and a loud moan tumbling from your mouth. 

As you yanked his face up to smash your lips on his, he sped up his pace, thrusting and curling his fingers until you were crying out, his lips pressing against your jawline as your first orgasm washed over you. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, watching in a daze as he unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear. 

“Do you wanna…” he started, gesturing between your bodies as his dick twitched. You sat up, shimmying your panties off and kicking them across the room before curling your leg around his back. Jason let out a short gasp as you pulled him towards you, pressing your lips along his jaw, down his neck and across his chest. 

“Not yet.”

Your fingers danced along his skin, caressing down further until you wrapped one hand around him, pumping once, twice for good measure. He let out a deep groan, his head falling to your shoulder as a shaky breath left his lips. 

“Get on your back,” you growled, and he gulped, all but leaping onto the bed. You turned to hover over him, kissing, licking and sucking all the way down from his neck to his waist, leaving dark marks scattered along his skin. As your mouth drew closer to his erection, his breathing picked up, and he grabbed the duvet with an iron grip. 

You fought against the fatigue in the back of your mind - you wanted to please the man, and you wanted to please him now. With one last glance up to his flushed face, you finally pressed your lips against the base of his shaft, your tongue darting out as you followed it up to the tip. 

Jason let out a guttural moan, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair. You glanced up to his face quickly, finding him with his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. You grinned, lapping at the tip once more, before wrapping your lips around him. 

With one hand supporting the base, you inched your mouth lower, until you were just about to gag. You pressed your tongue along the underside, dragging it along his skin as you pulled back up. 

You sucked him off, your tongue working against his skin and your hand working where your mouth couldn’t reach. Jason’s hands were rifling through your hair, quiet grunts and moans catching in his throat, until he was near his breaking point. 

“Sweetheart-” he said between moans. “I’m- I’m close and I wanna get inside you first..” he trailed off, gently tugging at your hair. You pulled off him, your tongue darting out to give the tip one last kitten lick as you grinned up at him. 

“God I want you, you have a condom?” 

“Yeah… one sec.” Jason rushed to his back, giving you a wonderful view of his ass as he rummaged in his bag for a moment. With a quiet “aha” he yanked out a foil package, wasting no time in opening it and rolling the rubber on. 

As he made his way back over to you, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a long, sensual kiss. His one hand found your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze as he broke away, finding your gaze again. 

“You wet enough down there?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his gaze, and you nodded, your heart fluttering at his attentiveness. 

“Yeah, just need you in me, like right the fuck now,” you sighed. You were ready to burst. Jason nodded, pressing his lips against your shoulder one more time before guiding his dick to your entrance, tracing along your folds and gathering some slick before easing the tip in. 

You let out a groan, your fingers digging into his biceps as he pushed himself in, inch by inch, until his hips were flush against yours. The two of you let out matching moans, before he pulled out again, only to thrust back in, this time at a harder pace. 

He thrust in and out, his pace quickening as he leaned over you, resting his weight against his forearms. You couldn’t contain the noises, your moans increasing in volume as you wrapped your legs up over his hips. 

Jason buried his face into your neck, kissing and sucking hard against the skin, as you felt your body heating up more. Your breathing picked up, every nerve on your body screaming to press against his skin, feel all his warmth. 

“‘m never fucking letting you go again,” he groaned, kissing you again with a hard snap of his hips, forcing another cry out of you as your back arched into him.

“Good, I’m not letting you go,” you moaned. The two of you chanted each other’s names, fingers clawing at each other as the coil in your lower stomach tightened and tightened, your mind swirling with just how good he felt-

Until you snapped, another orgasm washing over you. 

Jason rode your orgasm out, his pace quickening to levels you didn’t realize were possible, until his body went rigid over you, his breath fanning across your lips as one final groan left his throat. 

He let out a sigh, his body relaxing and his weight pressing onto you. You wrapped your arms tight around him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his cheek and finally his lips as you both came down from your highs. 

Jason gave you a dazed smile, before slowly pulling out of you, leaving an empty feeling behind. He stripped himself of the condom, disposing of it before he found your hands, pulling you to your feet.

“That was fuckin’ spectacular,” he grumbled, his arms wrapping around you. “Now whaddya say we catch up in a nice bath.” 

You groaned out a yes, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he led you into the bathroom, his fingers entwined with yours. 

As you took in his form, his skin glistening with sweat and scattered with dark hickeys, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. He was beautiful, and he was here with you, through all the shit that you two had been through. 

And by god, he wasn’t letting you go again. 

[book-of-baba-fett]

Passing Time - Hunter x Fem!Reader

In between jobs on Ord Mantell, you meet a mysterious man named Hunter who’s more than willing to help you kill some time.

AO3 link

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, bar hookup, oral sex (fem receiving), thigh riding, vaginal and anal fingering, light degradation, light spitting, light biting

Notes: hit 99 followers on the same day as The Bad Batch finale so I thought of a little Hunter smut as a treat. This was my take on@delusionsxfgrandeur ‘s Redefining smut challenge!

Word Count: 2.2k

Cid’s bar is as seedy as ever, with grime covering every surface including the glass you’re drinking from. You examine the glass, twirl around the brown liquor, then pour it down your throat figuring the alcohol must work as a disinfectant. You just finished a drop off for Cid and are hanging tight while your astromech works on some maintenance for your ship. The droid was going to comm you once everything was flight ready for your next job, but for now you’re trying to to find the best way to way to kill time. And the ache in between your legs reminds you that you can’t even remember the last time you had a good fuck.

Scanning the room, you realize there’s not much to work with. Just a weequay and an ithorian, both obviously intoxicated as they argue over a game in the corner. Otherwise the place is empty, except for a man sitting on the other edge of the bar. By the Republic issue armor he wore, you could assume he was a clone but he was unlike any clone you had seen before. There were some basic facial similarities, but he wasn’t identical to is countless counterparts. He had long dark hair, that curled to his neckline, kept away from his face by a red bandana. What captures your eyes is the skull tattoo covering half his face; you can’t help but lick your lips when you wonder how far it goes down his body.

“Hey Cid,” you wave down the Trandoshan. “Another round for me, and a drink for the man down the end of the bar too.”

“Huh, Dark and Broody?” Cid questions you, a confused and judgmental look on her face. “Sheesh, kid, I guess everyone has their own type but fine.”

Cid hands the drink to the man, who looks around the bar surprised until his eyes found you. He cocks a brow, and he lifts the drink up to you. You mirror his movements and you each take a sip at the same time. He slowly rises from the seat and stalks his way towards you.

“So you must be Dark and Broody?” You extend your hand to him. The man let’s our a soft chuckle.

“Did Cid tell you to say that?” His low and husky voice asks before he properly introduces himself “It’s Hunter, and I must say you don’t seem like Cid’s usual clientele.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.” You smirk at him. He must be another bounty hunter under Cid’s employment, you think as you notice how armed he is. He leans on the counter next to you, and you don’t fail to notice the way his eyes drift up and down your body. If he’s in your line of work, maybe he’s in the same need for some relief as you are. You shift in your seat, painfully aware of your growing arousal as you and Hunter make small talk. You had your fair share of lovers, but there was something about his magnetic ruggedness that intrigued you. That and the fact that he seems reluctant to give you any information about himself, but that wasn’t too uncommon in your line of work. But you don’t need his life story, you just need him to satisfy your itch.

“So how’s the men’s room here?” You ask.

“I’m sorry, what?” Ahh, it seems you’ve broken his tough guy facade to earn a flustered look on his face.

“The men’s room,” you repeat. “The last time I was here the women’s door wasn’t working properly and when you closed it you were locked in or you had to keep the door open. And I’m really looking for some privacy and no interruptions, so I’m curious if the men’s room will work.”

You down the rest of your drink, licking your lips as you finish, carefully keeping eye contact with him as you do. You watch his face process your words, his pupils expanding in his dark eyes and the corner of his lips on his tattooed side rises as he realizes your meaning.

“I think it’ll do just fine, I can show you the way?”

“What a gentleman,” you tease, taking his hand.

***

Your hands are on each other the second the door closes behind you. His grip on your plush ass, pulling you tighter to him. Yours find their way through his curls, tugging his hair as his mouth meets yours in a needy kiss. His large hands travel up your curves, until they reach your head and cup your face as he pulls back from the kiss.

“Such a dirty little thing aren’t you?” He rasps out. “Going into a filthy bar bathroom with a man you don’t even know?”

“What can I say? I like things a little messy.” You glance at him through heavy lashes as you grind against his codpiece.

“Open your mouth.” He orders, the deep tone in his voice going straight to your core, where you already feel your arousal dripping from you. You follow his command, just for him to spit in your eagerly awaiting hole. He groans as you close your mouth and swallow it. You bring your lips back to his as you make out with him again.

One of his hands leaves your face so it can trail down your waist and under your top, roughly groping your breast. You let out a soft moan into his mouth as his thumb flicks over your nipple. You feel him smirk against you, as he adjusts his ministrations so he’s lightly pinching your pebbled nipple. Your head involuntarily tilts back at the please and his mouth connects with your now open neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin.

You stumble backwards under his exploring hands, your back hitting the bathroom door behind you. Hunter uses this to his advantage, and grabs hold of your hip with one hand while the other continues its squeezing of your breast. He brings a leg in between yours and presses it against the apex of your thighs. You cry out as you finally have some friction against your aching core. You instinctively grind on his thigh; the crease of his armor and the seam on your pants combining to rub against your clit in the most addicting way that you can’t stop yourself. Your hands reach to his shoulders as you balance yourself against him.

Hunter watches, eyes blown out in lust, as you use him to chase your own needs. The hand on your hip assists your movements, making you gyrate faster and faster into the man. Moans are rolling off your lips, and your head snaps back against the wall as you feel the tightening coil of an approaching orgasm in your stomach.

Hunter bends down to nibble at your earlobe, his warm breath panting against your skin as he whispers, “Such a sexy thing, riding my thigh to get yourself off. You’re almost there, aren’t you? Dirty little slut. “

You whimper against him, your eyes shutting so you can focus on your impending climax. A harsher bite on your neck makes you yelp, and your eyes snap open to see Hunter staring at you.

“I asked you a question, be a good girl and answer me."

Your mind stutters for a moment before his harsh gaze reminds you of what he asked you. “Yes... I’m so close!” You gasp out at him, as you continue humping his leg. He smirks as his smoky eyes stay locked your face, watching every reaction as you build to your peak.

“Go on them, cum for me.” You cry out on his order, and his mouth clamps down on yours so he can muffle the sound to avoid being discovered by the few patrons in the bar. Your orgasm rolls through your body, your hips unrelenting in their thrusting on Hunter’s thigh as you ride out the waves of bliss. Once your movement slows, Hunter pulls back from kissing you to examine you in your post ecstatic state. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed and eyes drooping; you’re the sexiest thing he’s seen in a long time. And he wants to make you do it again.

He removes his gloves as he shifts his thigh out from under you, making you slump against the wall. You sigh, feeling him drag a hand over your covered center. He groans, feeling the wetness seeping through your pants from your previous orgasm. His fingers fumble with your buttons, then he roughly pulls the pants down and over your ankles. He presses his face against your panty covered mound, inhaling deeply as he’s intoxicated by your arousal. Looking back up at you, he licks a long strip over your panties, circling around your hidden clit. You moan from the overstimulation as you grip the door handle behind you, your legs still feeling like jelly and struggling to hold you up.

Sensing your predicament, Hunter slides your panties down your legs and removes them, tossing them in the pile with your pants. He then props one of your legs over his shoulder and presses a hand against your abdomen to hold you upright.

His warm breath wafts against your sensitive skin as he separates your folds with two thick fingers. His tongue slowly peaks out, teasing your swollen clit with delicate flicks. You groan as you feel the warm wetness of him lapping up the release of your previous orgasm. Once he’s sure you’re past the point of overstimulation and ready to go again, he attacks with more fervor.

Your head snaps to the wall again as he starts devouring you with a renewed intensity, his lips closing around your clit as his tongue rapidly circles and flicks it. He switches up the rapid movements with broad, strong strokes against your pussy, making your hips arch into his face to push more pressure from him. He hums into you as you moan above him, the vibrations adding to the euphoric sensation of his tongue against you. He’s a quick study to your body, following any hitch of your breath or moan to follow what you like and return to those sweet spots over and over again as he enjoys you.

You feel a prodding at your entrance as he pokes one large finger into you, your hips keening against him as you allow him to push deeper into you. With a gasp, you feel him add a second finger into your tingling pussy. He groans, watching your cunt grip his fingers as he pushes them in and out of you.

“So wet for me, mesh’la.” He growls dipping his head back to lap at your clit while he fingers you. Matching the pace of his hand and mouth, you feel the tension of another orgasm building up. His fingers crook inside you, pressing against that hard to reach spongy spot inside you.

“Yes, right there!” You cry out, begging him not to stop. He focuses on hitting that spot with every thrust of his hand. He brings his other hand around to your ass, squeezing your cheek and bringing you closer to him to ravage. Your breath leaves your body in wanton moans as he brings you closer and closer to the edge again. The hand on your ass slides inward, until you feel a single finger circling around your other entrance.

“Hunter!” You yelp as the finger pokes in, teasing along your sensitive entrance. Your head flops down so you meet his eyes, a devilish, lustful darkness taking over them as he continues eating you out while fingering both of your holes. His pace in in your cunt increases, finger bending and stroking you just where you need him as he wrenches your orgasm out of you.

Toes curling, head snapping back, and eyes rolling into your head: you cry out. Your body tenses, your legs quake and you would fall over if it were not for him holding you up. Your pussy pulses as you release, the waves of ecstasy overpowering your body. Hunter works you through your release, removing the hand from your ass to keep you steady. He softly laps at your folds and slows the push of his fingers in you until he feels your walls stop pulsing then he removes them.

He rises off his knees to kiss you, his mouth glistening with a mixture of your release and his own spit. You lean into the kiss, one much softer than the ones that started you escapades. You curse to yourself when you notice your comm going off.

“That important?” Hunter grumbles against your skin, his lips dragging along your cheek.

You groan, realizing it’s your droid letting you know your ship is ready to go. “Sadly, it is.” You had wasted to much time before starting your next job. You look at him with apologetic eyes, your previous experiences with men leading you to think he might be angry about your lack of reciprocation. To your surprise, he grins and holds up his hands as he steps away.

“No worries, I get it. Duty calls.” He hands you your pants from off the ground, you mumble your thanks, looking around for your underwear when you realize he’s twirling them in his fingers. He smirks at you before he sniffs them and places them in a compartment on his belt. “Hey, if you want these back you’ll just have to find me next time you’re back on Ord Mantell.”

[itsthe-neo-zone]

[03:18PM] ~ Park Jongseong x Reader, Apocalypse au

You didn’t want to live with the misery of regretting everything.

But that all went out the window as soon as the apocalypse began.

2 weeks, it’s been 13 whole days and 12 nights since the whole world decided to end itself.

The reason? An outbreak, a malicious deadly disease terraforming the earth in its own way. Killing everyone and everything with it. And when you say terraforming you mean turning us all against each other.

You regretted waking up that Wednesday morning, regretted getting out of bed, not hugging your mother in your arms longer and giving your family a proper farewell.

You were in school when it happened your district sounding the sirens, mid-week morning meaning you were in the dinner halls, you heard the sirens and all hell broke loose, the diners small tv monitor picked up an emergency broadcast.

Shaking your head subconsciously you drifted your mind away from what happened. It had been difficult thinking the past few days, even eating was becoming a luxury at times.

Like now, you’ve been wandering empty suburb streets looking for something to sustain yourself, where you were looked to be like a neighbouring district, but you weren’t sure, the sign posts were all ripped down to make any form of defence weapon, supplies were scarce at this point.

The scent on you was horrid but not as putrid as the stench of rotting corpses filing the earth. You stopped turning to look around you. The street was dusted with ruined houses all damaged and crumbled to the grounds.

Maybe you could crash into an abandoned one, maybe there was food and maybe you’d finally be able to use an actual bathroom. Your stomach grumbled with delight at the thought of food.

As you were about to pull the rusting metal rod in your hand towards the nearest property you heard a shrieking ear deafening pop,

The blood hit your brain, adrenaline began quickly building up inside you, like a band slowly stretching about to snap, your heart rattling in your chest. It tightened slightly. You swayed slightly from the shock of adrenaline hitting your numb body.

You swiftly turned to see nothing behind you but a pelleted bullet, someone around you had a weapon, and their target? You.

You began seeing the blurred edges of your sight return a sign to take response. Fight or flight. You chose the latter feeling weaker than expected. Heading outwards past the last few properties your best hope was to lose your hunter out in the wilderness.

Brushing past leaves twigs and the thicket of the edges of the lush greenery you low down once you’re no longer hearing bullets trailing after you. It was quiet

Almost too quiet to be normal. You push yourself up against a tree, straining your breath to regulate faster than it should. You regretted being stupid to do that too as you felt the persisting tickle at the back of your throat.

It let a much needed cough to begin crawling up your oesophagus. Shutting your eyes for a moment you stiffened your lips slightly holding it back. Why now of all times, you’d been surviving fine…

You could hear a slight crunch of foliage under careful feet, slowly creeping up on you.

You’d be done for this time if they did have a weapon. Trembling fingers dug into the metallic rod in your palms, they’d make indents from how hard you were gripping.

Feeling your chest tighten a little. The metal was starting to feel slippery in between clammy fingers but you held it to your face keeping your stance ready.

You were scared, no, terrified even. But that didn’t mean you were going to give up so easily. You wanted to survive, you had to.

Ironic.

A few weeks you were ready to give up on life itself.

As you sighed, you prepared to turn and show yourself but as you made a move you felt something restrict your breath and pull you away from the edge of the tree. You didn’t have your hand on your mouth though.

It was a foreign feeling but it was something you greeted with open arms, it was warm, and you forgot the caress of another on your cold stiff body.

Caress of another? It wasn’t my hands.

Gunshots sounded across the clearing you hid from. Disturbing screeches of birds fleeted from above. A harsh thump fell to the floor. A limp body.

But it wasn’t yours. You still had a chance.

Eyes widening, you registered the figure behind you keeping you hold in a strong grip.

The surging boost of energy you had left pushed you to kick with your feet. Backwards tripping up your attacker. The gunshots stopped but you were sure it was them, not just one but 2, maybe more…

The figure fell back unable to balance themselves but you were pulled back, you pushed yourself out of their hold, they pulled away regained their stance before attacking you from your side,

the male twisted his arm around your head and the other at your waist holding your arms down. He was agile and had strength but you managed to be faster. Quickly thinking, you moved.

Digging your elbow into their side hitting them right beneath their rib cage.

Bingo,

you heard a slight grunt they pushed away from you trying to recover.

You turned grabbing the rod, eyes shaking to survey the sight before you. It was just one, you swing your arms back getting ready to attack.

“Stop!” A strained call out towards your direction, but you faltered, it wasn’t for you? He directed it behind you falling back slightly. You turned to see another male.

Eyes trained like he was about to pounce on his prey. What was more horrifying was the gun now in his hold pointed directly at you.

“Don’t, Jake, she’s harmless.”

His arms stayed firmly ahead of him holding the weapon. “Harmless my ass, you were about to lose your head,” his fingers wavered.

“Just listen to me.” The guy stood up. You noticed the tattered and beaten up clothes they wore, rips and smears all over each article. Dried blood splattered across parts of their body. Judging by the colour it wasn’t from today.  

The combat boots the two wore made you think twice about setting down your weapon as you remained in your stance.

But their eyes and faces showed different,

They were anxious, in pain, alert like you.

“Idiot.” He dropped his arms. Mumbling before walking towards the other who was now slowly guiding himself down by supporting himself on the tree.

His face was etched with strain. And for a second you felt a pang of regret. You shrugged the feeling away watching the two converse.

“Are you survivors?” you swayed slightly, pressing forward kept your feet stable you regrated the shakiness your voice had, first people you spoke to in a while and you sound like you were about to cry.

“Just barely,” one huffed, “As I said he was about to lose his head.” The one named Jake turned from tending to his friend and shot you a dirty glare.

Jakes eyes were intense and focused, he didn’t flit nor shy away. Pressing further. You subconsciously step back, eyes looking past him and towards his friend.

“I had to protect myself.” You pull your arms downwards stepping out of the position and lowering your guard slightly.

“Mhm, sure.” He muttered. He turned back lifting the others shirt. A long tear in the seamless skin ran down the males side. It wasn’t bleeding, it looked like it was an old scar. Just barely healed.

“You’re, fine,”

“She had, shit, every right to do that.” The other caught his breath then spoke.

“Right.” Jake pressed his lips into a thin line. It looked like he wasn’t having any of that, his jaw clenched, he was stopping himself from speaking any further.

Standing up and walking past you. He glanced at you up and down before moving back to the clearing.

“Sorry about that,” the boy sitting at the bottom of the tree pushed himself to try getting to his feet, you stared cautiously your fingers tingling to help him, so now you were starting to get your humanity back? Where was this feeling a few days ago?

The fliting sound of slipping feet against the rough terrain is what brought your focus back as you moved to assist him. He groaned.

His eyes caught yours, cautious and foreign, was this just the way he looked at people him or was he anxious to be around you.  

“I’ll … uh.” Your hand waivered, before holding his free arm. “I’ll help you.”

“Um… Thanks.” He nodded clenching his jaw he pushed himself up with your help.

“I’m jay.” His lips pressed into a thin line the edges pushing upwards slightly as he nodded, he stayed silent for a second. You figured out this was an introduction a few seconds late, sucking in a quick breath you mumbled.

“Ah i- yeah…. I’m _____ .” your face tensed up. Jay flashed you a lopsided smile.

“Sorry about earlier, I had to make sure you didn’t interfere while Jake finished up with—uh…”

“Were you the—” you paused. How were you going to ask him if he was the one that was chasing you. How do you word that without sounding weird. “the… I was—”

“You mean the gunshots?” he mumbled.

You quickly nodded giving yourself a mini headache at the fast movement.

“No, we were… in the distance, yeah, when we heard the sound. Just me and Jake.” He lead you to the clearing.

You were slowly introduced into the new space, you watched Jake push the body dressed in black to the side. There was someone following you his face hidden beneath the mask.

“Found all this.” He kicked at the floor with his foot. “shit thing is he’s probably a trained assassin.” He nodded towards the pile of weaponry. “All in his bag, some on him,”

Jake stood up facing Jay. “We need to fucking leave, where there’s one there’s always more.” He lifted a few small items. Something that looked like a smaller loaded gun, testing its scope he tucked it into his pocket.

“Here, take that.” He threw a shielded knife at jay and grabbed a larger gun and handed it to the male next to you.

“lets go.” He walked past Jay and farther out.

As Jay turned he caught your eyes, he saw the anxious glimmer, the shiver you tried to hid and the fact that your fingers were digging in to your palm.

“Our chances of survival are bigger…” he stated. It cut you out of the worry trail your brain was starting to follow,

“Together than apart.”

You caught his eyes. Jay was trying to be as friendly as he could, you could see a glimmer of hope, something you lost within the first 3 days.

“Are you-, I’m sorry I’m a bit confused right— shit, I’ll just ask… are you asking me to…”

“You should come with us.” You silently thanked him for putting you out of your misery. Shocked he was asking you this. And relieved to have met people you could somewhat trust.

“What?”

“HEY! Hurry up if you want to fucking live dude!” Jake was already way ahead.

“Gimme a second!” he sighed, calling out.  

“I was wondering if you wanted to join us. That is if you’re not with anyone right now.”

You could almost cry from the surge of relief you felt. It was almost draining the life out of you fending for yourself. And night-time was when it got its worst alone. No more going crazy talking to yourself.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You voiced out, he smirked, hearing your voice so relieved.

“Glad to hear.” He nodded towards the direction they were headed. Leading you further ahead.

“Do you know how to wield a gun?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll teach you don’t worry.”

~~~

(thinking of truning this idea into a fic what do you think?)

Seola - It’s the neo zone © All rights reserved.

[hex-obsession]

Silver Lining- Three

word count- 2,389

content warning- language, sexual acts (potentially rough)

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Nothing like getting pulled out of a deep sleep to go repair bulky, strident machinery and run, literally, for your life. You were, physically and mentally, in a fog. Worn out from the emotional runaround mere hours ago, you weren’t your usual bubbly self. To make matters worse, Leon was here and saw the discomfort on your face. Who wouldn’t? You were always bad at masking your feelings.

“Everything okay y/n?” Chills trickled through your ears and down the back of your neck at the soothing hum of his voice. It was too early for this, but at least you were fully awake now.

“Y-yeah, just tired.” Your hand defensively moves to your other arm, sending him the opposite message of ‘I’m fine’. Leon tenderly places his hand over yours, ducking slightly to be eye level with you. Instead of speaking, you just stare back at him blankly. Mind racing yet empty, you're completely lost for words. You forgot how to even speak, let alone move your tongue. Finally, your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you blurt out “I’m fine, really. Just in a haze, I guess. Really tired.” You force a smile, praying he buys it, or at least takes it as a hint not to pry. He’s still staring at you, studying your face and body language. This man was far too perceptive to fall for a lie that poorly executed. Not wanting to interrogate you and possibly upset you further, he let it go. His face relaxed, the puzzled, disapproving expression now replaced by one of empathy and concern.

“If there’s something on your mind, please tell me when you’re ready.” He extends his other arm and gently pulls you toward him, which you do not resist. You sheepishly wrap your arms around him, worried he might feel the pounding in your chest and return to questioning you. You couldn’t help but melt in his arms, which did help calm your nerves some. Consoling each other (let’s be real, it was always him consoling you) was no new feat. His uniform was rough on your cheek, a mix of harsh fabric and dried blood, but you didn’t mind. With your head turned, resting on his chest, you saw Jeff and Laurie coming closer. As much as you wanted to stay in this exact spot forever, you were grateful to direct Leon’s attention to anything other than you long enough to compose yourself. Hands eager to touch him longer, you lovingly rub his back and give his sides a little squeeze before releasing him.

“Sorry, hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” Laurie chimes innocently.

Cheeks ablaze, you jump to defend yourself. “No you’re fine! I’m just feeling a tad under the weather and Leon is a great friend.” You smile, eyes darting back to him only long enough to see he’s staring at you. Fuck, fuck, your face was on fire. Back on Laurie, she ever so slightly squints, so quickly you would’ve missed it if you weren’t excruciatingly observant. Her lips curl at the edges. She knows. You look back to Leon, who is still staring at you. Shit, fuck. You look to your left trying to avoid everyone's gaze. Her dainty hands latch onto you, pulling you into a hug. You stumble slightly, intoxicated by nervousness.

“Oh, sorry love.” She tilts her head back just enough for her mouth to line up with your ear. “Do it.” Her voice is heavy and breathy. It almost startles you, and a nervous chuckle escapes you.

“Th-thanks Laurie. Yeah, I just had a weird dream and I’m feeling really, uh, off.”

Heart racing, you thought it might be trying to escape, the force with which it was beating. You push your hair away from your face, hoping it would make breathing less labored when, you only made it easier to see how flustered you were. A final glance at Leon confirms he is indeed still staring. You’d never been thankful for the entity taking you before, but there’s a first time for everything. The fog surrounds you and the trial ensues, scattering you across the map. Completely disregarding everything other than your feelings, you shake your head and stretch your arms above you. They come down, folding around your head and you stare at the lockers in front of you, eyes out of focus; not actually taking in what you were looking at. A few deep breaths later, you pull yourself together enough to move your feet, one in front of the other. Midwich Elementary School; possibly your favorite of all the entity’s destinations. You recognized your surroundings. This was the locker room. Leaving the second floor was your first goal. As you entered the hallway, a bright light flickered in your face. At the end of the hall, Jeff pointed to the room to his right. You jogged over to him, said brief hellos, and knelt down to work on the repairs together. Shortly thereafter, with little remaining progress, a faint heartbeat echoed in your ears. You peered around the broken wall; no sign of the killer. The generator dings to life and you decide to split up to cover more ground. Jeff drops through a hole in the bathroom across the hall, leading you to divert from your original plan and head toward the other upstairs classrooms. As you near the stairwell, your heartrate increases. Not from the unbearable sexual tension you had for Leon, but the killer was close. You see nothing down the hall to your left, which meant the killer was below you. You sprint ahead, trying to make as little noise as possible. To your dismay, you were detected. Feet heavy on the ground, your footsteps echoed around you. You tripped on something but were far too agile to lose your balance, and never fell. Before rounding the corner, you look behind you to see what terror you were up against this time. A human figure with a red stain; the Legion. Extremely misleading the first time you ran into them. Extremely. You dart left, breaking line of sight. The chemistry lab is your best bet. Dropping through the floor will most likely get him off your trail. To prevent leaving scratch marks, you slow to a brisk walk. Just as you thought you would evade the killer, something grabs you and you lurch backward. Before you could scream, a hand covers your mouth. Leon spins you around to face him and pulls you close. The two of you are pressed tightly together between lockers and a wall. Heart racing, for multiple reasons, you stare at the small space where the floor is visible. Confused, the red light was bouncing around, taunting you. All that was on your mind was the heat radiating from all the areas your bodies were touching. The sudden realization that Leon had his arms around you, protecting you, made you jerk your head back to look at him. His eyes, normally brooding, were instead intently locked onto you with, was that, adoration? You didn’t want to get the wrong idea, or make assumptions rooted in your own feelings. A gen on the other side of the school is completed, and you see the Legion vault a window into the courtyard, leaving the two of you alone in the hall. Although the killer was nowhere near you, your heart was racing, painfully. You were agonizingly aware of the recurring flush that filled your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes, so you focused on his neck instead. So smooth and inviting. Every fiber of your being wanted to kiss it and bite it and moan his name into it. Your legs felt as if they would give way beneath you at any moment. You straightened your back to put more pressure on the wall behind you, allowing you to bend your legs slightly to prevent them from buckling under you. He had put himself slightly to your left as to

make sure he could block you from any attacks, if need be. If either of you moved forward so much as an inch, your legs would begin lacing together. Noticing how close your hips were to his sent a rush of heat to your crotch. Sick with suspense, you finally force yourself to look up. Before meeting his eyes, you analyze his lips. You craved them on your own. Your tongue on his; tasting each other.

“Y/n…” You’d never been turned on by your own name before. It was less your name and more the way it eased out of his mouth. Longing, impatient. Watching his lips emit your name made you crazed. You bit your bottom lip, wishing it were him biting it instead. Almost gasping for air, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. Chills breeze over your body like a crisp fall evening. Muscles so weak you could barely move, you ease your hands around his waist, locking your fingers behind him. Your desire for him was borderline primitive at this point. If given the chance to pull him into one of the classrooms and fuck him right there on one of the desks, you’d take it without contemplation. Hell, you might initiate it in a second. Your pussy was throbbing, begging for him. You shifted your legs again, intertwining them completely. The pressure of his thigh on your clit sent electric chills through your legs to your toes. A short, pleased sigh escaping you drew his attention. His head eased forward slowly, sealing the distance between the two of you. His nose grazed yours and you gently nudged into it. You were panting in his face, which you would come to feel embarrassed about later. He continued forward until you felt his lips brush against yours. It tickled in the most satisfying way possible, like a flower against velvet.

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips, and just like that, every worry or care in the world vanished.

Softly, he pressed his lips to yours. It was electric to say the bare minimum. You took a staggered breath causing him to pull away. Your eyes shot open, darting wildly between his facial features, searching for any indication of regret. Instead, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls you into him. This time your lips met, they were ravenous. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and bite down. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to cause him to let out a low rumbling moan into your mouth which sent you over the edge. Your non-dominant hand leaves his back and latches onto his gorgeous blonde hair. It was so soft in your fingers, like silk. You tilted your head and ran your tongue across the lip you still had trapped between your teeth. You released it which allowed Leon to open his mouth against yours and slide his tongue inside. Oh God, he tasted better than you’d imagined. Fleshy yet almost sweet, like the faintest hint of cinnamon. Your head was spinning and you felt light-headed from the stimulation (and the fact there was a good amount of blood in the lower half of your body). You were fixated on the fact that his saliva was in your mouth. You’d end up swallowing it, and vice versa. Your grip on his hair tightened and you let out a faint whimper. The combination made him growl with pleasure. His hands roamed your body briefly, coming to a stop at your waist. Seemingly effortlessly, he bent forward slightly, just enough to put his hands directly under your ass and prop you up against the wall, tongues still tangled. You wrapped your legs around him, wanting him to be even closer. You wanted, needed, him inside you. Given the new position, you could feel his engorged cock between your legs. You were almost- almost- concerned by the size of it. From what you could feel, he was well endowed. The hand on his back lowered to his ass cheek, which you graciously squeezed. You pulled him forward into you, just slightly at first, increasing the pressure of his bulge on you. You released and did it again. In any normal situation, you’d have never made a grown, fully clothed man grind on you like a horny pubescent boy, but these feelings for him had been pent up so long that they mutated from a sweet crush to full blown irrefutable lust. He caught on to what you were doing and abruptly removed his tongue from your mouth, leaving you confused and wanting all the more. His left hand came up to your chin and turned your head to the side, allowing him to press his lips to your ear.

Barely above a whisper, just a susurration, “You want me that bad, huh?” he taunted you. You were incapable of feeling embarrassment at the moment, brain flooded with desire. The warmth of his breath in your ear made you salivate. In a different setting, you would have begged to choke on his dick right now.

“Yeah? So what?” was the best retaliation you could think of in the moment. He chuckled; lips still pressed to your ear. The hand on your cheek traced your jaw and slid down to your neck. His slender, graceful fingers wrapped around your throat and gave it an intoxicating squeeze. Just hard enough to make you gasp but not hurt.

“I want to hear you beg for me,” his deep, warm voice filling your ear.

Your eyes shut and you tilt your head back in utter bliss, letting out a satisfied moan. He responded by nibbling your earlobe, which made you curse delightedly under your breath. Wanting to look at his irresistible face, you opened your eyes. Only, instead, you were greeted by eight beady black eyes peering down at you.

Snapping out of your drunken state, you blurt, “Oh fuck, Leon, the birds.”

He looks up to them with resentment and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Can we pick this up again later?” Ocean eyes begging you.

“You bet your fucking ass we’re picking this up later,” you demand before crashing your lips into his once more. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the whole flock follows us.”

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Silver Lining masterlist