#dear fuck that thing should be shoulder mounted

[rainbowgod666]

Finally, THE BOY HAS ARRIVED

Meet MOLOCH. The comically large Everest frame that went over MANY modifications before FINALLY becoming this Hefty Fucking Boy.

Boasting the "EVANGELION-class hyperheavy ballistic artillery energo-rifle" (Evangelion rifle) (its a superheavy weapon stfu) and enough hp to be a literal pile of cocaine boxed in depleted uranium, the MOLOCH is, by all intents and purposes, like seven different mech units that werent built correctly (including a barbarossa that was printed to be SIZE 3 like wtf) and recycled/fused toghether

Oh and btw next up are GIGAS, the genghis/tokugawa hybrid, and NIHIL, the minotaur that's basically a giant "fuck you" to paracasualty because APPARENTLY a SISYPHUS-class nhp thats actually me (literally) and enough shit to bend reality... yeah

@yadanathreefour made the art i just edite the coloures and removed hte bacquegroundō

[eagerbby]

ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ | ᴇᴍ

pairing| Eddie Munson x female reader

synopsis| A quickie turns into crushing feelings and mounting doubt; the realization that sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t feel so great.

an| the synopsis is bullshit, I really don’t have an explanation for this. just a quick little piece I needed to remove from my head. briefly edited so ignore any mistakes.

warnings| 3K, protected sex, drug use, angst, wandering hands, lack of communication

I dumped my boyfriend.

It all started with that one sentence. Eddie could tell you were in a mood as soon as he pulled into the deserted parking lot. You were leaning against the trunk of your car, bare legs crossed at your frill covered ankles, the hem of your skirt trembling in the early autumn breeze. 

You gave him a smile as he hopped out the van, eyes twinkling under the candescent moon beam that burst free from the dying leaves over head. 

"Hey there, handsome." You offered him a wink as he stepped in front of you, ringed fingers clasping tightly to the keys tucked against his palm.

"Hey, yourself." You looked so beautiful; always so beautiful. It should be illegal.

"Got the goods?" 

Of course he did, that's the whole reason he was there and yet he still nodded his head, curls shaking vigorously around his shoulders, before opening the back door of his van and ushering you inside. 

That was an hour ago- and oh how much an hour can change things.

"Oh, fuck, Eddie." You toss your head back as you work your hips, nails digging into the leather of the side behind him. 

Eddie's holding onto your hips for dear life, scared if he lets go for one second he'll wake up and realize this has all just been a dream. 

Wouldn't be the first.

What was meant to be a simple drug deal, one of many that have happened between the two of you within the last couple months, had quickly escalated into a wet fucking dream. Eddie's wet dream; to be exact. 

"G-god, that thing you do with your hips is incredible." 

Eddie's trying his hardest to keep his eyes locked on you. One; because this will probably never happen again. Two; because you fuck like a demon. Or a goddess. Eddie can't differentiate which at the moment, not when you swivel you hips as you take all of his fat cock down to the base, ass cheeks making a hollow slap against his balls every time. 

It's incredible, really, that he can even breathe. He's pretty sure at some point he couldn't because his chest heaves with every sharp moan you pull from him, your sweet lips suckling against his ear lobe enough to make him cum right now. But he won't, not yet.

"Mm, you like that, pretty boy?" You ask doing it once again, but slower, more tantalizing. A teasing circle of your hips, clenching around the thick throb of him and Eddie nearly chokes on his tongue when he realizes you're spelling his name. 

"Oh my god. Don't stop, please, don't stop." He flushes a deep crimson when you chuckle against his jaw line, pressing fat wet kisses down towards his collarbone. 

"You're so easy, pretty boy. Taking everything I give you and still begging for more. Insatiable boy." You bite into the hot skin at the base of his neck, pulling a wanton moan from his kiss bruised lips. 

"Wanted you for so long, oh Jesus, e-every time you come to me you wear those short little skirts. Driving me nuts." His voice is thoroughly wreaked, cracking against every syllable, hiccupping when you start bouncing on him in earnest, your slick dripping down the seam of his balls.

"So easy." You coo into his ear before yanking his head back harshly. Eddie whimpers at the sudden pain, neck drawn taut as you stare down at him with dark eyes, pupils blown so wide he can barely see their beautiful color. 

"M' close." He manages to gasp out, hand fumbling between your sweaty bodies to rub hard fast circles on your swollen clit. Eddie watches your whole body quake at the added pleasure, falling against his chest as your riding falters slightly. 

"Gonna cum, pretty boy." You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his thick hair as you fuck him senselessly, chasing that wicked snap of heat that spreads across your skin as you cum hard and fast, barreling through your climax as it rips a startled moan from your throat. 

Your thighs shake as Eddie takes over, holding tight to your waist as he bucks himself into your spasming core, the sound of how fucking wet you are sending him over the edge only a minute after you. He fucks into as he shoots his hot spend into the condom you pulled from your bra, his arms wrapped tight around you as he holds you close. 

"Holy fuck." 

It's all he can say as he gains his breath back, whining as you pull off of him weakly, thighs still trembling as you sit down beside him and pull your underwear back up your legs.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." You giggle, grabbing the pack of cigarettes on the floor next to your socked foot as your eyes land on them. Eddie passes you his lighter with a soft smile, watches the way your cheeks hollow around an inhale. 

It was starting to set in as you sat there in silence beside him, head lolled back against the seat, eyes closed; he was simply a rebound. 

Which wouldn't have bothered him had he not had a crush on you since the beginning of time. You'd grown up together in Hawkins, not as friends, but as acquaintances. At the most you'd smile at him when you saw him and never bought in to the shit people said about him. When you came to him last semester he was shocked to say the least. But he was also excited. Excited at the thought of spending time alone with you, even if it was once a week when you needed to re-up. Those thirty minutes were usually his best of the whole week. 

But this changes things, like the way his crush was exploding to sharp jagged pieces at his feet. The creeping feeling of a thing called love crawling through his chest like vines, clinging to bone and tissue.

But he was just a rebound.

A sickening wave of insecurity washes over him and he peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, too scared to really look at you.

"Wa-was it…was it any good…for you?" 

You crack one eye open, thinking if you heard him correctly, head popping up in a quick whish as you sit up fully.

"Was it good for me?" You question back and when Eddie nods you laugh and shove his shoulder. "Fuck yes it was, are you serious?" 

The cheeriness in your voice has him biting at his lip to hide the full blown smile threatening to expose him. He blooms with pride, veins spreading thicker against the cage of his ribs. 

"My thighs are still shaking, actually." You observe out loud. Eddie lets out a sharp guffaw, snatching the joint out of the cigarette pack in the space between you two. 

"You're welcome." It has you rolling your eyes as you take the joint from his fingers, a cigarette still burning between your knuckles. 

"Why'd you ask that?" You ask as you pass the now lit joint back, catching the way his face drops infinitesimally. 

Eddie hides behind the curtain of his hair as he inhales that earthy smoke, holding it in his lungs a little longer than he normally would. 

"Uh, you just got quiet, wanted to make sure." It was a pathetic excuse to cover the even more pathetic truth. 

"Oh, yeah sorry about that. Usually takes a minute to come down from cumming that hard." You mash the cherry of your cigarette into the ashtray before leaning back against the seat, only this time you keep your eyes trained on him. 

"Do you usually cum that hard?" Eddie questions carefully. 

"Honestly, only with myself. No guy has ever made me cum, period." A pause as you raise your eyebrows and tip you head towards him. "Except you, I guess." 

Shit, that was a bigger ego boost than the time he played for twenty-five people at The Hideout, and this time he can’t stop the smile that stretches across his face. 

“Well, you know, I’m always here to help.” 

You giggle at this, busy finishing tying your shoe, Eddie wants to ask you to stay longer but he doesn’t say a word as you shove the little baggie filled with his newest batch of pot into your brown bag. 

“I gotta get home, but uh, thanks. I had fun.” 

Eddie rubs the back of his neck, looking up at you with big round eyes, his smile fading as the back door of the van creaks open. “I’ll see you around?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but it comes out as such, his voice breaking off at the end when you peek up at him as your rubber soles slap against the black cracking asphalt as you jump out the van. 

“Later, Eds.” You throw him a wink as you walk away and Eddie sits in his spot on the scratchy carpet of his van with his belt unbuckled and his shirt a wrinkled mess against his chest, listening to the soft hum of your car's motor as you drive off into the night. 

The vines crowding his lungs tighten with your absence, longing for you to come back.  

—

Eddie doesn’t hear from you again for a couple weeks, though he sees you around town hanging with your gaggle of fluffy haired friends, flocked around a couple jocks as they show off for them. He likes the fact that you pay no attention to their sad attempt, instead sitting on top of a picnic table smoking a cigarette, rolling your eyes every time your friends erupt into a chorus of giggles.

It’s not until almost a month later that you show up at his front door, banging incessantly until Eddie answers. 

“Uh, hey?” He watches you pace the brown carpet of the living room, hands shaking at your sides, face scrunched up in frustration. “Are you okay?” Eddie starts to walk towards you but you beat him to it, crossing the space between your bodies, eyes wild and watery. 

“I really need a distraction right now, do you… do you have any weed?” He’s never seen you this irate before and it worries him. What made you so upset that you'd seek him out in the middle of the night?

“How much do you need?” He asks gently as he leads you to his bedroom. He leaves you to look around as he squats next to his desk, yanking open the bottom drawer to reveal his stash. 

“I- I have enough for a dime bag, that’s it.” You mutter out, running a delicate finger across the strings of his acoustic. 

Eddie quickly bags twenty dollars worth of the sticky green bud, knees popping as he stands and hands it to you. 

“This… Eddie this is way more than a gram.” You eye him suspiciously, unsure if he’s made a mistake or not. 

“No, I know. It’s fine, half price.” Eddie shrugs, shifting from one bare foot to the other, he doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him like he’s done something wrong. 

“No.” You shake your head, shoving the baggie into his chest as you shake your head. “You’d be totally ripping yourself off. Gimme ten dollars worth and I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“Come on, sweetheart, just take it. You’re my best customer anyways.” Eddie starts to smile but it quickly vanishes as your eyes fill with tears and your entire face falls. “Hey, hey, please don’t cry!” 

He guides you to sit on his bed, your body crumpling in on itself as you cover your face with shaking hands. He’s clueless on what to do, settles on rubbing a steady hand up and down your back. 

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, Eddie.” You’re wiping at your cheeks, eyes darting around his dimly lit room. “I’ve had such a shit week, I can’t believe I’m crying at my dealers house.” You scoff a humorless laugh that makes him frown. 

My dealers house. Is that all you saw him as, your dealer? He’d hoped after the last time he’d at least be considered a friend.

“Wanna talk about it?” He offers, lips twisting into a one sided smile when you meet his eyes.

“You don’t wanna hear about my shit.” You deadpan, your face sullen, eyes blank. You look like you haven’t slept in days, the bags under your eyes incredibly telling.  

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn't want to know.” He counters, leaning over you to grab his abandoned joint from the ashtray. 

You hesitate before erupting into a fast paced tangent that Eddie can barely keep up with. College and your parents and your ex boyfriend sleeping with the one girl he always told you not to worry about. By the time you're done talking you've slumped down into his pillows, eyes glued to the ceiling as you calm your breathing. 

"I'm just so tired, I wanted to be an adult so bad and now… now I wish I could be as careless as a child again." You sigh deeply, fingers toying with a loose thread on his pillow case. Eddie crawls up beside you after stubbing out the joint you'd been sharing. 

"Sounds like a lot." He says, balling up one of his blankets into a makeshift pillow. You look over at him, eyes hooded with exhaustion and yet still so pretty. 

"I'm sorry, I came over here and cried and dumped all my shit on you without even asking how you were." You turn on your side to face him, hand tucked under your cheek. "How are you, Eddie?" 

He chuckles. "Right now? Right now I'm laying next to the prettiest girl in Hawkins so… doing pretty good, sweetheart." 

You roll your eyes at him but the toothy smile on your face tells him all he needs to know. "Always the charmer, aren't you, Eddie Munson." 

"Always." He whispers, reaching out to stroke his finger down your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut and you yawn. "Hey, uh, if you want you can sleep here for a little bit."

"Yeah?" You ask through an even bigger yawn. "You sure you won't mind?"

"Not at all. Sleep." With that he covers your body with his softest blanket before rolling off the bed. He pulls the string on his side lamp before shutting the door, the sound of your soft snores already filtering through the air.

— 

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he's woken up suddenly, a warm body pressing into his own on the small space of the couch.

"I didn't mean to wake you." You whisper in the darkness, smoothing your hand down the front of his shirt, your head laid against his shoulder. Eddie moves to wrap his arm around you, securing your body to his so you won't fall off as he shifts to make more room. 

"S'okay, sweetheart." Truthfully he can't remember even laying down, let alone letting sleep carry him under. His heart picks up its pace when your hand stills to rest right below his belly button, thumb coasting soothingly against the waistband of his boxers. 

A peaceful quiet takes over, neither of you speaking as you settle into his warm embrace. He can't help but love the way you feel pressed against him this, not sexual, but still intimate in a way Eddie has never experienced. 

"Hey, Eddie?" You speak after a while. "I'm sorry I ran out on you that night in your van." If you feel him tense under you as your fingers breach the elastic of his boxers, you don't say anything.

Eddie can't seem to say anything either, not when your hand keeps going lower and lower and his heart is racing so fast it threatens to burst from his chest. 

"I didn't want to leave and I guess that's the problem. I never want to leave when I'm with you." You grasp his thick length in your hands, tightening your grip at his tip, thumb swiping over his leaking slit. "This okay?" You ask softly into the sensitive skin of his neck, teeth nipping at the skin there when he nods.

"Use your words, baby." 

"Don't fucking stop." It rushes out from between his lips in a hurried whisper, his eyes clenching tight as your hand explores his throbbing cock.

"Feels good?" You ask and he's sure you already know the answer by the way he can't stop his hips from bucking up into your hand. 

"I think about that night a lot, you know. Haven't even been interested in anyone else since it happened. Can only think about you." You're fucking panting in his ear, like you're working yourself up with your own words. 

"Need you to fuck me, Eddie. Need to feel you inside me again. Can't stop thinking about it. Think I might be addicted to you-" 

Eddie has you flat against your back on his hard floor, quieting your surprised yelp with his mouth slotted against your own. 

He kisses you fiercely, hands cupping your cheeks as your teeth click and he grinds his hard cock into the space between your legs. 

"Fuck me, Eddie, please." Your breath fans hot across his cheek and despite his raging hard on and his desperate need to be inside you; he stops. 

Because once again, that nefarious thought weaves its way into his brain until it's all he can think of, flashing across the backs of his eyes like a giant neon sign. 

He is still only a rebound.

"I can't." He says, sitting on his knees between your spread thighs. 

"Ed- what? What's wrong?" You scurry to sit up, almost smacking your foreheads together if Eddie hadn't moved just in time to avoid a painful collision. The wideness of your eyes, the rejection settled inside the brilliant color of your irises make his heart thud painfully.

"I can't do this just because you're vulnerable and lonely." His tone is hard, harder than he meant it to be, but he doesn't stop to fix it. He can't fuck you and watch you leave. Not again. 

"I'm not that fucking vulnerable, Eddie." You hiss, scooting away from him. 

"I watched you cry not even three hours ago, sweetheart. You're exhausted and vulnerable and what type of man would I be if I took advantage of that?" He can see your guard going up, that wall you've built out of brick and barbed wire to protect yourself. He doesn't want you to pull away, slip through his fingers, but Eddie also doesn't want to be the guy you fuck just because you feel bad. 

"Is that what you think? That I'm only fucking you because I feel bad about myself?" 

It takes a minute for Eddie to realize what he's said out loud and by then you've already blown past him to his bedroom, closing in on the front door with your purse in hand once you've returned from the back of his trailer.

You stop right as your hand touches the cold metal of the door knob, turning back sharply on your heel to glare at the boy still kneeling on his living room floor. You toss the ten dollar bill at him and he watches it flutter weakly to the carpet.

"Just so you know, I fucked you because I like you, not because you were the only guy who would listen to my shit." Your chin wobbles once before you purse your lips tightly, nostrils flaring as you suck in a shaky breath willing yourself not to cry. "You can be a real jerk, Eddie Munson." 

Then you're gone and he can hear your shoes stomp down his front steps, the slam of your car door, the scatter of gravel as you peel out of the trailer park, and Eddie hangs his head feeling like a fucking idiot.

"Fuck!" He screams, punching his fists into the carpet over and over until the searing pain radiates up his wrists. He collapses back against the couch with a full thud, palms pressed hard into his eye sockets. 

Inside his chest, beneath the growing, crawling, mass of vines- his heart aches. 

[lordoftherazzles]

bagginshield trick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is coming in super late, but I promised myself I would get to these October things at some point!! Even if it's...well, late!!

You wanted some Bagginshield feelios, and from the Band AU, so here we go.

→ Bookbinder//Songwriter

This day had been a concern on Bilbo’s mind for quite some time now. Much as he tried not to bring it up, he couldn’t help but try to get a feel for how Thorin was handling the days leading up to the anniversary of his brother and father’s passing. Everyone handled grief differently, and now that there was a plaque mounted on the wall with Thorin’s old guitar that Thrain had gifted him, and a few of Frerin’s old bass picks, Bilbo had to wonder if Thorin maybe felt a bit closer to those he had lost.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to worry, after all, even his dear mother–who was probably the strongest person he knew–got teary-eyed and weepy whenever significant holidays or occasions came around without Bungo. No matter how many times Thorin insisted he was fine, and that everything would be okay the day of, a little bit of Bilbo didn’t quite believe it.

Thorin was one of those that put on a brave face way too often.

The day had finally come, and Bilbo had woken with every intention to just go about the day as normal, especially since Thorin seemed perfectly fine the night before when they’d gone to sleep. He hadn’t woken to the usual lazy kiss to the side of his head or a smart remark about missing breakfast. That should have been the first warning sign as he padded off to make breakfast and get ready for his workday with an empty bed behind him.

Rubbing his eyes and allowing his glasses to fall back into place, Bilbo trotted down the stairs and the strong scent of coffee filled his nose. Thorin was awake early today, and while it wasn’t exactly uncommon, the silence was—especially when dealing with Bilbo’s 'high-tech fucking coffee maker’, as the other man so eloquently put it.

Hazel eyes landed on a disheveled looking thing. Thorin sat with a steaming cup before him, his head resting on his palm with eyes closed. Dark circles were barely visible from a poor night of sleep and instantly Bilbo’s brows knit together. “Good morning,” he started cautiously, lifting the coffee pot from the counter and noticing only a few irritating drops left. Had Thorin gone through the whole pot? “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough. Couldn’t sleep.”

Bilbo pursed his lips as he slowly prepared a new pot of coffee ready for brewing. Thorin had insisted he was fine and pressing him more on the matter wouldn’t do anything. It was probably better to take the day minute by minute and keep it as normal as possible. “Mother invited us over for dinner this weekend. She wanted to send us off to Bree Bash properly and provide a good meal, as if I can’t cook,” Bilbo snorted, feigning humor as the coffee pot gave an obnoxious yell and a more potent coffee smell filled the room.

“She said to bring the band along so they can—“ Bilbo had turned, a cup in one hand and a full pot of precious bean water in the other, but his words died at the sight of Thorin slumped over his coffee mug, his shoulders shaking, and both palms pressed to his face. “Thorin…”

Setting aside the items in his hands and moving around the table to get his arms around his boyfriend from behind. Resting his head against the back of Thorin’s, his hands squeezing against the other’s arms in comfort, what was there to say? Thorin wasn’t okay, and that meant Bilbo’s wasn’t okay. Continuing to feel Thorin shake beneath his touch, Bilbo tightened his arms, pressing a kiss to the back of Thorin’s head as the barely audible sounds of grief practically rang in his ears.

“Just…let it out, Thorin, I’m not going anywhere.” Belladonna would understand, and they’d recently gotten some extra help around the shop, so no doubt everything would be covered. “Is there anything I can do?”

Thorin’s head merely shook before he turned, keeping his head low and gripping at Bilbo’s middle properly as grief continued to flood from his eyes. The soothing touch to his hair was calming, but just Bilbo’s presence alone was enough. No matter how much he had insisted, year after year, Thorin cracked with vivid memories of great loss, and how his familial ties had spiraled downward since.

“I’ll get the blankets and we can have a feel-good-marathon on the sofa today, does that sound alright?”

“Yes.” A nice distraction as far as Thorin was concerned, and this was the first year he didn’t feel like he had to hide those vulnerable moments. He wasn’t the one being looked to for strength and composure today, that was Bilbo, and Thorin could feel any more grateful than he already was. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, love, I’ll always be here when you need me. Just take all the time you need…” Whether Thorin required a few moments or a few hours just clinging like this, Bilbo was happy to do his part, and hopefully the pain would subside, and maybe one day it wouldn’t hurt so much. “I love you, darling, and I’m so incredibly proud of you. Just as I imagine your brother and father are too,” Bilbo murmured, pressing another kiss to Thorin’s hair and preparing for a day of comfort in any way Thorin sought.

That’s what he was here for.

[dragonotaku-justineverything]

How far do Whitley and Willow go in their loving relationship? Do they go into 2nd base or do they just stay at oral fornication?

WARNING!!!

Small Willow x Whitley ask ahead.

Willow took a deep inhale through her nose. She was sitting down and was about to take a sip of her drink, water not wine, and now was being bothered while trying to enjoy herself. "Well I don't see where it became something you should concern yourselves with, but we go as far as my Whitley would like. I told him any questions or desires he would like to experience or learn about, I would gladly help with my body~." Willow finished taking that sip of water as she reminisced about some of the certain things she'd already help him experience and learn about.

----Roleplay----

Willow was dressed up as a very sexy business woman, wearing a black pencil skirt and a light blue blouse that was unbuttoned very far down under her black suit and showing off a very gracious amount of cleavage as well as her black lacy lingerie bra underneath. "Oh Mr. Schnee, please don't show my boss those pictures. I know he's your father, but I'm very sorry for what I did."

Whitely cleared his throat as he sat at 'his desk' in front of the 'new hire'. He nervously twiddled his hands in front of him before settling for just crossing his arms over his chest. "I-I don't know, that was very indecent for you to pleasure yourself while on the clock."

Willow crawled onto 'Mr. Schnee's' desk, giving the young man a perfect look down her blouse and seeing just how well her bra pushed up her boobs and pressed them together to make her cleavage look incredible. "Please sir, I'll do anything to not to get fired." Willow pulled the top of her bra down just enough to flash her nipple at him. "Anything at all~."

Whitley was stuck just staring down at her chest for a bit longer than he meant to. He finally snapped back to the scene when his mother playfully cleared her throat. "W-well, since you seem to be so willing to make up for your.... u-uuuh.... t-transgressions, I think we can work s-something out for you to stay."

Whitley stood up and shakingly began undoing his belt before pulling down his pants and underwear, letting his cock spring out at full attention. "If you want to stay, l-lets see if you're good at... uh... um... c-can we drop this acting and just have sex mother?"

Willow smiled and climbed down off the desk in front of her son. He had seemed a bit overwhelmed with the whole charade, even though he had seemed interested in the idea after watching something on the internet. But he did ask nicely. Willow gently pushed Whitley back down into his large chair and quickly mounted him, straddling his lap. She reached down and slowly unzipped her pencil skirt, the sound of it being undone filled the silence between the two of them. The sound seemed to last an eternity to Whitley. Finally, the zipper ran out of track and the fabric fell off of Willow's hips. It slid off the chair to the ground, and Whitley was surprised to find out that his mother had not been wearing any undergarments to match her bra during their charade as he immediately saw her bare pussy.

Willow raised her body up a bit and placed her hands on Whitley's shoulders. She patted his cheek lightly and got him to look up to her. They stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds before Willow suddenly dropped down and took Whitley's cock into her pussy.

Whitley's head was thrown back and a long drawn out moan as his mother began riding him. Willow happily rocked in his lap, all while chalking up roleplay to a loss for now. However, the outfit had definitely seemed to be a win for her boy~. 'Maybe I should hint at cosplay around Whitley next~?'

----Titfucks and dirty talk----

"Mother!"

"Oh dear sweet Whitley~! Fuck my boobs faster! Wait, you wanted me to say my tits! Fuck my tits sweetie~! As fast as you want! Pump your cock faster between my tits~!"

"Mother! They so soft! I-I-I'm gonna! Hhhuuuuaaaa!"

Willow moaned as her son's cock erupted between her large, soft, and well lubricated breasts. Her son's cum shot up all the way onto her face. The warmth of it felt splendid~! And Whitely's exhausted and spent panting as he had to steady himself with a hand on his mother's head as he almost collapsed from standing in front of her was simply adorable~.

Whitley definitely seemed to be a fan of titfucks and dirty talk, so those were something that she'd definitely be using later for him.

----Face fucking----

"Huk! Huk! Guk!"

It had been a rather rough day for Whitely with the SDC, many things going wrong with dust packaging, distribution to shops, and employee mistakes that he had to correct. So Willow had decided to suggest one of the more "aggressive" sexual curiosities to help alleviate some of his stress. She had led him to her bed chamber, sat down on the ground while resting back against the side of her bed, and quickly explained her idea to him.

That being he gets to just absolutely use her mouth and throat as much as he wants with his cock to climax. She'd take any amount of roughness or speed he wanted to push his cock into her mouth with.

Whitley hadn't been too sure about it at first, but then his mother had opened her mouth slowly and left it open, inviting him to go ahead with a few flicks of her tongue. And he had.

Now they had somehow ended up completely on Willow's bed, with Willow laying down on her back and Whitley humping down into her mouth rapidly. His earlier reservations completely dissolved as he pounded his mother's mouth. His cock slid in and out of her lips that were wrapped tightly around his shaft as he slid it in and out of her. She even felt it hitting the back of her throat!

Willow's eyes might have been watering but she was nowhere close to being uncomfortable. Quite the contrary, she found Whitley's sudden aggressiveness with her quite exciting. She'd even started rubbing her pussy furiously, she'd gotten so aroused.

"Guhk guhk guuugk!"

Whitley's thrusting picked up intensely, and so did Willow's gagging. Spittle was splattering all over Willow's face and Whitley's pelvis. "Mmg mmg mggMGgmgMGGMGGGUUUG!" Whitley stopped for a second, only to regrip his mother's hair below him in a tight grip and pulled her head up. At the same time, he thrust down hard and absolutely buried his cock down her throat as he came. "MMMMmmmmm~!!!" Willow's surprised muffled yelp quickly faded into a moan. Her eyes became half lidded as she felt the wonderful feeling of ropes of cum being shot down her throat. She could practically feel both the warmth and thickness shoot all the way down into her stomach.

Fucking his mother face like his own personal toy was definitely something that Whitley was a fan of. And so was she~.

---

Willow shivered ever so slightly at the memories. "So yes, I do believe we have reached that so-called 'second base' you referred to, not that it's any of your business." Willow shifted in her seat and her breath hitched a little. She grinned and reached a hand down to her lap. Her hand rested on a head of short, white hair. The hair of her son's head, which was between her legs as he was licking away at her pussy under her skirt~. "Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Whitley pulled his head back at hearing his mother ask him a question. He took a few breaths before nodding. "Yes mother." No more words came out of Whitley's mouth as he went back to eating Willow out, shocking Willow to suddenly let out a gasp as his tongue found the right spot immediately after diving back into her cunt.

"H-hah! G-good boy honey. You're such a good boy to me~." Willow leaned back in her chair and let her son work away. She was going to assume that he was just as big a fan of giving oral sex as he was of receiving it with how enthusiastic he seemed.

As well as being praised~.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

mm how about the characters of hetalia (Portugal England Spain Roman Canada America Kiku) he proposed to his girlfriend but she is rejected because she no longer loves him

Hello, lovely~ I see we have a fan of angst in this house.

I'm afraid I'll have to divide this one up a little, as unfortunately the bits I've written are all a bit longer than I was anticipating.

Hope you enjoy!

America

Alfred's smile slowly slides away, even as he continues to kneel before you, your hands still gently clasped between his own. Surely he misheard you, so caught up in the moment that he's missed the rest of your words, only catching a small portion. Clinging to that thread of optimism, he presses for you to repeat yourself. 

"Sorry honey, I missed that. What'd ya say?" 

To his mounting horror? despair?- you repeat your earlier words, now with the adage of your own apology, something about having wanted to meet up to talk about separating, about- 

He can't really hear you anymore, his breath catching in his throat, heart clenching painfully in his chest, eyes sweeping across the floor in hope of some sort of answer, in hope that he'll wake up from this nightmare.

But you're squeezing his hands, helping him up, putting a water in front of him, trying to guide him back to the present, concern clear in your tone even if it's only- 

"Why?" He pulls himself from his stupor, sure his eyes are bloodshot already, certain you can see just how wrecked you've already left him.

You look positively devastated, as if you had expected this to go any other way, and damn if he doesn't still want to comfort you despite how much fucking pain he's in right now. 

"I don't love you, Al; I can't- I can't do that to you." 

Oh, how he wants to fight you on that, can taste the protests already forming on his tongue, can already picture the dozens of ways he would win you back.

Yet- 

You want this. 

He can see it, can read it in your expression, in the tension of your shoulders.

And he could never deny you anything, even if it hurts like hell. 

Even if it feels as if the universe is collapsing around him, as if you've broken every little piece of him. 

"Okay."

Canada

Mattie sees the dread in your eyes before he's even finished, his words trailing off as he studies you carefully- the averted eyes, the tension in your jaw, the very distinct aura of panic.

He feels his eyebrows draw together in concern, gently runs him thumb across your hand. "What's wrong?"

He watches as your eyes close, feels the small wisps of anxiety starting to build in his chest as you take a steadying breath, your eyes haunted as you finally turn back to face him.

No, you're-

Dear God, he's a dumbass; he should have figured this out ages ago.

You're trying so hard to be kind, your voice shaking as you try to explain your heart, try to explain your feelings, try to explain how much you do still care about him, but-

Frankly, he's only half-aware of your words, so lost to anger with himself for not realizing sooner, for not seeing-

Your palm on his cheek stops everything, his name from your lips silences every stray thought. He can only focus on you, lost in your apologetic gaze, drowning in the clearly platonic affection shining there.

Satisfied you've reclaimed his attention, your hand starts to fall, and dammit all if he doesn't want to catch it, hold onto you, cling to you.

"Is there someone else?"

You offer a small sigh, a tired sound, your relief clear in your relaxing shoulders and softening expression.

"No, Mattie. I don't know if there ever will be."

He wants to pressure you, demand to know why you're walking away then, what the fuck you have to gain from leaving him.

But...

But if he lashes out now, he may lose you completely.

And selfishly, stupidly, he can't let you go.

He can't let you disappear. 

He can't-

Things will never be the same between you.

He knows that, he knows.

But he's fallen too deeply to ever completely let you go.

England

"You could have spared me the embarrassment."

You should have told him sooner.

Oh, everything in him wants to hurt you, make you feel even a fraction of his pain, to understand just how humiliated he had felt at your outright rejection, half the bloody royal family standing in earshot.

He resists the temptation, forces it down deep, far, far away, cursing himself for his naivety. Yet again letting himself become attached, when the whole of Creation has proven over and over again that he is destined to be alone.

How bloody perfect that you would serve as Nature's messenger this time, and just when he finally-

He makes the mistake of glancing at you, catching the shame in your eyes, the guilt, the pit-

No. 

No, that's pain, too.

All desire to hurt you, to lash out and tear you apart, is gone in an instant, leaving only a hollow shell behind. He forces his attention away from you, paces over to the railing of the small balcony, stares at nothing in particular of the garden below. 

"Take the room in East Wing. Stay as long as you need until you can find your own place."

It's meant to be a dismissal, meant to make you leave, to spare him just a little of his dignity, to let him hide just how deeply you had cut him. But, as often seems the case, you either miss the hint entirely or choose to ignore it, stepping closer and hovering just a few steps away.

"Arthur, I need you to understand-"

"Stop," he hisses, unable to muster anything more than that. The ring, forged centuries ago for a queen long passed into legend, hangs heavily in his pocket. "I don't need- or frankly want- your explanations."

"Arthur."

Your hand is resting on his forearm now, a blessing (your warmth practically weaving its way into his soul, calming him, easing some of the pain) and a curse (a comfort he is no longer entitled to, a familiarity no longer truly shared, the source of all of this pain).

He wants to pull away, damns himself for not pulling away.

"Please just go."

It is a complete and utter defeat, one he can no longer keep from his voice, one he couldn't ever hope to hide from you no matter how desperately he should wish it.

He hears your mouth open and shut again, the weight of your unspoken thoughts hanging heavily in the space you vacate, leaving him alone in the cool twilight.

Spain

Tonio can sense there's something off about you, knows you've been actively avoiding him for the past few weeks. He's had his suspicions for a while, and it's not until your rejection that he finally has confirmation. 

"I'm sorry, Toni."

He can feel a tremble in his hand, can feel the smile starting to slip, but he's determined not to crack, not now.

"What?"

You repeat yourself again, and he tries not to pay too much attention to how much easier the words flow from you now, the first hurdle overcome at last.

The first blow hasn't even finished landing, and you're already firing another volley? Despicable.

He is pissed, so furious he can barely focus on your additional explanations, your apologies, your reassurances. Why should he listen, anyway? You-

"You're leaving me."

Whatever the Hell you had been saying is cut short, your eyes widening in surprise when you finally look at him, realise just how enraged he's become. You visibly go to take a step back, stopped by the stone wall of the small bridge.

Wasn't this fucking perfect?

Everyone left him eventually, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he fought to keep them. Why should he be surprised that you'd end up the exact same way?

There's an inferno roaring in his ears, a haziness to his vision, and his nails are digging so sharply into his palms he can feel them piercing the skin.

A sick, twisted part of him wants to make sure you can't run away, can never leave him again, and for a moment, for a horrifying moment he actually considers it.

Common sense snaps back into place, a sharp, whipping jolt of knowledge that those thoughts belonged to a different man, that he hasn't been that man in a long, long time.

He finally meets your gaze again, feels his heart shatter at the concern in your eyes, at the tangible traces of fear.

No...

No, you were the last person who should ever be scared of him.

"Go."

It's an exhausted sigh, the taste of defeat more bitter now than it had been in centuries. He looks away from you, opting to watch the sunlight playing off the water.

You're hovering, and he feels his chest constrict when he hears you step closer.

With a growl, he turns to face you, pouring all of that aching fury into his voice.

"Go!" 

It's enough, and you practically run in your rush to get away from him.

Once you're finally long gone, he slams his fist into the wall beside him, and crumbles to his knees, finally lets the mask shatter to pieces.

He's lost everything else; of course he'd lose you, too.

Japan, Romano, and Portugal to follow at a later date. Thanks for reading!

[ashasmonsters]

Hiya, I just found your blog and im in love with your writing style! This is my first time making a request of this nature, so forgive me if I'm not clear enough with my request! Anyway, I wanted to ask if you could write a lemon scene with a M!Demon X F!Human? I think details are that both are flirtatious, but the demon is more suave and formal, almost Gothic Vampiric in a way? while the human is crass and rowdy, just overall hyper and chaotic. Also, the demon is stupidly tall and hauntingly beautiful while the human is more cutesy, short, and kind of pudgy. Again, my apologies in advance if thats too little/too much to go off of!

I liked the idea of a Gothic, vampire-like Demon! I hope you're okay with me flexing the bits of Romanian I know (Apologies in advance to any Romanians, I promise I know you're not all vampires. I'm dying to visit Bucharest and Cluj-Napoca again!). You gave me lots of details Anon, which I don't mind at all! I hope you like it.

Gothic Vampiric M!Demon x Crass Smol F!Human - Lemon Content: Gratuitous usage of limba Română

“Ah-ah,” Ozul tutted, looking down at you with four yellow eyes and a smirk. “Say ‘please.’”

You fruitlessly stood on your tip-toes and reached skyward, the top shelf still out of reach. “Give me my damn tea!”

“Such crude language, dear.” His slender fingers grasped a box and pulled it from the shelf. “Chamomile?”

“...yes, please.”

“See, was that so hard?” He filled an ornate silver diffuser with the looseleaf tea before leaving it in a mug with hot water. “Your tea.”

You accepted the mug and cupped it in your hands, the warmth welcome in Ozul’s drafty keep. The steam rose to your face, carrying with it hints of lemon.

“Tell me what you think of it. It’s a new blend.”

“I will… when it’s cooled down,” you blew on the steaming tea, “you big dummy.”

“Ah, right. I keep forgetting about humans and their susceptibility to burns.”

“Go to hell, Ozul,” you joked, “oh, right. That’s just your hometown.”

“...My parents’ hometown. I was brought up in Bucharest, actually.” He chuckled, flashing you his razor-sharp teeth. They formed a knowing smile. “Quiesce, my lady. I know you’re not tired but it’s time for bed. Bring your tea.”

Before long you were changed into your nightgown and nursing your warm cup of chamomile tea. It helped your restlessness a bit as you laid next to Ozul in his massive bed. He filled it out nicely with his tall, lanky form; you were a tiny lump in a sea of satin, though the feeling of sheets on your bare legs was delicious.

You sipped your tea and turned to Ozul. “What’cha reading?” The book in his ashen-grey hands was the size of a small child. He held it like one, too.

“War and Peace by Tolstoy.” His eyes stayed fixed on the book as he turned a page. The smell of old library wafted over to you.

“Sounds boring.” You set your tea on the nightstand.

“Boring enough to put you to sleep? Perhaps I should read it aloud...”

“Please, anything but Russian classics,” you playfully begged, your thighs rubbing together restlessly. You rolled on your side to face him, his eyes stayed focused on the thick tome. By candlelight, his long, straight, raven hair shimmered as it cascaded around his horns and down his shoulders.

“Dragă,” he purred, “you must sleep.” His slender hand left the book and slithered under the sheets towards you. It came to rest on your round tummy, cool and smooth.

“Make me,” you challenged.

“Eu voi.” His citrine gaze met yours. His hand gently slithered down your body until it met the hem of your nightgown, where he paused. “Vreți?”

He always lapsed into Romanian when he was tired or frisky. Much too proud to reveal which, his eyes went back to his book.

“Da,” you replied.

With one hand he flipped a page and with the other he explored your inner thighs under your gauzy gown. He made frustratingly slow progress upwards and your thighs squeezed him in an effort to speed things up. He turned another page.

“Ozul… could you pick up the pace?” You urged, your heartbeat speeding up.

“Say please...” he taunted, his hand suddenly stopping.

“Please!” you cried.

“...in my mother tongue.” He still kept his gaze locked on Tolstoy’s epic. You glowered at him.

“I can’t remember! Just fi—”

“Vă…” He chimed, as if teaching a baby to talk. It annoyed you that he succeded in jogging your memory.

“Vă rog.” You relented.

“Bună treabă.” He briefly turned to praise you with a forehead kiss. He resumed traveling up your thighs until his hand rested in your lap. Once again engrossed (or pretending to be) in his literature, he found your sex with a beckoning finger.

“That’s more like it,” you breathed, Ozul’s finger playing about your entrance in little circles. Without looking he found your nub and held his thumb there, his other fingers poised to enter you proper. A pause. Gentle pressure on your tender button, making you squirm. He turned a page. A finger pushed into you.

“Shit!” You gasped, Ozul’s slender digit gently but earnestly entering your slick warmth. He explored with his finger as you bit your lip, gripping the sheets. You breathed deep until he finally pushed against that spot that made your hips roll.

“Iată.” He adjusted his reach and added a second finger. “Found it.”

You panted as he gently stretched you, pushing against your insides and moving his thumb in little circles on your clit. His pace was slow, steady, and delicious. You looked at him through half-lidded eyes; he only returned a quick glance before his gaze returned to the book.

“Ozul,” you moaned, desperate for more. Your heart raced and your body squirmed as waves of warmth and pleasure made you feverish. He only gave a gentle shushing in response.

Then he increased the pace. His thumb, previously moving in a lazy circle, ground into your clit with fervor. His fingers pumped in and out, brushing against all the right spots inside you. You were a mess, unable to contain your moans as his hand fucked you into a quivering pile. He turned another page.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you choked. The pleasure mounted relentlessly. You gripped the sheets, your knuckles turning white and your hips bucking against Ozul’s inescapable ministrations.

“Language,” he quietly tutted as if he wasn’t filling you with searing pleasure. The pumping, the rubbing, the way his fingers stretched you ever-so-slightly— it became too much to bear. You threw your hands down, grasping his tightly through the blanket so you could grind into it, and cried out. Pleasure flooded your mind; nothing mattered more than riding out your release.

You hadn’t yet caught your breath. Ozul withdrew his hand and turned a page with it.

“Good?” He asked, still reading.

“Yes,” you panted. Your legs felt heavy rather than restless, and you felt you might melt into the sheets any minute now. Your eyelids were impossibly heavy.

“How was the tea?” Ozul asked. He read a bit more, then turned to you. “Ahem, how was the…” he trailed off. There was no response. You were already fast asleep.

[cinnamonest]

Childe with a twin brother who was born delicate and fragile. He’s so weak, barely able to build muscle and wheezing pathetically like he would die just after ten minutes of running around. Their parents do their best to accommodate him, their older siblings do their best to make sure he’s happy even if he has to spend 3/4ths of his life confined indoors because he’d never survive Snezhnaya otherwise, their younger siblings are always so careful and obedient because its been drilled into their heads not to upset him as his delicate physiology can easily get fucked up whenever he gets too emotional.

Honestly, he thinks his twin is pathetic. He’d boring to be around, an embarrassment when he went to play with the other kids in their village, and a total chore. Not to mention that everyone who knew of his twin always asked about him if they saw him, giving him something to pass onto his twin brother, telling him to be nicer, be more understanding, be patient—

Its so annoying. It’s like he always came second to his twin, it’s like everyone forgot him because he was the middle child born with a twin who could probably die if you brushed up against them the wrong way.

So he can’t be blamed for lashing out and running off that day when he fell into the abyss. He just couldn’t handle it, being forced to take care of his brother who always demanded so much from him. Always asking him to take him out, to play, to tell him stories, to get this and that and whatever because he couldn’t get up from bed- fucking annoying. Worse when everyone once again got on his case for not accommodating his twin. So he lashed out and ran.

He... didn’t understand it, really, how his fragile twin brother was the only one who managed to find him just in time to see Ajax fall into the abyss. The way he screamed in terror, the way he lunged and tried to grab his hand-

Ajax doesn’t think he’s seen a prettier sight in his entire life, than his brother’s terrified, devastated face as he fell into the unknown.

It’s one of the things that keeps him going while he’s down there fighting for his life. And since he spends so much time alone, he gets to introspect and reflect, especially about his twin.

Needy and useless- he’s life a wife without the benefit of getting to fuck them raw and open, that’s what. Childe spirals as he’s in the abyss and thinks more on that idea. He’s the older twin brother. He was born smart, handsome, and strong. His twin is beautiful and fragile, like a princess from a storybook. He’s weak, so he clings to the strong. He’s fragile, so Ajax has to protect him. Needs to provide for him. Needs to take care of him.

When he returns home, after the commotion and celebration of finding him has died down, he goes to his twin’s room and pins him down with ease as he pulls off his pants and proceeds to play with them. For years he plays and trains them to his liking, laughing at their limping form and terrified eyes from that dya onwards. Happily absorbing their frantic pleas for him to stop as he pleasures them beyond the limit- grinning when their older siblings find out and merely sigh- telling him not to overtax his twin. The betrayal on their face when Ajax convinces everyone to leave the job of caring for them up to him, forcing him to drink his medicine with the cum Ajax so generously gave them after forcing his dick down their throat. He’s already decided- he’s going to wife his dear twin. Everyone had been so worried for their marriage prospects- what with Ajax being a troublemaker and his twin being bedridden- so this is the best solution.

Having his father into sending him to the fatui is part of the plan. Climbing the ranks and acquiring harbinger status was inevitable for someone like him. Coming back and announcing his intent to marry his twin brother to the entire village was commonsense.

His family readily accepts, and its a reverse of their childhood. His screaming, enraged twin begging everyone not to marry him to Childr is shushed, told to be understanding, be patient, be nicer. Told that even if he was hurt he left without a goodbye when he joined the Fatui, he’s back now and trying to make amends. He should be nicer- Ajax took care of him and now he plans to do so for the rest of his life. He should be grateful.

Childe delights in their fear when he pins and mounts them on their bed again, just like that first night after his return from the abyss, after years of separation. Grinning at their pathetic struggle and immediate exhaustion as Childe watches and slowly strips them, kissing gently as he ties him up with his belt then proceeds to ravish them. Taunts that if they weren’t born so pathetic they couldve probably escaped Childe’s grasp for at least a little longer, as he thrusts his entire length so deep and hard into them they spasm, clench and clamp down on his cock and sob into his shoulder.

Grins at the fatalistic expression on their face as they come to numbly accept their impending marriage to him, when their mother and sisters goes over wedding ideas and their father and brothers talk about invites and entertainment. How Tonia happily runs over and hugs them, congratulations on her tongue as his twin just sits and watches blankly, before hiding his face in the crook between Childe’s neck and shoulder to try and block everything out. Ignore how everyone coos or scoffs at how spoiled and sappy and clingy his twin is now that Childe’s back, and Childe’s hand on his back, pulling him closer with a laugh saying how much he missed his twin and future spouse too.

After all, the weak obey the strong, and he was born weak. This ending was only natural.

I have no WORDS anon... bless u for this I just!!

[lovelylusts]

Entertainment | Kim Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x F!Reader

Genre: smut, lmao this is pwp

Warnings: y’all are watching porn together, mentions of anal sex, mention of an anal creampie, anal fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, unprotected vaginal sex (do as i say, not as i write - plz use protection), lil bit of praise, i have a romance kink, squirting but it’s not rlly that descriptive?, vaginal creampie (again, plz be careful), cockwarming?

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: The lovely @tipsydipsydo gave me this idea a while ago, but as a birthday gift, I decided use her own words against her 😈😈 happy belated birthday, my dear!

You and your beloved boyfriend indulge in some adult entertainment together, but quickly get carried away.

Your boyfriend had a tendency to come home with another idea of what you should try in the bedroom - once it was ice play, next it was impact play, and so on. He never seemed to run out of ideas, always making new suggestions every couple of weeks. Today, for your birthday, he let you pick whatever you two did, be it something new or something familiar that you loved; but you wanted to follow his lead and experiment a bit. So you asked him if you two could watch porn together.

If anything, Namjoon was jealous he didn’t think of it first. He managed to hook up your computer to the TV in your bedroom so you could watch whatever you wanted for free, deciding on websites that focused on amateur couples. He sat in the middle of the king-sized bed, with you settled between his legs and your back against his chest, as you browsed the website for something that intrigued the both of you.

“What about that one?” he asked from behind you, his voice reverberating against your back and sending a chill up your spine. You followed the tip of his finger to find that he was pointing at a young couple, around your age from what you could tell, who, according to the title, were going to partake in anal for the first time. Heat started rushing through your body, mainly between your legs, at the premise. The two of you had done anal a couple of times, and it always left you wanting more, though you would never admit it because of how embarrassing it sounded. The video title soon brought back memories of your own first time doing anal, the weeks of preparation to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you, the pleasurable sting as his cock sunk into your tighter hole.

You both intently watched the screen as the young man slid a lubed-up finger into his woman counterpart’s asshole, slowly pushing it in, causing her thighs to shake. Behind you and against your lower back, you could feel Namjoon growing harder at the sight; and you yourself could feel your underwear beginning to dampen from your arousal.

“Baby?” Namjoon asked, his breath hot against your neck. You tried to speak, but could only whine as a sign for him to continue. “Take off your underwear and spread your legs.” You obliged as soon as the soft words left his mouth, lifting your hips to pull the flimsy material down your legs and throwing them on the floor. You resumed your position in front of him, spreading your legs over his thighs and shivering as the cool air hit your wet heat.

You tried to watch what was happening on the screen in front of you, the woman was now taking three fingers in her tighter hole, whining and begging the man to not stop. That’s when Namjoon’s fingers found their way to your wet pussy, spreading your arousal around before rubbing soft circles on your clit. You let out a soft whine, throwing your head back against his shoulder as he stimulated you. You felt so sensitive, you were unsure as to how long you’d manage to last, but all you could do was relish in the stimulation you were receiving as he skillfully played with the sensitive bundle of nerves.

But as soon as the pleasure began, it was being taken away; though it wasn’t for long because shortly thereafter you felt one of his long fingers tracing your asshole before sliding it in. You moaned at the intrusion, the slight burn you loved so much sending a chill up your spine. You tried to keep your eyes open, but they kept faltering as the pleasure coursed through your veins.

“Keep your eyes open, baby,” he commanded as he slid a second finger into your asshole, slowly pumping his fingers as he watched the screen, occasionally turning to you to make sure your eyes were open and focused on the screen.

By now, the man was spreading lube all over his cock - definitely smaller than Namjoon’s, you noted, but you were aware that Namjoon was well above average - and preparing to enter the woman’s ass. As the woman cried out at the intrusion, your boyfriend slid yet another finger in.

He brought his other hand up, holding his fingers in front of your mouth. “Suck,” he commanded. He put two of his fingers in your mouth, groaning as he felt you suck on them in a similar fashion to how you would normally suck his cock. “Fuck, you look so pretty with your lips around my fingers. Almost as pretty as how you look with your lips around my cock.” He removed his fingers from your mouth, must to your disappointment, only to bring them down to your pussy. Three fingers penetrated you while his thumb toyed with your clit.

You let out a cry, the stimulation bringing you closer and closer to the edge, faster than you had hoped. “Namjoon, please fuck me,” you moan, thighs shaking as he continued his actions.

“After you cum, baby,” he said before pressing a kiss to your cheek. He relished in the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers, a sign that you were about to reach your climax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Namjoon!” you whined, high-pitched moans filling the room as you came all over his fingers. You felt as if you were floating, unable to focus on anything aside from the electricity flowing through your body as you slowly came down. He pulled away his fingers upon you wincing from overstimulation, starting to take his own clothes off as you peeled your t-shirt off.

By now, the man on the tv had already finished inside the woman, the camera showing a closeup of the cum dripping out of her asshole, before the next video started playing. But neither of you were paying attention to the pornography anymore.

You were always amazed at how Namjoon could maintain composure in the bedroom. His cock was rock hard, the tip bright red and leaking precum - you were kinda amazed he didn’t cum in his pants. He lied back down against the pillows, beckoning you to approach him and ride him. You happily obliged, mounting his lap and aligning his cock with your soaking pussy, your wet walls enveloping his hard member as you lowered yourself onto him, your arms wrapped around his neck as you cried out. You were unsure if you could ever get used to the way he perfectly filled you - it was as if your bodies were two matching puzzle pieces. The same fingers that had filled your tighter hole earlier had found their way back as you bounced on him, once again filling you.

You wanted to cry, so much stimulation at once and you were already sensitive from a new type of buildup - one that was admittedly something you wanted to do again. In hindsight, you probably should have expected that watching porn with your boyfriend would lead here, but you couldn’t complain because you felt intoxicated as he fingered you while his cock perfectly hit the sweet spot inside of you.

“You’re such a good girl for me,” Namjoon groaned, his voice dripping with arousal. “Always so good for me.” He could never get enough of you - the way you felt around him, the way you touched him - you could do no wrong when it came to him. He was hopelessly in love with you, as you were with him. Two halves of the same heart, as they say.

“I’m getting closer, baby,” you whined. He knew your body better than you ever could, always knowing exactly what to say and do to bring you to the edge. So naturally, when you said that, he brought his other hand, the one that was in your mouth earlier, to you clit to quickly stroke it as you continued to ride him. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

“Come on, baby. Make a mess all over me,” he encouraged. He had that damn smirk on his face as he spoke. You felt your release take over, your body shaking as you came and your release covered his thighs. He kept plowing into you, bringing himself to his own release and you felt his warm seed fill your walls.

The two of you were left spent, not moving to clean up, and instead choosing to stay wrapped in each other’s body heat as you ignored the soft moans in the background from the porn that was (apparently) still playing.

“Honey?” you asked.

“Yes, baby?” he answered, his voice deep as if he were drifting off to sleep.

“Can we do this again sometime? Watching porn together?”

He chuckled, the rumble in his chest vibrating in your own, before he placed a kiss on the top of your head. “Insatiable little thing. Of course we can.”

[rogue-durin-16]

MISS SLYTHERIN

Summary: Fred meets the perfect girl at the beginning of his seventh year; although he is reluctant to ask her out, the universe keeps throwing her into every place Fred finds himself in, even in the most unexpected one; the Quidditch pitch.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: mostly fluff

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: language and a little tiny bit of slut shaming (?) and making out

A/N: I was on the subway listening to Sweet Dreams and my brain went 'hOLd oN— bEAteR ReAdER 👁️👄👁️!' so here we are. Kinda long but worth it. Enjoy this <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

It was the first Saturday of the scholar year, and the first ten days tended to be the definition of chaos, so I had volunteered to help my House's prefects with the first years; I was in sixth year, so my first two weeks were mostly free anyway.

I was on my way to the dungeons to pick up the group of kids the prefects had assigned me when I bumped into my Ravenclaw friends, and I decided to chat a bit with them to catch up.

I had my back against one of the hallway's walls, therefore I saw the pair of towering, lean, redheaded figures jogging towards my friends to give them a jump scare.

"That's about it real— AAH!" My friend jolted at the infamous' twins, bumping them for scaring her. "Idiots!"

"Sorry, love." One of them passed his arms over two of my friends' shoulders, while his twin brother's eyes roamed over the circle, tilting his head in confusion when he reached me. "Hello?"

"Hey." I gave them a subtle wave and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Oh, right!" My friend turned to me and pointed at the boy whose arm rested on her. "This is George and that's—"

"Fred Weasley." He introduced himself, offering me his hand to shake with a half smile that promised everything but boredom.

Giving his hand a firm shake, I responded, "Y/n Y/l/n." Our eyes locked; we didn't even attempt to hide the fact that we were measuring one another, and I knew I would have to endure the teasing on my friends' behalf later, but there was something in Fred's gaze that made me extremely curious about his intentions.

I let go of his hand, only for him to take a couple of steps in my direction to stand closer. "And how is it that I've never seen you before, Y/n Y/l/n?" He inquired, leaning on his shoulder against the wall.

"I reckon you don't look much at the Slytherin table?"

His body tensed. "Oh?"

"Oh." I chuckled at his shock. "Scared much?"

The corner of his lips twitched up again. "Should I?"

"Guess that's on you to decide." We lingered on each other's gaze for a bit too long. "I think I'll get going." I was the one to avert my eyes in order to talk to my friends, who were already giving me that look. "See you lat— Oi!" Fred swooped the bag I was carrying off my shoulder and hung it on his.

"I'll carry this for you."

"I'm heading to my House."

"Where else would you be heading?" I turned to my friends in confusion, but they only shrugged; I didn't even have time to ask them what was he up to. "C'mon, Miss Slytherin!"

My eyes got big at the name and I spun around, rushing to catch up with him. "I can carry my own bag, you know that right?"

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to walk with you." I quirked a brow at him when the ginger winked. "Tell me something."

"Like what?" I questioned, a confused yet amused grin dancing on my lips.

He shrugged, averting his gaze to nonchalantly look to the front "Dunno," He changed my bag to his other arm so it wouldn't be between us. "What do you think about Umbridge?"

"Well, she's got terrible taste in clothing." He laughed, and so did I. Just like that, we fell in a quite fluid and enjoyable conversation.

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

FRED'S P. O. V.

"—And not only that, she's so smart—" I groaned burying my face in my bed's pillow, very aware that I had been talking about Y/n to George and Lee for at least fifteen minutes. "Yesterday she held my hand and I think my face turned red."

Lee's snort was followed by George's words. "So are you gonna ask her out or...?"

I grimaced. The last couple of weeks, somehow I had managed to bump into Y/n everywhere. It was as if the universe was throwing me towards her, but there was a voice in the back of my head that stopped me from making a move. "What if she says no?"

"Freddie, she blantantly flirts with you every time you see her." George stated with his eyebrows raised. "Just ask her out, mate."

"Aight," I nodded. "I'll do it next time I see her."

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

READER'S P. O. V.

When Adrian Pucey informed me that Crabbe wouldn't be able to play in the upcoming Quidditch match, I instantly regretted accepting my friends' dare of showing up at Quidditch tryouts.

Though I didn't put much effort on it, I got in the team as a reserve, and the moment had come for me to shine. How lovely.

I couldn't really back out of that one, so that's how I ended up in the Slytherin changing room before a match that would be played in the worst conditions. Since I was in deep already, I thought I might as well go for the win with everything I had.

"Oi, Malfoy!" I gestured the kid to come closer, which he did with reluctancy. "Don't give me that look— I don't like you either."

"What."

"You're not half as good as Potter—" Before he started the rant of insults, I spoke again. "Shut it. You're not half as good but you're faster." My words were clear and slow, making sure he would understand. "Keep your eyes on Potter— if he moves, you move."

He seemed to hesitate, weary of my advice, but then he gave me a subtle nod and walked away.

"C'mon, on your feet everyone!" Our captain called us and we obeyed; as we approached our entrance to the pitch, thunders could be heard louder and louder. "We're not only for the win, we're gonna crush them." He shouted, partially so we could hear him over the racket of the storm and the muffled hubbub of the crowd, but also because he wanted us to know how serious he was about it. "Glasses!" I took a deep breath, grasping the bat "Broomsticks!" The gate opened as I mounted my broomstick. "UP!"

"AND HERE COMES SLYTHERIN!!" We heard Lee Jordan's voice as we took off to go around the pitch in formation.

Even before we flew over the Ravenclaw stands, obnoxiously loud cheers of my friends could be heard, and I couldn't help but laugh.

FRED'S P. O. V.

"The hell are they cheering on?" I frowned at the Ravenclaw stands going nuts when our rivals passed over them. "It's bloody Slytherin!"

My brother, who was waiting besides me for the match to start, scanned the stands, and then the opposite team; in an instant, he stood upright and nudged me with his bat. "Oi, look!" George called my attention over the roaring crowd after the Slytherin team had passed over our heads. "The beater! Number 6!"

I looked for their number 6 in the pitch, only finding what George was talking about when they stopped at their starting points. Squinting my eyes, I managed to read through the rain the back of the robe. "Y/l/n— Y/n?!" George laughed loudly, following Angelina's cue and flying to his respective mark in the circle.

"Move!" Katie yelled, flying past me and snapping me out of my awe. Had she always been a beater?

When I reached them, I saw Y/n meticulously making sure she had everything secured.

Our eyes, despite the glasses and the pouring rain, managed to meet seconds before Madam Hooch's blowed her whistle, and I would have sworn she gave me a smile.

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

"FRED PAY ATTENTION!" Not even Angelina's yells were enough to bring my mind back to the match, something I regretted instantly; a bludger had been beaten in her direction and nearly knocked her out of the broom. "FUCK!" The quaffle fell from her arm, only to be picked up by one of the Slytherin chasers. "I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!"

"Sorry!"

"Freddie what the hell!" George had flown to us, probably in hopes to stop the bludger from clocking Angelina. "Will you focus?!"

"Yeah— Sorry!" I apologised again— well, it was more like a grunt rather than an apology. "Go back to Harry!"

"Defend our bloody chasers!" He scolded me before heading off.

I forced myself to keep my eyes on the bludgers and not on Y/n.

The rain kept getting heavier; not even the Impervious charm seemed to work repelling the water from the glasses anymore.

I was cold, drenched, tired and befuddled; my legs were stiff and my arms numb, so I definitely did not see it coming; for that matter, I thought it was a strong blow of wind at first, so the shock that struck me when I was knocked off my broom was a big one.

I heard loud gasps and a scream or two coming from the stands, followed by Lee commenting something about the beater being beaten; in another situation —one where it wouldn't be fucking pouring and I could climb back up to my broom—, I would probably have laughed at it.

But right now, with the hand I held my bat in slipping off the broomstick, the last thing I wanted to do was laugh.

READER'S P. O. V.

Once I had dodged the bludger away from Pucey, my eyes roamed around looking for the other one. which had just been beaten away by Goyle and, intentionally or not, the bludger went straight to Fred.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw his broom flip due to the hit, leaving him clinging onto it.

My eyes went straight to his brother, who was way to far to help, and then to their captain, who was adamant to score points.

"Fuck." I groaned through gritted teeth as I turned my broomstick and flew towards the Gryffindor beater in distress.

"Y/L/N STRAYS FROM HER POSITION AND— FLIES TO WEASLEY?" Jordan's commentaries reached my ears right when I got to Fred. I stretched my arm and grabbed his hand just in time for him not to slip off the broom. He gripped onto my hold for dear life as I used my broom as a leverage to pull him back up, a groan escaping my lips. "LOOKS LIKE NOT ALL SLYTHERINS ARE ARSES!"

I waited until he was steadily secured to let go of his hand. "Next time let go of the bat!" I advised with a teasing grin before flying off to my previous position.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, Y/L/N" I knew I was going to get shit for what I had just done, but I was expecting my captain to wait until the match had ended.

"HE WAS GONNA FALL OFF!" I yelled, louder than necessary.

"WELL LET HIM FALL THE FUCK OFF!" The captain retorted, venom dripping off his tongue. "WITH ANY LUCK HE'LL KILL HIMSELF OFF!" I didn't expect those words to come out, not even from that mouth.

"YOU KNOW WHAT?" I beat an incoming bludger away from us before shouting, "SUCK MY METAPHORICAL DICK, YEAH?!" And with that, I flew off to defend Malfoy, who was rushing to Potter. Surprisingly enough, he had followed my advice. I flew on Malfoy's track, dodging a bludger away twice until he gave a final sprint and caught the snitch.

"SLYTHERIN WINS!"

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

The team started to celebrate as soon as we landed, and I thought I would take advantage of that and change into dry clothes, but I didn't have the chance before someone called my name from the entrance.

"Psst— Y/n." I turned around to see Fred standing there.

"Do you have a death wish?" I spoke quietly, though a smile appeared on my gaze as soon as I saw him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to thank you for helping me out there." His cold fingertips brushed my wet cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and he leaned on to place a kiss there. "Aw you're blushing!"

"I'm not blushing, I'm cold," I excused myself, averting my eyes from him.

Maybe it was his loud snort, or maybe the fact that I was missing, but the changing room fell silent as my team's attention was directed to us.

"Oi!" My captain looked Fred up and down, stepping to where we stood. "You're not welcome here."

"Chill," Fred shrugged, his hand lingering on my forearm. "I was congratulating her on her victory." His tone foreshadowed chaos. "Since, you know, it's obviously her doing." I glared at the ginger my hand going to his forearm, silently warning him to stop. "Can't command your own team, can you?"

his arm folded so his palm would be on my forearm too, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

"She should've let you fall off that hand-me-down broom of yours." Fred's grip on my forearm tightened; by the look on his face and the way his jaw clenched, I could tell my teammate had successfully hit a nerve.

"Shut the hell up, will you?" I snapped. "Can't you enjoy the victory without being an arse?"

"You fucking slut—"

"Imaginative." I cut him off, unbothered. "Want a cookie for the effort?"

"Listen now—" Just as he went to grab my bicep, a large hand pushed my captain away, making him stumble back.

"C'mon, mate, give me a reason to beat the shit out of you." Fred said, pulling me to stand besides him instead of between them. Fred's switch was about to flip, and I was desperate for a professor to step in.

As if I had summoned them, i caught a glimpse of Snape and McGonagall walking in my direction from the stairs of the teachers's tower.

"I'd love to see you try." The boy in front of us scoffed. "There's already too much ginger scum besmearing the pure blood, I'll be glad to send you straight to the hosp—"

It was far from expected it would be me punching that asshole strong enough to make him trip and fall.

"Miss Y/l/n!" Oh, right. McGonagall. "Ten points from Slytherin!"

"And fifty points for Slytherin." Snape added in his usual unimpressed tone. "Due to the comradeship you've shown during the match." I widened my eyes at the statement. "Though I can't ignore this, so Y/l/n, turn up in my class tomorrow morning for your punishment. Now, shall we, Minerva?"

"We're leaving too." I informed Fred in low voice, grabbing my bag before pulling him out of the Slytherin changing room.

"That was one hell of a punch." He observed with a chuckle once we were out. "Remind me not to mess with you."

I breathed out a laugh and we fell silent as we walked under the stands towards the exit, the only noise being the rain ricocheting on its structure.

"Thank you." He whispered, his fingers brushing against mines and consequently sending shivers down my spine. "For sticking up for me."

"I expect a reward at the least." I replied, playfully bumping his shoulder before letting my fingers intertwine with his.

"What would that be?" He inquired, that half smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

I shrugged, looking ahead of us with a grin of my own. "That's up to you."

"Will a kiss do?" He mused.

"Depends on how good the kiss is." I begged for my cheeks not yo turn bright red.

In a swift movement he spun me around and his lips landed on mines. His free hand, initially on my cheek, travelled down to my hips, pulling my flush against him while my own hands tangled on his damp hair.

Probably it wasn't a short kiss, but it felt like it when his mouth left mine, and I couldn't help the sight of displeasure that escaped my vocal cords.

He chuckled, our eyes fluttering open at the same time. "Was it good enough?" He teased with a quirked brow.

"Dunno." I muttered, my eyes falling on his lips again. "I think you'll need to try again—"

"To be sure." He finished, and I could only nod; I wouldn't mind the teasing as long as his lips came back to mines.

This time the kiss was deeper, my hands roaming over his wet robes and his over mines; it was only when my back was met with a post that I realized he was backing me into the darker part of the framework, which I did not oppose to.

Quiet moans began to be breathed into the kiss when he nibbled on my lower lip or my hands tugged on his locks.

We had to pull away when steps and voices where heard coming from both changing rooms.

"I think we should kiss more often." He suggested breathless against my lips.

"Agreed."

"I think you should go out with me too."

I had to bite back a laugh. "Agreed again."

"Well, that was easy." The surprised on his gaze was way too amusing.

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"Duh!"

"You're an idiot, Fred Weasley."

"Aw but you love it." He wiggled his brows at me and I smacked his chest.

[skellebonez]

(kicks door down) INVERTED AU WITH PROMPT 72, SPECIFICALLY WITH MK

I’m not going to write out the ENTIRE TikTok so just. Watch an enjoy the madness that is B Dylan Hollis. It will make this fill so much more entertaining.

Don’t you dare.

Had it not been even a few weeks ago things would be almost completely on their normal “regular day with no special plans” schedule. Wake up, work, hang out with Pigsy and Tang, get Mei to have some fun, run off to Mount Huaguo for training with Sun Wukong, make sure the immortal Monkey King is taking care of himself, go home and sleep (a few gaps between each in case he needed to chuck a water bottle or granola bar at any of his friends and make sure they weren’t overworking themselves and if he came across anyone who needed his special brand of, as Macaque once called it, “aggressive self care affection”).

But no. Oh no. This was not a few weeks ago.

This was now, not even a month after the Lunar New Year Festival. Not even a month after he was finally introduced to the rest of Spider Queen’s family- plus one not so accidental addition who had decided it would be a fantastic idea to experiment on himself for funsies and “oops all spiders”.

Said addition stood, or rather half stood and half reclined on the mechnical legs protruding from his back, diligently typing away at his computer. The same computer he hadn’t stepped away from except to take a shower earlier in the day.

17 hours ago.

“Syntax,” MK said with the most gentle warning tone he could muster... which, to anyone unfamiliar with MK would sound like he spoke the human turned spider demon’s name like a threat. “Please tell me you have eaten more than a single calorie bar today.”

“I have eaten more than a single calorie bar today,” the scientist assured with a barely thrown over his shoulder smile in the younger man’s direction.

“Ok g-”

“I ate 2.”

The proud look on Syntax's face, as if he had figured out the loophole to end all loopholes, was a stark contrast to MK's expression of angry horror.

"You can't just eat TWO CALORIE BARS, Syntax!" He shouted, grabbing the scientist by his lab coat sleeve before starting to drag him out of the laboratory. If anyone was there to witness this they would find this feat impressive given how Syntax dug his mechanical legs into the floor in protest.

"I have survived on these so far and I will conti-"

"Survived, yeah, as a human," MK noted as he realized the other was simply allowing him to lead him along without a fight in the least. "But you're a spider demon... cyborg... guy now, you need more sustenance than that. And you needed more before!"

"3 bars?"

"NO MORE OF THE FUCKING BARS!"

The moment Syntax shrunk back in reaction to MK’s yelling the Monkie Kid took his chance and gripped the scientist’s sides and tossed the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before breaking out into a sprint down the halls of Spider Queen’s lair.

“Don’t you dare!” Syntax yelped, attempting to free his arms or move his spider legs but gave up on the later and instead retracted them out of fear he might accidentally harm his captor. “I have work to finish, young man!”

“You can’t finish if you die of malnutrition, I’m teaching you how to cook!”

As they ran toward the entrance they passed Spider Queen who, upon realizing what was happening, gave them a calm wave and a smile.

“Make sure to have him back in time for you to get home before dark, MK!”

“EVEN MY QUEEN IS BETRAYING ME!”

~

Syntax eventually gave in. After all, despite his new enhancements he was still no match for the sheer strength of the Monkey King himself in the hands of a very determined young man with a hard line stance on self care.

And somehow this man decided he should be deposited in... his kitchen.

In front of a phone set up like... a camera.

Huh.

“Uh-”

“Hold that thought!” MK said, positioning Syntax just out of sight as he grabbed a cook book and hit record. “A bean PIE from the 1920s! Today we’re doing something different-” he reached over and grabbed Syntax’s arm, pulling him into frame without even a single change in his expression. “Today I have an assistant because SOMEONE doesn’t know how to EAT NUTRITION and needs more Vitamin B.”

As he let go of the scientist’s arm he turned to him, face as serious as a miscalculated formula when a project was due in 1 hour.

“OK, you’re the science dude. Let me tell you something from experience,” MK grabbed the cook book, holding it up. “Cooking IS science. And this science insists that BEANS can be made into a PIE which I think is bullshit and I am going to prove on camera. Until you learn how to eat things that aren’t instant bars, you are going to join me on my cooking science experiments. Understood?”

Truth me told, Syntax didn’t see the appeal in cooking. It was far too much hassle for something as basic as nutritional supplements you could acquire from far easier means that did not involve making a mess you had to clean up later... but...

The idea that cooking could be a science... that he had never considered before. And MK seemed to be pretty well convinced that he was correct in this assertion. This was part of why Syntax had, for a while now, considered reaching out to him with an offer of becoming his assistant. His tenacity and determination was something that was a great asset in the field of scientific discovery after all! And well...

If making a weird pie could get him into the young man’s good graces...

“Where do we start?”

~

MK held up a bowl of beans to the camera. “Now these took a long bath last night-” he turned to Syntax. “-I’ll splice in some footage from earlier here later-TIME TO COOK EM!”

~

“The pot,” Syntax noted, pointing to the pot on MK’s stove that had begun to over boil.

“AAGH!” MK yelped, sliding over from where he was grabbing his mixer. “BEAN REBELLION!”

~

“Eggie,” MK chuckled out, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with the rest of the ingredients.

“How many eggs does it call for?” Syntax asked, trying to make sense out of the madness he was being witness to.

“How many? I don’t know, it just says EGGS.” MK gestured to the cookbook before them as if it has just insulted Pigsy himself to MK’s face.

~

“FORE!” MK yelled, closing his eyes and turning on the blender as Syntax held a frying pan in front of himself in preparation for disaster.

And disaster came... just not in the way either expected, as the blender sputtered and just.... stopped.

“... did you just kill my blender?” MK turned the knob on it, shaking it and tapping it gently. “HELLO?”

He shook it harder, twisting and turning the knob on the front wildly before he broke down into laughter. “THE BEANS KILLED MY BLENDER.” MK crossed his arms on the counter, laying his head down on them as he devolved into equally amused and annoyed cackles. “This has never happened before, how the hell!?”

“Well...” Syntax looked around, finding an induction blender sitting half buried on the opposite side of the counter. “Will this work?”

~

Finally. After waiting for the pie to bake. It was done.

A piece sat on a plate before both men, looking both intimidating and somehow delectable at the same time. But both were well away this concoction was primarily sugar, cinnamon, and BEANS. They looked at each other for a moment before nodding, each taking a fork full of the pit before shoving it into their mouths expecting the worst.

MK looked at Syntax as they chewed. Then the camera. Then he started to laugh through his bite as Syntax’s face went on a journey from “this tastes good” to “HOW THE FUCK DOES THIS TASTE GOOD”.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he moaned, gesturing to the pie slice before him as he began to laugh in disbelief.

“WHY ARE YOU GOOD?” Syntax asked, shaking his plate slightly. “You have a bag of BEANS in you!”

MK laughed harder, needing to put his plate on the counter as he needed to hold his sides from the pain of trying not to laugh louder than he was.

“This is like if tomato soup made a cake that tasted like chocolate!”

“I-It!” MK wheezed, holding up one hand to get the scientist’s attention. “It has!”

“I’M SORRY- WHAT!?”

~

“Yes? Oh, that’s fine dear! Yes, as long as he has somewhere to sleep and I know where he is- ... yes, we would love to try some when you escort him home tomorrow! Thank you, take care now,” Spider Queen said, smiling as she hung up the cell phone that Pigsy and Tang had no kindly helped her acquire.

“So, uh...” Huntsman asked, rubbing the back of his neck in concern and confusion. “What’s up?”

“Syntax will be spending the evening with MK!” She announced, smiling wide. “He’s taken up an interest in baking, apparently. Something about needing to unlock the secrets of tomato soup and beans.”

[asmobabe]

400 followers celebratory smut!

Mirror

Warning: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERRACT

Word count: 1906 words

Content warning: Smut, dubious consent, alcohol consumption, slight exhibitionism, mirror fucking, semi-public sex.

Pairing: Female!MC x Asmodeus (Obey Me!)

They move to the dance floor, Asmodeus's hand on Ophelia's back. Her head is wrapped in a haze, equal parts of booze and beat coursing through her veins like liquid gold. It's dizzying, and it's exciting, and it burns. It's the best she's ever felt. Asmodeus pulls her closer so that when her hips swing it grinds against his, and she lets him, the usual shyness diluted by the neon lights. 

- I love this song! - she yells over the noise.

- I know, I do too! That's why I requested it!

Ophelia throws her head back with a smile, resting it on Asmo's shoulder. He can peek at the hem of her bra when she moves, and the Avatar of Lust relishes the thought that others might be seeing it too. The way her strapless dress threatens to give in, the mounts of her breasts already exposed. Asmodeus can sense the entire club watching them like vultures. Unfortunately, she soon notices and pushes the dress up, earning a whine from the demon. 

- Hey, not fair! I was enjoying the view!

- Sorry, dear. - she chuckles, turning to face him - We're in public, you know?

- And why is that a bad thing?

At the moment, Ophelia can't think of an answer. Maybe staring into the eyes of the Avatar of Lust while drunk wasn't the most exceptional idea. He couldn't charm her with magic, but those eyes worked an effect similar enough. 

- Like, we're not going to see anyone here ever again. What's the big deal? You're not afraid of a little crowd, are you? - his hands snake up her waist - They want to see. It's just a little skin anyway.

- Yeah, I guess... 

His gaze is heated, almost glowing under the neon lights. Ophelia meant to say something more, she's sure, but, little by little, all her thoughts turn into mud. Head empty, and at last, she relents. The words are breathed inches away from her lips, boiling with anticipation: 

- You'll put on a show, won't you, pet?

There's nothing left for the human to do but to melt into the kiss, throwing both arms over his shoulder to bring him closer. Asmodeus's touch leaves scalding wounds all over her body while his tongue licks away her last bit of caution as soon as access is granted. The feeling is intoxicating, dizzying, even, and it burns. He smells so good and tastes even better. It's strange, knowing they have an audience, and still, she doesn't feel uncomfortable. It's actually kind of thrilling! The moment the demon grabs a handful of her ass, Ophelia knows she's done for. 

- Asmo...! - she breaks the kiss, gasping for air. 

- I adore it when you say my name like that... You're so cute!

Asmo's grin is hectic as he starts to nuzzle her neck, tasting the sweat on her skin. He's playing dirty, and he knows it. Without even realizing it, the girl tilts her head to give him better access.

- Let's just... Let's just leave, ok? 

- Oh, I'm so sorry, dollface... The party's only getting started, and I don't want to go yet. But...  I did see that the bathroom is free right now... We could have some fun and come back later. 

His tone, warm and coaxing, makes it evident that he's enjoying the situation way too much. The truth is that he'd take the girl right there if she wanted him to. 

- What do you think? Do you want me to fuck you against the mirror? I have to say, the thought of dancing with you in my arms, cum dripping down your thighs... That really turns me on. You'd like that too, wouldn't you, pet?

Ophelia nods, unable to ignore the warm feeling deep inside her stomach. She lets him take her hand in his, guiding the exchange student through the crowd to the handicapped toilet. Asmodeus closes the door behind their back, and seconds later, the girl finds herself sat on top of the sink with her arms around him, way too dizzy to remember if he put her up there or if she climbed on her own. 

Their kisses have something desperate in them. Ophelia's fingers thread through Asmo's now messy curls, pulling him as close as she possibly can. Every bit of his mouth tastes like expensive liquor. The demon squeezes her waist so tightly it almost hurts, clearly as frantic as the human to have his wants satisfied. Hands cupping her breasts, his mouth travels south, pressing wet kisses on her neck and nibbling at her collarbone, sending shivers through her spine. Later she'd be sporting the most beautiful love bites, and there wouldn't be any doubts left over who she belonged to. He hoped she'd mark him too - it'd be lovely if they matched. He pushes her bra up and the dress down. The music blasting from the other side of the door is still audible, and Asmodeus meets the feverish tempo with the griding of his hips, meeting Ophelia's core. Flustered, she begins to work on undoing his belt. 

- You're so cute when you're impatient. 

The demon giggles, stopping her mid-action. He grabs both of her wrists, lifting her arms on top of her head with one hand, the other moving to move her underwear to the side. "Let's get this out of the way, shall we?", he whispers lightly to her ear. The girl can feel her blood boiling with want and, desperate, throws herself on his neck, taking advantage of their short distance and attacking the skin with needy lips. Asmodeus was granted his wish and reveled, groaning at the open-mouthed kisses pressed onto his throat. He spreads her legs further, caressing her thighs as if they have all the time in the world until finally cold air and cold fingers meet the wetness of her core as he teases her entrance. 

- Please, just fuck me already! - the girl whimpers. 

He inserts a finger and circles her clit with the heel of his palm. 

- You're making it hard to resist, doll... So wet, and I barely did anything.

Asmodeus goes back to ravaging her mouth, his kisses hungry like he means to consume her soul. Ophelia is lightheaded enough to consider letting him had he proposed it. He pumps in and out of her, soon adding a second finger to the equation as the girl struggles to free herself from the hand holding her arms up. She whines into his mouth, frustrated. 

- Asmo, please... Please, please, please!

- I gotta say, dollface, I love it when you beg. Do you think you're ready for me, baby?

Ophelia nods, so eager that it is almost pathetic. But it doesn't matter; nothing matters. The demon seems content at last and lets go of her arms, setting her free to continue what she'd previously started. She undoes his pants in record time, pushing the fabric down with a feverish craving in her eyes. All the teasing was worth it for that moment, for that look in her face, the Avatar of Lust thought. He feeds on it, on her hungry hands pumping him once, twice, before guiding him towards her aching cunt. They both grunt as he begins to enter her. 

His length drags through her velvet walls at a slow pace that soon picks up speed at the girl's request. Holding on to him for dear life, Ophelia rests her forehead on the demon's shoulder as he pounds into her with a wilder and wilder rhythm, making the sink shake. Without warning, Asmodeus pushes her off the washbasin, only to bend her over it. 

- Asmo! - she yelps.

He grabs her by the neck, a devilish grin on his lips. 

- Sorry, pet, I just couldn't handle depriving you of the view any longer.

Now grabbing onto the sink, she looks up to see herself in the mirror. Her face is a flushed mess of mascara running and lipstick smudged, and the hairstyle that took so long to perfect is nothing more than disordered curls. Her breasts are lolling out of the dress, and her bra is undone, resting somewhere on the bathroom floor. She's too focused on the mist covering her eyes to care about it. It's such an erotic image. Asmodeus pounds into her from behind, and she can do nothing but watch. He feeds on it, the demon himself the vision of lust. 

Ophelia bites her lip, trying to hold back a scream of pleasure as he hits her sweet spot. Asmodeus grabs on her waist, strong enough to leave fingerprints, utterly lost in the moment. The exchange student might paint a pretty picture as she watches herself get fucked, but nothing like the demon. He grunts and moans with reckless abandon, citrine eyes glued on his own reflection, sparing the girl a glance or two every once in a while. Contrasting with Ophelia, his appearance is still fairly in order. 

- Yes! Yes! Just like that! - she pleads. 

He keeps on, just like that. The girl's knuckles turn white as she holds on to the sink. The words fall out of her mouth like a jumble on the floor, a mantra of spilled words.

- I love you. I love you so much. Please, just like that.

- You're doing so good, doll. I love you too, so, so much! You're such a good pet. Now, focus on the mirror. See how pretty you look? You've never looked more beautiful.

Her cheeks flush more if that's possible. The heat on the bottom of her stomach is about to explode in a ball of fire. 

- I'm so close! - she cries.

That's music to Asmo's ears. He doesn't change a thing, even as he gets close himself and the usual stammered pace should come. Only when he can feel her walls clenching around him and see her eyes close with satisfaction that he allows himself to change speed. His hips stutter once, two, three times, and with a final moan, he empties himself inside of her. 

- You're such a pretty little whore, do you know that? - he asks, taking his cock out of her, watching the white cum spill. 

Ophelia can only nod. A frown reaches Asmodeus's face as he inquires:

- Are you tired? Do you wanna go home and sleep?

- What about the party? - she looks up.

- I don't care about the party, if you're not okay to dance, then I don't want to dance.

The exchange student thinks for a second. Her mind feels so soggy... A nap wouldn't hurt... 

- Yeah, let's go home.

She puts on her bra and gets her panties right, trying to ignore the feeling of Asmodeus' cum drenching the fabric. Her hair is such a mess. 

- I'll fix that for you. - says the demon, taking out a plastic comb from his back pocket. 

He sits on top of the toilet and starts running the comb through her hair, peppering her head with kisses every two seconds. She fixes her dress. 

- You did, so, so good, doll. Really. 

- Really? - she looks up at him, puppy-eyed.

- Really. I love you so much.

She smiles through the smudged makeup. 

- I love you most. 

[mira--mira]

WIP: A Most (un)Fortunate Marriage, Extended Edition 😉

By popular demand, the first of my wips/drafts. I do plan on finishing this one...eventually. It’s a draft so it’s not edited. Tenses, tones, scenes not quite fully fleshed out, all of that. This picks up where the first fic “diverged”, so it probably won’t make sense if you haven’t read the posted A Most (un)Fortunate Marriage first.

A Most (un)Fortunate Marriage, Extended Edition (T-rating)

Enemies to Lovers, Secret Childhood friends, Royal + Fantasy AU

Hashirama/Madara

*CW for body horror involving crushing eyes (not a main character’s or humans)

6K words

“It’s just a trip to Sora-ku,” Hashirama winks at Tobirama. What could go wrong?

Now, staring at Uchiha Madara of all people to emerge from the forest, Hashirama curses his arrogance.

This is probably the worst-case scenario. He’s off his horse and his broadsword is still attached to Shinzan’s saddlebags. Shinzan who’s staring at Madara’s monstrous mount with wide, panicked eyes, ready to bolt at any second. Only Yamane could stare the creature down and willingly charge at it. Why didn’t he saddle her instead?

Hashirama swallows and keeps his eyes on Madara. Looking away would be a death sentence. The other man is mounted and his scythe gleams on his back. Madara is all speed. Rapid attacks that finish an enemy before they have time to react. Hashirama knows, he’s fought him and watched him fight. Turning away to grab his sword, assuming Shinzan doesn’t spook with his own sudden movement, would only give Madara an opportunity.

Why is he in Sora-ku? What could he possibly want here? Unless the Uchiha were trying to request more supplies before they headed north to wait for the invasion. Or were their spies in the Senju castle that overhead his conversation with Tobirama? Did Madara come here to kill him? The wingless hippogriff was inhumanely fast, it was possible.

“What? Couldn’t wait for the ceremony? So enthusiastic for our nuptials, you just had to come find me yourself?” Hashirama taunts. If he could pull Madara from his mount he might have a chance…but the hippogriff would try to rake him with its talons and the crow on Madara’s shoulder would no doubt try peck at his eyes and blind him. He was outnumbered, three to one.

“Tch,” Madara sneers, gloves clenching around his reins. He’s still holding tight to them, but he could drop them at any second. “I want to marry you as much as I want to blind myself. Though looking at your face, I already feel my vision going.”

“Then you should really visit the physician if you think this,” Hashirama cups his face, Madara doesn’t so much as twitch at the movement, “is anything less than a work of pure art.”

“I’d say go fuck yourself Senju, but you might take that too literally for my comfort.” Madara looks down at him, literally, and Hashirama fights back the burn in his cheeks. He looks too tall and self-important, shoulders wide and imposing as the one visible black eye pierces through Hashirama like a sword.

“At least I’m getting some! You might want to remove the stick first, that tends to make things easier.”

Madara’s eye twitches. “Really you’re going to give me advice? Going to give a demonstration too?” Hashirama sees the exact moment Madara registers what he just said. Two bright pink spots appear on the high on his cheeks, but otherwise he does a remarkable job hiding his embarrassment.

“Well, dear husband-to-be…” Hashirama grins, for the first time feeling like he has control over this situation. 

“Not even in your dreams, Senju,” Madara spits, bristling like a cat.

“Maybe in yours though.”

Madara opens his mouth to yell, cheeks a proper splotchy red now, but his monster interrupts him. It makes a noise somewhere between a hiss and whinny and takes a step forward towards Shinzan.

Shinzan bolts.

Hashirama’s stomach sinks, a ball of ice forming where, he realizes with unease, he was having fun teasing Madara. For a second it was a game, not a standoff. He swallows hard and looks back up at his enemy, who’s regained control of himself.

Their eyes lock and Hashirama sees his death laid out before him.

And then Madara scoffs and turns away, nudging the monster down the river.

He’s not…

Hashirama hardly dares to breathe. The crow turns around on Madara’s shoulder, watching him with its beady eyes.

“Why?” He finally croaks out, because he can’t just accept the impossible luck that landed in his lap.

Madara pauses.

“You’re still useful to me. I’ll kill you after we deal with the Otsutsuki.” He nudges the monster’s flank and doesn’t stop again, even as Hashirama gapes at his back.

Was that…a peace offering?

It was as terrible as he’d expect from an Uchiha.

  Madara

The day has been a disaster.

He never finds Moku and worse he didn’t kill Senju Hashirama when he had the perfect chance.

Madara scowls as Kuro passes the last tiny field, before the wilderness rose up around them, empty plains before the older, wilder forest sprung up in the distance. The moon is sinking in the sky, the cold chill of early morning permeates the air as dew forms on the plants around him.

He’s late.

He should have left hours ago, probably when he first saw that damn Senju, but he held onto the small sputtering spark of hope. He was owed something after letting that annoying bastard live, surely. But no. Not a single sign of Moku, but over a dozen farmers scared stiff when he questioned them. Father will no doubt have to send an apology on his behalf, but Madara feels he’s owed that as well.

Maybe he moved. Strange as it would be for a peasant farmer to move, it could be the case. Sora-ku was known as a city where people found their luck or destitution. Maybe he died. Madara’s hands clench around the reins. He scowls down at Kuro’s shadowy feathered neck.

Unhappy with his train of thought, Madara of course turns to an even worse one.

What the fuck was Hashirama doing in Sora-ku? He knew about the marriage proposal, so he would have had to left the Senju lands and headed straight there after receiving it. He must have been desperate to ride any horse besides his normal blonde goliath. What was so important to him? Why was he that desperate? Are the Senju trying to ally with Sora-ku? He’d heard the rumors of the years of Hashirama spear-heading the project. Are they trying to get money for the reinforcements up north? That makes sense. They lost their advantage when Father sent the marriage proposal, this was their attempt at trying to get it back.

Why didn’t I kill him? Madara’s scowl deepens.

There was the easy answer: killing him now could provoke the Senju into turning on them and a war on two fronts would decimate the Uchiha.

Hashirama might be a long-term threat that would eventually need to be dealt with, but he was a necessity now to fight the Otsutsuki. There was always the last resort, Madara could do as Mother did four years before and let the fire consume him to lay waste to their enemies. If it was timed right, he could wipe the Otsutsuki and their twisted magic out singlehandedly.

At the cost of his life.

And it was one Madara was willing to pay but Father had nearly forbidden it outright and Izuna threatened to kill him himself if he even considered doing something so reckless. So Hashirama had to live so Madara didn’t have to use his last resort.

But neither of those were the real reasons. They should have been, but they weren’t.

Why couldn’t I kill him?

Madara has no answer and that pisses him off almost as much as his utter failure to find Moku.

  Izuna is completely unsympathetic to his plight, but he weathers Madara’s bad mood so it evens out in the end. He doesn’t tell Izuna about Hashirama. He’d ask the inevitable question and even Madara’s reasonable answers would trip over his tongue like leaden excuses.

The court, as expected, was in a frenzy about his upcoming marriage. For the first time in his life, Madara had the complete unwavering support of every noble behind him. He was making the ultimate sacrifice tying himself to a Senju, even if it was temporary. All of them expressed condolences, Hikaku’s mother went so far as to slip him a vial small as his pinky nail, filled with clear white liquid in case the suffering was too much to bear. He’s even certain the poison was supposed to be for Hashirama, not him. But as much fuss as the court made, no one outright opposed the decision. They all understood the purpose.

 So in two weeks’ time, Madara finds himself once again in Sora-ku, standing across from Hashirama in an open field as an officiant wraps their bleeding palms together with a white cloth and declares, “I now pronounce you married. The Senju and Uchiha kingdoms are hereby bound by blood and union.” It’s the only shared marriage custom their clans shared. And as soon as red blood drips down and blooms on the cloth, their fates are sealed.

“What? Not even a kiss to celebrate our union, beloved?” Hashirama whispers with false enthusiasm, the endearment an insult on his tongue. “Want me to give a demonstration of that too?”

Fuck you, Madara wants to say but the bastard ruined that insult for him.

“I’ll find you a mirror, I’m sure you’ll be occupied for hours,” he sneers and tightens his grip on Hashirama’s hand. He doesn’t flinch, but his eye twitches and that’s almost as good.

There’s no time to waste on faux-ceremony though. Their blood hasn’t even dried when the officiant unwraps their hands and declares the wedding concluded. And that’s it. Not even a feast afterward, only their goodbyes. Madara hugs Izuna tightly to him as Father wraps his arms around them both. Off to the side, the three Senju stand like stiff statuettes.

“Send a dove mid-way and when you arrive,” Tajima says and pulls back. He rests his heavy hands on Madara’s shoulders, rings glinting on more fingers than not.

“Of course.” It’d take nearly five weeks to travel up to the fortifications up north. Five weeks with Hashirama and only a small handful of Senju and Uchiha guards. He barely stops himself from grimacing at the thought.

“I’m proud of you, Madara,” Father tightens his hands, “and I know Kou would be too.” Madara swallows hard around the sudden lump in his throat. It strikes him suddenly: he’s going to be holed up north in a glorified wooden camp surrounded by Senju and Uchiha for gods only knew how long without Father or Izuna. They’d either succeed and drive the Ootsuki back or fail and die trying. And he’d have to do it without Izuna or Father by his side. Alone.

Tears burn in Madara’s eyes but don’t fall. He stands stock-still as Tajima leans forward and kisses his forehead before pulling back completely. Izuna is at his side in an instant, yanking him into another hug. He is crying but also glaring, daring Madara to say anything about it.

“You…you better not die. I’ll never forgive you if you die up in some northern wastelands without me,” Izuna’s voice trembles and the tears almost spill over in Madara’s eyes. He hugs his brother back tightly, and then pulls his face up to kiss both of his cheeks.

One last hug and then Madara forces himself to step back. He wouldn’t leave at all, otherwise. From the corner of his eye, he catches Hashirama staring at him, surprise plain across his face.

“Walk in the light, Madara.” Father clears his throat and Madara stands up straight.

“Under the sun and moon.” He returns and pivots on his heel towards Kuro and the carriage filled with food and supplies. He’s already dressed for the road. He married Hashirama in the same comfortable traveling clothes he met him in before.

It really was a complete sham of a wedding.

  Traveling with Hashirama proves to be one of the most irritating experiences of his entire life, in large part because it’s not nearly as bad as he feared.

They’re moving as quickly as they can with the two carriages behind them, drawn by four solid workhorses apiece and manned by two riders, a cook, and three mounted guards each. Madara brings up the rear, keeping enough distance between himself and the carriages so Kuro doesn’t spook the horses. They’re all nervous and twitchy and Kuro, already irritated at the slow pace, certainly doesn’t try to place nice. The Uchiha horses are more resigned to her presence, still uncomfortable, but resigned. The same cannot be said of the Senju horses. If one of them doesn’t drop dead from a heart attack before they reach the north, it’ll be a godsdamn miracle.

Obviously no sane horse wants to be anywhere near Kuro, not even Hashirama’s goliath that somehow has always managed to stand its ground against her. So he obviously expects Hashirama to be in front of the carriages, leading the way. Doubly so because they’re passing mainly through Senju lands because their roads are better and getting stuck in the mud is the last thing anyone wants.

He does not expect Hashirama to ride side-by-side with him.

What are you playing at? Madara glares at him, refusing to lower himself enough to ask. Hashirama glares back and they’re stuck in a silent standoff most days. Which, judging from his easygoing attitude with the other Senju, a complete opposite to the stone-faced goodbye he gave to his father and brother, is unusual.

Or maybe it’s not and he’s just playing hero and guarding the company from big, bad scary Madara. The Senju horses flinched anytime Kuro came near and the Senju men took out tiny wooden statues of their god when he came near. He’s not sure of their exact purpose, maybe they were meant to banish him, cleanse the area of his presence, or whatever else fucking nonsense the Senju thought hunks of non-magical wood did.

The only true peace and quiet Madara got was at night. He stayed outside the small camp the others made and set up a simple cover and blanket on the ground for himself and slept with his head pillowed on Kuro’s shoulder as Karasu kept watch on his chest. It was necessary. There wasn’t a place to stable Kuro and keeping her around horses at night was a disaster waiting to happen. He also saw the way the Senju looked at Karasu and the convenient little nets they started to carry. He wouldn’t kill Hashirama but if one of the others touched his bird or his mount they’d regret it.

Madara resigns himself to this new status-quo. And, of course, just when he made his peace with it, Hashirama goes and changes everything.

They’re two days past the halfway point, Madara took one of the doves from its cage in the back of the carriage, tied the little messages to its foot and sent it off, when it pours. They’ve been lucky so far, avoiding the worst of the autumn rains, but now their luck runs out.

Everyone is soaked to the bone, huddled up and miserable except him. Oh, Madara’s soaked as well, it’d do no good to dry off when the rain is still coming down in sheets, but he gathers his fire in his chest forcing the chill away.

When they stop for the night, he doesn’t grab his portion of the dinner and then hide away with Kuro and Karasu, he waits by the edge of the Uchiha’s carriage. It’s still drizzling but nothing like the monsoon rains that decided to blow through earlier…

“M-madara-sama,” the guard captain, Naori, walks up to him. She’s shivering in her leathers, lips blue from the cold.

“Turn around,” he pulls off his gloves and ignores the look of intense relief that flashes in her eyes. Madara didn’t burn and it was always hard to judge how hot too hot was for normal humans, but he’s practiced this trick enough on Izuna, that he feels confident he won’t accidentally scald anyone. He places his bare hand on the captain’s back and forms a seal with the other. One sharp breath in and searing heat lights up his palm and trickles into the captain, drying her clothes and hair. Her shoulders slump with relief before she snaps straight and bows lowly to him.

“Thank you, sir. If his highness would be so amenable…” the other Uchiha are lined up behind her, dripping with water.

“Of course,” Madara waves the first one, the cook, forward. “If it rains overnight and the clothes,” he pauses, eyeing their blankets, “or anything else needs to be dried, let me know. It won’t due for anyone to get sick.”

“Thank you, highness.” All of them bow and he dries each of them off, proud how no one winces or pokes at an obvious burn. He doesn’t think they could hide it either, he’s watched Izuna stick his fingers into enough flames when they were younger and his immediate, unmistakable reaction to the fire.

In fact Madara feels pretty pleased with himself, until he looks at the Senju side of the camp and sees the six of them, minus Hashirama, bundled up tightly together, those damn little statues lined on the ground as they stare at him like he just ripped someone’s heart out. Hashirama’s expression is impassive.

Great. He can’t leave Kuro and Karasu alone tonight, but should he worry about the Senju murdering the other Uchiha in their sleep? With a grumble he goes and leads Kuro into the space between the Senju and Uchiha carriages, closer to where the Uchiha have made their bedding. They have tents but the carriages act as a strong enough windbreak that it’s not worth it to set them up every night and they’d only get filthy and muddy from the water tonight.

“Behave,” he grabs Kuro by the beak and looks straight into her black eyes. She tosses her head with an insulted whinny and collapses to the ground, face buried between her forelegs. Madara settles back against her shoulder as Karasu preens on his chest. He runs his bare fingers lightly over her head as he watches the Senju carefully from the corner of his eyes.

He’s staring straight at them and yet he’s still surprised when Hashirama breaks away from the group and walks towards him. Madara forces himself to keep relaxed, but the sudden heavy tension that descends on the camp is unmistakable.

Are they finally going to fight? He knows that’s what they’re thinking. It’s what he is.

But Hashirama just crouches beside him, trying to look casual. He doesn’t sit on the blanket on the ground, wisely choosing not to come within range of Kuro’s hooves.

“What?” Madara snaps, when it’s obvious he’s just going to play the silent game again.

“Is it…hard to use your witch magic?” He asks carefully, like he expects Madara to actually answer. Why does he want to know? Madara squints at him. Hashirama’s a bit tense, but he doesn’t look actively hostile. He’s also as wet at the Uchiha used to be. Does he…does he want me to dry him off? Oh, he’s going to have to beg if that’s the case. Madara barely fights down the savage grin that wants to spread across his face.

“I’m not a witch,” he says instead and enjoys the irritated look on Hashirama’s face.

“Really? We all just watched you use magic and you’re going to lie—”

“I’m not a witch. I’m a witchson,” Madara draws the word out so it can really sink in. He’s not surprised the Senju are ignorant per se, the Uchiha had been too before Mother, but it’s still an advantage he can hold over Hashirama’s head, so he will.

“And the difference?” Hashirama grumbles.

“I’m not a woman, obviously.”

Hashirama exhales sharply. Oh, is someone pissy because he’s cold and wet?

“But you have the same magic, otherwise? The fire, the birds, the bewitching—”

“Bewitching?” It takes a moment for him to figure it out and when he does, Madara laughs. Laughs hard enough to displace Karasu, who flies to the top of his head and pulls angrily at his hair. “You think,” Madara wheezes, “my mother was a seductress? That I inherited that from her? That definitely says more about you than me,” he grins and enjoys the way two red spots appear on Hashirama’s brown cheeks. “She was a Sun Witch, not a Mind Witch.” There was still something to be said about exerting power over anyone that looked directly into his eyes though. People tended to freeze up but it was the nervous instinct of a rabbit spotting a hawk.

“Like I would know that when both of you dress in pure black,” Hashirama mutters, looking at the ground.  

Both?

“You met her?”

“Once.” Hashirama’s shoulders hunch towards his ears. And she didn’t kill him. That was…strange. “It was my first solo monster hunt and I wandered too far tracking the [wyvern*]. I finally found it, but it was dead and she stood over it. I thought she was going to kill me, but she said I was amusing and left.” From his expression, Madara guesses there was more to it than that but this is the first actual conversation he’s had with Hashirama and he’s too off-put to bring it up.

“I remember the [wyvern*].” He had been eight and it had wondered too close to one of the western villages in Uchiha land.

“Did she…did she say anything else to you?” Hashirama doesn’t look at him.

“Not that I can remember,” Madara answers carefully, truthfully. He was more interested in showing her whatever tricks he had learned when she’d been gone, or showing her work he’d finished from the tutor, or telling her whatever thing Izuna had done to irritate him that week.

“Alright, uh, thanks,” Hashirama clears his throat and stands. He doesn’t ask Madara to dry him off and Madara’s left staring at his back in confusion.

  He thought that would be the end of it, but infact was only the beginning. Hashirama steered his goliath horse next to him the next day and instead of their march of silence started to talk to him. At first he asked about magic and when Madara refused to answer, like hell he’d give the Senju any actual advantages, switched to more mundane topics. He mostly talked and Madara listened. All too soon, he knew more about Hashirama’s favorite foods, the drafty weather in his room at the Senju castle, and how much of a stick in the mud Tobirama could be. The last one he wasn’t surprised by. He’d met Tobirama even less than Hashirama and had never had a proper conversation with him, but he looked like he’d been sucking on lemons the entire monarch’s summit.

Hashirama does manage to wrangle a few stories out of him to. He’s a smooth talker and Madara finds himself responding before he can stop himself. Hashirama enjoys these little victories, Madara can see the damn smile on his face, and only tries to talk to him more.

Within a week, he’s horrified to realize Hashirama could be considered an acquaintance, and that’s not too far off from a friend in Madara’s limited social life.

And just as he suffers this crisis, a basilisk attacks.

The ground shakes beneath them and Madara curses, steering Kuro towards the source. It bursts from the ground before she can charge forward. A combination of lizard and snake, with bright yellow eyes running down the length of its body.

At least two screams, one horse and one human, are cut off when they make contact with one of the dozens of eyes.

Fuck.

“Protect the carriages!” Madara yells at Hashirama and sends Karasu off his shoulder. He reaches for the knife on his thigh and rips his sleeve up. Without hesitation, he sinks the knife into his flesh and drags it up his arm until the blood drips freely down.

Monster bait. None of them can resist magical blood.

“Madara!” Hashirama’s eyes are on him, on his arm.

“Are you a fucking amateur, Senju?! Protect the godsdamn carriages!” He knees Kuro’s flank and she shoots forward towards the basilisk. It’s young, not fully grown. It still towers taller on its small hindlegs than Hashirama is on his goliath mare by several heads.

The basilisk’s head swings in Madara’s direction and he can feel the force of the eyes on him. It just had to be a fucking basilisk.

He makes another seal with his hand and closes his eyes.

[Show me what you see.] Pain stabs him right between the eyes but he, and Kuro once he smears part of his blood on her forehead, can see through Karasu’s eyes above. A basilisk’s eyes line their sides like stripes, running from the head to the end of the tail with a hard ridge above them to offer protection. It also means the eyes, except the two-front facing ones on the head, can’t look straight up.

“Kuro!” He drops the reins and reaches for the scythe on his back. He slashes at the basilisk’s side, wincing as the metal clings off the armored hide. It may look smooth but the scales are notoriously hard, only the underbelly near the base of its tail and under its jaws are soft enough to be pierced by metal.

The slash does nothing except aggravate it, but between that and the delicious smell wafting off Madara the basilisk is now completely and utterly focused on him.

At least it’s not the civilians. That’s cold comfort as the monster hisses and dives for him. There’s a reason groups of at least three were sent after basilisks. He can’t even burn it properly, not with how fast it moves and flammable humans and horses still too close for comfort.

Madara urges Kuro on and she pivots to the left just as jaws almost as wide as he is tall crash into the spot they just were. There’s no time to recover either. The basilisk pushes itself up on its tiny forearms and rears towards him again.

Only to suddenly shudder and topple over with a pained cry. Karasu dips down and Madara sees Hashirama and his menace of a horse slowly backing away from its left hindleg. The goliath must have stomped on it and then shoved her massive body against it.

That fucking idiot… Hashirama has no way to see. He tied a blindfold around his horse’s eyes, but he’s just tensed there, eyes squeezed shut and ear cocked towards the monster as if that would be enough to dodge any attack.

An attack like right now, the basilisk’s long tail lifts as it still struggles to push itself up. Madara curses and correct Kuro’s course, heading straight for the jaw.

“Hashirama! To your right! Three seconds!”

He can’t see anymore, Karasu’s too low to the ground, flying alongside Kuro’s legs, and she can’t regain height with the basilisk on its side and all the eyes staring upward. Madara grits his teeth and leans over Kuro’s sides, legs braced around her middle to keep his balance. His scythe gleams and the blade sinks into its throat and tears.

The basilisk shudders, gives one last hiss, and falls still.

“Is it dead?” Hashirama calls and Madara ignores the small pang of relief that he dodged the tail and didn’t get his chest caved in by an overgrown snake.

“Don’t look at it!” Madara snaps and guides Kuro to its chest. “The eyes don’t dim until ten seconds after its death.” Karasu lands on the ground and tilts her head up. The perspective is nauseating, but Madara stumbles his way off of Kuro’s back and starts digging in her saddlebags.

“Then what are you doing? I can hear you moving,” Hashirama complains, his voice getting steadily closer.

“How many were turned to stone?” Madara asks instead, his hand closing around a dragon-tooth knife.

“Four,” Hashirama’s voice drops, “two Senju guards, an Uchiha coachmaster and horse.”

That was doable number.

“Hashirama, in five seconds, you need to start plucking its eyes out. Work from the midback to the tail, it petrifies from the head down. As many eyes as you can. Use your hands, a knife, I don’t care, just get them out.”

“What? Why?”

Madara ignores him, counts down the last few seconds himself and then releases his seal. His head throbs as he opens his own eyes, vision swimming but he wastes no time before plunging the knife into the basilisk’s chest, above its heart. Metal wouldn’t pierce through the hide, but dragon teeth would. Too bad they were rare enough that someone would be stupid enough to try and steal it from him if he mounted it on a spear or any other useful weapon with a long reach.

Despite his confusion and hesitance, Madara sees Hashirama step forward from the corner of his eye, take out a sharp steel dagger, and awkwardly start cutting an eye out. Most were the size of his fist but he was going to slow.

“Faster! Before they petrify!” Madara snaps, already watching the stone start to creep from the basilisk’s face down its neck. He cuts through the beast’s skin, and saws through its ribcage, wincing as the blood and gore coats his arms. The worst is still yet to come. He finds the basilisk’s heart, nearly the length of his forearm and starts cutting through the arteries and veins holding it in place.

“Again, do you want to tell me why we’re doing this?” Hashirama complains.

“Do you want to save your people or not?!” Madara shouts back.

There’s a heavy pause and then, “You can unpetrify them?!”

“Yes, if you cut out enough fucking eyes!” That finally motivates Hashirama like nothing else. The petrification creeps down the basilisk’s neck and chest and Madara pulls the heart free just as he sees the first wet muscles start to harden to stone. He turns and sets the heart on the ground. Hashirama has ten eyes pulled out, some more beat up than others.

That’s cutting it too close. Madara turns back to the beast and starts racing against the petrification, scooping the eyes out without hesitation. He only gets a few more before the stone hardens them but sixteen eyes is much better than ten.

“How does this work? Is it a spell?” Hashirama asks curiously, face full of hope.

“It’s a politce,” Madara mutters, dreading what comes next. Their traveling companions are starting to creep forward, eyeing them in relief and confusion. Naori spots the collection of eyes and heart and breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “I need the largest glass jars you can find, honeycomb, lichen, and six eggs. The glass jar first.” The Uchiha spring into action but the Senju stare at him in distrust.

“You heard him!” Hashirama snaps.

“Yes, your highness,” the Senju bow to him and turn back to the carriages, noticeably slower than the Uchiha.

“How strong is your stomach?” Madara asks, watching as the Uchiha somehow scrounge up a glass jar as big as his chest.

“Huh?” Hashirama blinks at him. “Pretty strong? Why?” Gods Madara wishes that was enough, but if he gags and vomits it’ll ruin the entire mixture.

“Cut the heart up. As small as you can,” he mutters when the Uchiha set the squat jar in front of him. Next to it they set a honeycomb and two eggs. The Senju bring the four other eggs and reluctantly two of them go with four Uchiha into the forest to find lichen.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Huh, alright…” Hashirama trails off, mouth agape in horror as Madara picks up one of the dim yellow basilisk eyes and bites into it. The taste is foul and bitter, somewhere between a lime and a wet rotting fish. As soon as the eye turns to mush, he spits it out into the jar and takes another bite, chewing as fast as he can.

The Uchiha captain turns green and one of the remaining Senju guard faints, the cook barely catching him before he hits the ground.

“What?” Hashirama croaks.

“Cut up the fucking heart,” Madara growls, reaching for the next eye.

Hashirama turns to his own work, but can’t help but glancing at Madara from the corner of his eye, clearly disturbed. Yeah, this isn’t exactly my cup of tea either. Madara shudders and fights down the urge to gag. This is why the cure for petrification isn’t widely known.

He works through all sixteen eyes, reminding himself that the poor bastards accompanying them didn’t expect to die from a basilisk of all things and a few foul-tasting eyes was better than eternity spent as a stone statue.

~ ~ ~ ~

Madara finishes and shoves the jar away from him. He staggers to his feet and finally lets himself gag, spitting up bile. Someone comes up behind him and when he cranes his neck, he expects to see the Naori, not Hashirama. His water skin is in his hand and Madara takes it gratefully, swishing around water in his mouth and spitting it back out.

“Basilisk eyes will still petrify. Removing them from the body slows the process, it doesn’t stop it,” he coughs rubbing his mouth on his shoulder because his hands are coated in grime. “Something in salvia stops it permanently, I don’t know what, but it’s the only way.”

“Does the heart…”

“The heart is fine.” He takes another swig of water and then washes his arm where he cut himself at the start of the fight. Once Madara doesn’t feel quite as awful, he returns next to the disgusting jar, Hashirama a lurking shadow behind him. He moves mechanically, refusing to look too deeply in as he cracks the eggs inside, squeezing out honey from its comb, and adds the tiny bits of heart Hashirama sliced up.

The Uchiha and Senju return from the forest, lichen in hand and he adds that too, ignoring how confused they look compared to the others left behind. Madara’s certainly not recounting the ordeal.

“So that’s it? Sixteen basilisk eyes, a heart, some lichen, six eggs, and honeycomb?” Hashirama wrinkles his nose, peering into the jar.

“It’s not about exact numbers. Typically, it’s four eyes and two eggs per petrified person but it’s always better to have more eyes than not. The rest is just…” Madara shrugs, unsure how to explain it. The honeycomb and lichen was to make it stickier, but it wasn’t as precise as the rest. He watched Mother make this twice before when one of his younger brothers was caught in an attack. She saved him but he died weeks later to the Senju. “And there’s one last requirement,” he pulls his knife out, not the dragon-tooth one, and reopens the cut in his arm, letting blood drip into the mixture, “the blood of a basilisk killer. Mix it together and then roll in in cloth and wrap it over the victims’ eyes. They’ll be fine by morning.”

Thank the gods Naori takes over from there. She barks out order to find cloth and mixes the vile concoction herself while Madara darts away to clean himself up in peace. He feels disgusting, smells even worse, and it’ll be godsdamn miracle if he doesn’t have to burn these clothes.

Kuro trots along beside him and he finds a small river soon enough. The bank drops abruptly off the side and it’s bitterly cold when he steps in, but it’s clean water. It’ll do.

Madara submerges himself, working on untangling his hair when Karasu caws in warning and he already knows what idiot is trotting up next to him.

“Can you not give me five minutes of peace?” Madara growls and twists to see Hashirama, leading his horse.

“I’m sorry, we were just attacked by a basilisk, I didn’t think it’d be a great idea to go off on a merry jaunt by yourself right now.” And he has the gall to grab Madara’s filthy clothes and plunge them into the river, scrubbing with a soapstone.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

scrubs - 5.

pairing: doctor!sebastian stan x biomedical scientist!reader

warnings: medical check up (please do not follow any of the medical advice described her)

a/n: this will have another chapter aside from this one because yes. 

< previous chapter

    - Y/N, stop being childish. - Sebastian rolled his eyes at the scientist now holding herself against reception, deciding she’d rather be seen by anyone but him. - Y/N, c’mon.

    - I don’t want to be seen by you. There are over 50 nurses on shift today and any of them can do a basic exam better than you. - she held onto that counter for dear life, knowing the moment she decided to let go, her ankle would give up on her. Nevertheless, she knew what nurses were capable off and most of the times they wouldn’t even need a doctor’s opinion so she definitely didn’t need him. 

    - Yeah but ... - he approached her, a smug smile forming on his entirely way too handsome face. - But I know your body so, so well, darling. I think I can figure out if something is wrong.

Y/N smiled sarcastically, cocking her head to the side before kicking his leg. Sebastian bite down onto his lip, back hunching slightly as a few nurses passed by. He waved at them, smiling as if his tibia throbbed due to her kick. For a small woman, she sure had a powerful kick. He straightened his back, pulling one of the wheel chairs from the back of the reception and rolling it up to where she was but she remained as stiff as one could be with a swollen ankle, with one hand against her hip while the other one firmly gripped the counter of the reception. 

   - Sit down, Y/N. Don’t make me write you up as unfit to work today.

   - I am not unfit to work today, I am unfit to look at your face for more than 5 seconds.  

   - Okay, Y/N then walk in a straight line for me, straight spine, shoulders back. - he stepped out of her way.

She considered trying to do that, surely she could deal with the pain of her own weight on her ankle for at least a few minutes. Yet again she considered the options of successfully doing so and getting away from him until another doctor or nurse passed by and the option of falling flat on her face in front of him. Her resolve quickly wore down as she remembered just  how small her tolerance of pain was and how much she did not want to embarrass herself in front of him by falling on her face.  Unlike him, she could be professional. After all she wasn’t the first staff member to sleep with a doctor and certainly wouldn’t be the last; besides, she was nothing if not a professional. She sighed, sitting down on the worn out fabric of the wheel chair. She’d give him this one, she thought to herself as he wheeled her into his office.

Despite her constantly nagging him about his results, she’d actually never gone up to his office that often. Dr. Stan was normally the one who’d made his way to her laboratory not the other way around. As a long time doctor, he had his own little office to receive his patients and as such, he decorated it how he pleased it and despite her wanting nothing but to compliment him after his past actions, she had to admit it was probably one of the calmest more inviting offices she’d seen before. Instead of the scary almost macabre posters of human anatomy and regular pathologies, he had some abstract art on his walls with one or two models on his desk and a most likely fake plant on too. 

     - Want help getting onto the stretcher? 

     - Fuck off, Stan. I can do it myself. - she couldn’t do it herself. 

She looked at the stretcher as a goal keeper looks at a football. The stretcher couldn’t be taller than the height from her feet to just slightly above her hip, yet it seems as if that height was now taller than Mount Everest. Y/N calculated her movements and put her hands on top of the stretcher, pulling herself up with her arms and dragging herself into the middle of the stretcher, legs and arms out but her torso was in so she wiggled herself into laying down completely on the stretcher before pulling herself up.

    - We could’ve done that in a second if you’d let me help you. - he rolled his eyes, stepping in front of her and the stretcher.

    - I can help myself, Doctor.

    - Oh, is Doctor now? - he replied rather sarcastically, pulling opening the glove compartment in his office. - Are you allergic to latex or any ingredient in regular plastic gloves I should know about?

    - Shouldn’t you know if I am allergic to latex? - she cocked her side to the side much to his displeasure. - No, no latex allergies. 

    - Okay ... - he put some bright blue gloves on before walking back to her. - First, I’m just going to palpate around the top of your scalp to check for any trauma or signs of injury. 

    - My ankle is hurting, not my head.

    - You hit your head, it’s standard procedure. - her shoulders slumped as he proceeded to palpate around her head. It felt ridiculous, she was fine, she did not need an examination of her head. - Looks good, no bumps, so the fall probably wasn’t harsh on your head.

    - I could have told you that. Do they not teach you to hear to your patients in med school?

    - How would you know? You didn’t go to med school. 

    - I’m starting to think you didn’t either. 

    - Okay. - he rolled his eyes once more at her snide remark. - The next thing I am going to do is have a look inside your ears to see if there’s any bleeding, just to make sure we’re covering all our bases.

    - Why are you telling me? You’re the doctor. - Sebastian ignored her, taking his otoscope out of the pocket of his coat and placing a rubber disposable tip on the end before putting it up to her ear and switching to the other one. 

   - Everything looks good in both ears, no signs of bleeding. Your tympanic membranes look clear and I didn’t see any fluids or blood behind them. No defects and if it interests you to know there’s also no excess wax build up. Can you just tell me if it was painful or sore when I looked into your ear?

   - Shouldn’t you have asked that while you were looking into my ear?

   - Y/N if you don’t start taking this seriously, I ...

   - You will what?

   - Do you seriously want me to call a nurse on you? I normally only have to do that with children and elderly patients.

    - You wouldn’t. - she squinted, hands gripping the material of the stretcher.

    -  Try me. - he crossed his arms. - I’ll ask again. Was it painful or sore when I looked into your ear?

    - Yes.

    - What?

    - No. - she held in a laugh, bitting the inside of her lip. 

    - Y/N ...

    - Glad to know you have not forgotten your patient’s name, doctor. Doing great.    

    - Okay, Y/N. I need you to be serious with me now and answer truthfully or I’ll order a CT scan for you.

    - I hate CT scans.

    - I know. - he smirked. - So, what’s it gonna be?

    - Would you seriously make the hospital cover an expensive CT scan to check for a concussion that I don’t have just to upset me?

   - Oh, no, sweetheart. If you continue to be a brat, I will order a full body CT scan and if they ask I’ll just say I’m covering all my bases. So, what’s it gonna be? You’re gonna play nice or do you prefer to get an exam done?

    - Call me sweetheart again and you’ll get a concussion. How about that? 

    - You can do whatever you want to do to me after we’re done but until then you will answer the questions I have truthfully. Deal?

    - What other option do I have? - she crossed her arms at him. Y/N knew she was being unnecessarily difficult with him but she also knew that there was a 0.1% chance she had a concussion. Nevertheless, he looked dead serious on ordering a CT scan for her and the last thing she wanted was to have a claustrophobic attack because she refused to answer a few questions. - Fine.

   - Good. So, what time did this happen?

   - I don’t know, I don’t exactly look at my watch after falling down the stairs. 

   - Y/N ...

   - Like ... 20 minutes ago. 

   - What did you feel when you fell?

   - My head was pounding, my ankle felt hottish and I felt a bit nauseous.

    - Do you feel nauseous when you feel pain or is that something new for you?

    - No, it happens when I get hurt. 

    - Any dizziness or blurred vision? Metallic taste in the mouth, almost blood like?

    - I don’t think so.  

    - Any tingling or weird sensations around your face and neck?  

    - No. 

    - Okay, so ... I’m gonna have a look in your eyes. - he took his light from the same pocket he had taken the otoscope from. - I need you to look at me and not at the light. Don’t focus on it, okay?

She nodded, deciding it would be best if she went along with it before she was stuck in his office for a whole hour. He turned the light on and she did as was required of her by staring at him. She thought she could make him feel uncomfortable but it ended up being her who felt uncomfortable as flashes from last night picked that exact moment to return to her brain. Y/N told herself to cut it off and tried to continue to stare at him but gave up after a few minutes of her now sober brain deciding to show her exactly what she had been doing last night. She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes forcefully.

   - Are you okay, Y/N? - he put a hand on her shoulder but she shook him away, turning her face back to a neutral position. - Too bright.

   - Well ... uhm, yeah it is shining directly in my eyes.

   - Okay. I don’t need to look more into them, they look fine. Nothing to worry about. I just need you to open your mouth now?

   - What? No.

   - Why not? 

   - Because ... - because my brain has decided that sounds much less innocent than it actually sounds. - Because I don’t want to.

   - Y/N, c’mon. I just need you to open your mouth and then check your ankle and you can be out of here just like you want to.

   - I don’t want you looking into my mouth. 

   - I have seen you naked and that’s what you’re worried about? Me looking into your mouth? 

   - You are not a dentist, you don’t need to be looking into my mouth.

   - Your answer was unclear so yeah, I need to. Open your mouth. 

   - Stop asking me that. Can you pose the question in a different manner?

   - God, I swear if you’re doing this on purpose. 

   - I am not. 

   - Fine. Say ah, then. 

   - That just sounds worse. - she felt her cheeks heat up. 

Sebastian rolled his eyes, pulling the chair from behind his desk. This surely was going to take longer than expected. He knew she’d be defensive but he didn’t know she would be so difficult. In all honesty, he didn’t even know why she was mad at him. The only thing he could remember was being hit by her files before she stormed off. Yet again, Y/N was almost always annoying with him so it wasn’t a new occurrence. The new occurrence was a patient asking him to reformulate the question. 

   - Y/N what are you ... oh. - it finally dawned on him. - That’s not work appropriated, Y/N.

   - I swear if you keep on talking I will throw you off your own window.

   - So dirty. - he took one of the wooden spatulas from the stand on his desk. 

   - Fuck off.

   - Come on. - she reluctantly opened her mouth and had it not been for the wooden spatula holding her tongue and jaw down, she would’ve probably closed it as fast as she had opened it. - Looks good. I just need to repeat some numbers back at me, okay? 55, 10, 40, 9, 1.

    - 55, 10, 40, 9, 1. 

    - Good. I don’t think you have any concussion. I just need to check your ankle now. Can you put your foot on my lap and please not kick me?

     - I’m tempted to. -  she rose her ankle and placed it on his lap. He proceeded to take of her shoe and sock before starting to palpate around her ankle which was visibly swollen. 

    - I’m gonna turn your foot to the left and to the right. If anything hurts, let me know, okay? - she nodded as he turned her foot carefully to the lift and to the right, but it didn’t hurt, it was just sore. - No pain?

    - No.

    - Good news, I don’t think it’s broken, just strained. Some ibuprofen for inflammation and some ice and in a few hours you can at least limp without pain. 

    - I don’t have some hours. Unlike you, I have work to get done.

    - So do I, Y/N. You think I enjoyed having you take longer than 30 minutes in what should’ve been a 15/20 minute exam? 

    - Oh, I’m sorry. - she interrupted him. - Did my injury overstep on your gossiping about sleeping with me? I’m so sorry, I’m sure the whole hospital will still be waiting for you anyway.

    - What?

    - Can you please give me a minute so I can limp out of here in anger?

    - You think I’m telling the hospital staff I slept with you?

    - Well, the whole hospital knows and I didn’t tell them so unless we had a threesome I have recollection about then there’s only two of us who knew and if I didn’t tell them, guess who did? And before you can answer it’s you, the answer is you. 

    - I didn’t tell anyone, Y/N. I have better things to do than discuss my sex life with the whole hospital. 

   - That’s just dandy. - she jumped of the stretcher, ignoring the pain which started in her ankle and climbed up her leg but she didn’t mind. Now she was upset, one thing was him telling everyone and the other one was denying he had done as such. - You know what Sebastian? I get it, you slept with the lab girl who annoys you and you wanna tell everyone about it. Fine, but at least admit it. 

   - Y/N, I didn’t tell anyone.

   - Fine, say whatever makes you feel better.  

taglist: @rebekahdawkins​

[roanniom]

okay but 10/10 would pull hot lawyer in by his tie and make tf out with him

Get You Off

(Original photo source @the-adam-driver-files but made b&w by me)

Lawyer!Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 1,252

Warnings: NSFW, simple PIV smutty smut, I guess semi-public (there are people in the next room)

The real question is, are you doing this before or after the trial? You giving into temptation when you spend time in his office, brushing hands over legal documents as he goes over the details of the defense? He’s telling you some important info about the one thing you have to make sure to say on the stand, but you’re too busy appraising the way his body looks in that gorgeous, tailored, fitted suit to pay attention?

Kylo urges you to stay focused, you’re not going to win otherwise. But right now you want to win something else. His eyes widen as you grab him by his luxurious silk tie and wrench him forward, bringing his lips crashing to yours. Though you’re the one who takes the initiative he catches up quick, hands rushing to your waist, gripping your hips, squeezing your ass. You’re so eager, propelled forward by the tension that has been mounting over days of listening to his authoritative voice, watching those massive hands sliding across forms and papers, imagining them sliding through something else. He presses in against you, caging you in until you’re backing up, pulling him right along by the tie. 

Until your back’s against the wall and suddenly you’re being lifted. Pressed against the brick of his small office. Small since he’s still new to the firm of course, though with his many talents you’re sure he won’t stay here for long. What’s certainly not small is the massive bulge that presses up against you as he grinds his hips against yours, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep you aloft. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you say breathlessly with a smile and not a single ounce of sincerity. Your statement obligatory but only teasing. Kylo’s lips bruise their way down your jaw, your throat, until his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder, causing you to buck into him and cry out. You should care that the paralegals outside his office can probably hear you but you just don’t. You know that if roles were reversed they would be equally happy to wind their legs around this god in a good suit.

“You shouldn’t have committed that crime, either. Life is full of things you shouldn’t do,” he says in a low, measured voice. His eyes are hooded and he watches you as he tongues the spot he had bitten so deeply at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, just as a hand slides down to cup your mound through your stylish cigarette pants. His index finger presses tight circles through the fabric, somehow zeroed in right over your clit, if a little off center, making you gyrate your hips in desperate need for more, harder, him. 

“But you don’t strike me as a woman who says no to her desires just because they are improper.”

“And you don’t seem like a man who gives a fuck if a woman’s desires are improper.”

Suddenly you’re whirled around and seated on the edge of his desk, paperwork flying everywhere. You should probably care about that. Those papers were the key to your acquittal. To your freedom from scrutiny. To your ability to walk away from this world of hearings and trials and litigation. But as he pushes against you to make your back press into the hard wood of his desk, his body finding its place between your thighs, clothed cock nudging insistently at your core, walking away is the last thing on your mind.

“You, my dear, are more than improper,” Kylo says, his voice low. His hands leave your waist – rendered unnecessary by the intense way his pelvis keeps you pinned to the table – traveling up your body to rip open your blouse. Buttons ricochet and it’s absurd, its cliché, its overly dramatic, but the way his hands descend on your bra-clad breasts are none of those things. More like rough, delicious, demanding. He kneads the heaving flesh and licks a long stripe up the valley between them, starting from your sternum and ending with a lascivious suck right beneath your pulse point. You moan at full volume now, hips undulating against his, thighs pulling him in for more pressure. Kylo chuckles against your throat, holding you down against the table by the weight of his grasp on your breasts. “The word ‘obscene’ comes to mind.”

“That’s slander,” you reply, though it comes out in a huff. Suddenly Kylo reduces contact, pulling away his upper body. You sit up on your elbows in panic, only find him watching you with a bemused smirk, hips still slotted between your thighs, hands working deftly at his belt.

“What are you going to do, sue me?”

When Kylo frees his cock – and absolute monster, red at the tip and leaking with precum – his hands move to your hips, yanking down your pants as if they personally offended them. You’d teased him in short dresses and skirts every other day since he’d begun counseling you. How fucking dare you make it harder for him today, of all days.

Once divested of your pants you pull Kylo to by the tie again, this time slower.

“I’ll sic my lawyer on you,” you whisper against the shell of his ear when he’s finally bent over you fully, distracted by the task of lining himself up with your entrance. “He’s a real wolf. Goes for the jugular.”

Kylo practically growls in response before sheathing himself fully in your soaking cunt. You clench around him immediately, barely getting to flutter your walls before he’s pulling back and ramming right back in. The desk squeaks with the force of his strokes and the way your body slides against it. Oh yes. The paralegals are jealous.

“Sounds like he’ll get you off,” Kylo spits through gritted teeth, though humor dances behind his black-blown eyes. Your own eyes roll back in your head when his hand roughly takes hold of one of your breast, manhandling it and pinching at the nipple.

“Oh he’ll get me off – ah!” You almost lose your ability to speak for a second, which would a shame because it would mean you’d have to stop this verbal dance. Through heavy pants you speak up again. “He’s really…really…good.”

“Oh yeah? He’s good?” Kylo eggs you on. Sweat collects on his brow and his perfectly coiffed hair bounces looser, more tousled, but otherwise he still seems remarkably put together, in spite of the look of agonized pleasure rippling across his face. His cock protrudes from his open pants but other than that his clothes are surprisingly unrumpled. You, on the other hand, must look thoroughly debauched with your bare legs around his waist, panties pulled to the side, shirt ripped open and his hands pulling your breasts wantonly from their bra cups.  

“Yeah, so good – fuck!”

“Is he big?” Kylo prompts, snapping his hips so hard suddenly you swear you feel him in your throat. When you don’t answer his hand snakes up to your face to deliver a light, orienting pat to your cheek. Your eyes open, slightly unfocused. “His cock. Is it big?”

“W-what – oh god – what does that have to do with being a lawyer?” you challenge, which gets a breathless laugh out of him.

“Everything, baby.”

And Kylo is big, and he does get you off – two times in his office, once in the court room the next day at your trial, and then twice again back at his office.

After all, he’s big good. 

~*~

Smaller tag list since I don’t usually write Kylo and idk who is down (let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged in the future!) : @paper-n-ashes @foxilayde @maryforyou @maybe-your-left @finn-ray-nal-beads @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @hopeamarsu @aliveandlonely @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @safarigirlsp @millenialcatlady @can-i-pls-get-a-waffle @mrs-zimmerman @clydesfavoritegirl @direnightshade @historyandfandoms50

***Retagged because some apparently didn’t work - sorry if you got double notified!!!

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

BABE. WHAT IF GERALT DRINKS A LOVE POTION!?! WHAT IF HE?? CoNfEsSeS!?!?

This is why I come crawling into your messages begging for prompts. You get me, boo. 

tw: love potion, Yen interfering but in a nice way

---

Yennefer had grown bored of watching the bard and Witcher dance around each other like courting swans. It had been years and they still hadn’t figured things out between them. It had probably been more than years; more like decades. The bard, something not-quite-human but not inhuman enough to be suspicious or a problem, was too frightened of losing Geralt a second time to say anything to him about his clear and obvious feelings. 

The Witcher, too self-loathing and repressed to express anything other than frustration or exhaustion, didn’t know how to say anything for fear of driving his only friend away for good. She’d been watching the two idiots circle each other in an endless loop of yearning for far too long and the sorceress was finally ready to give them a little push in the right direction. 

“Jaskier,” she drawled, approaching the bard after he’d concluded a public performance. “It’s been awhile since we’ve traded blows. How are you and that Witcher doing?”

“I am still the finest voice on the Continent and Geralt is the grumpiest Wolf Witcher to ever grace the halls of Kaer Morhen,” he winked. “How have you been, dear?”

“I remain the most ravishing woman alive, fortunately.”

“Of course,” he bowed in mock politeness. Their banter had gotten less fiery and more friendly after she and Geralt had come to their understanding about Ciri’s education. Split custody of an affectionate, exuberant magical child worked wonders for strained relationships, apparently. “What can I do for you on this fine occasion, Lady Yen?”

“Oh hush,” she came alongside him and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. He bumped his shoulder back against hers, falling into camaraderie as if they’d never parted. “I actually have something for Geralt this time, but figured you’d be easier to get a hold of. I was correct in that assumption, as per usual. I thought he might be missing his White Gull while out on the Path and I know how he stresses himself nearly to death, so I brewed up something fun for him to try.”

“He’ll be overjoyed to have an equal substitute to his Witcher liquor.”

She pressed a small vial of swirling gold liquid into Jaskier’s palm. There was a label hanging from the tag containing a blocky #9. The sorceress smiled warmly and shook out her heavy skirts, adjusting them to her liking before opening a swirling purple portal. “I have some things to take care of in the next county over, so goodbye for now, darling.”

“Good day, gorgeous.”

And just as soon as she’d appeared, Yennefer was gone.

---

“Geralt! Here, I’d nearly forgotten. Yennefer said this would work like White Gull next time you want to get pissed after a job,” the bard said, passing along the little golden vial. The Witcher pulled the cork, sniffed at it, shrugged, and put it away in his pack. 

“Remind me to thank her next time we cross paths.”

“Already thanked her for you,” Jaskier winked. “No worries.”

“You terrify me, bard.”

“You love me, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

“Geralt, what’s wrong?”

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t White Gull at all, Jaskier.”

“What was it, then!? Are you going to be okay!?”

“It wasn’t poison. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, so what was it, exactly?”

“It was a-” Geralt clapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head furiously. He took a few deep breaths before releasing a muffled, “I can’t talk.”

“What do you mean you can’t talk? You barely talk as it is! Do I need to worry about you or not? Should I send for a healer or no? Was I duped by a very clever, portal-making doppler or was that really Yennefer?”

Geralt glared but kept his hands over his mouth. Jaskier could see from his seat beside the Witcher that he was trembling in place. His shoulders were set in a tight line and his legs were bouncing in place. He was putting a great amount of effort into staying as still as possible and even with his great Witcher willpower was failing him. Slowly, carefully, Jaskier reached out one of his hands but Geralt shook his head and pulled himself further away. 

“Geralt please tell me what’s wrong! I’m scared!” Tears started to well up in his eyes and his hands fluttered uselessly, desperate to touch but banned from doing so. Geralt hated seeing the fear mounting in Jaskier’s eyes, turning down the corners of his gorgeous mouth. “Geralt, tell me something! Anything, please.”

“Love potion,” the Witcher finally managed to grind out. 

“Oh. Do you need me to leave so you can, you know, deal with it?”

Geralt growled and turned away, hands moving from his mouth to grip at the tops of his knees. His fingers dug into the material of his leather trousers and he grit his teeth. “No. Not that kind.”

Jaskier stood anyway, legs wobbling, and took a slow step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, she said-”

“She knew what she was doing,” Geralt snarled, standing also. He took a measured step in the bard’s direction and Jaskier’s hands rose again; he wasn’t sure if it was an attempt to ward Geralt off or to welcome him closer. “She knew she was meddling.”

“Meddling!? Geralt wha- what’s going on?”

The Witcher picked his way easily over the forest floor, closing the minimal distance between them. One of his hands reached to grip at Jaskier’s waist and the other cupped the bard’s jaw, holding him still and tilting his head back so they were making firm eye contact. “She’s tired of watching us stay quiet, Jaskier.”

Jaskier, for his part, was trying desperately to summon words enough to answer, but Geralt’s calloused thumb was brushing back and forth against the skin of his cheek and it was incredibly distracting. “I- uh, I don’t know wha-”

The Witcher pulled him closer. There was no pressure, no point of contact that Jaskier couldn’t escape if he wanted to; he just really didn’t want to move. This gorgeous dream was too good to be true, but he was very much enjoying it. 

“Bard,” that low, hungry growl made Jaskier weak in the knees. “Do you love me, too, or do your racing heart and fluttering eyelashes deceive me?” 

“I do,” Jaskier breathed, finally relaxing into his darling Geralt’s comforting embrace. “I love you so incredibly much. With every fiber of my being.”

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

The thumb on his cheek never stopped moving. That soft caress was the only thing holding Jaskier to the surface of the earth, it felt like. If Geralt let go of him then he would certainly float away into space and never return. The Witcher’s lips, chapped and warm and slightly parted, lit against his as lightly as any feather falling upon the surface of a calm lake. It was a chaste, anxious brush of skin-against-skin and Jaskier whined when Geralt pulled away too quickly for his liking. 

The sharp, sudden sound broke something in Geralt’s resolve. His lips crashed down again and his hands tightened their hold on the bard, keeping him pinned in place for Geralt’s hands and mouth to eagerly explore. “Yes, Geralt, fucking finally.”

“I love you,” the Witcher murmured into his skin. He kissed his way along one pale collarbone and then the other, praying his love into every damp press of his lips. “I love you, Jaskier.”

“I’m writing Yennefer a thank you letter.”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Geralt growled, the hand cupping Jaskier’s jaw moving down to encircle his waist. Better than I’d ever imagined, the bard thought, one leg lifting unconsciously up from the ground. Oh, my love, at last! 

[novelconcepts]

You saying more childhood AU is possible with the right prompt is just...

More Tess. All of the Tess. Tess the morning after the party, lives in my brain rent free. The teasing. The knowing looks. The Jamie and Dani being so in love and unashamed and also oops we forgot the roommate. And Tess being the wonderful person she is and not letting them get away with anything.

It’s the fact that they think they’re subtle, that really gets her. 

Not that Tess is upset to find Jamie crashing with them the week following graduation. Of course Jamie is crashing with them. Where else would she go, now that Dani “it’s important to grow up and change and learn who you really are, or some such bull” Clayton has finally snapped up the hot gardener of her dreams? Honestly, if Dani let her walk out that door--especially after that first night, which, hello, gardener; these walls aren’t half as thick as they apparently think--she’d have forfeited all rights to sanity, and Tess would have no choice but to make her move instead.

No, she isn’t upset to find Jamie still here the following morning. Or at all. She loves Jamie. What’s not to love? 

Honestly, so much to love. If she didn’t love Dani even more, she might have to really test the bounds of this friendship. Particularly when she opens her bedroom door to find Jamie--hair rumpled, dressed in a half-unbuttoned flannel and a pair of boxer shorts--at the kitchen counter. Like, warn a woman. 

“Warn you about what?” Jamie looks blank, her hands prying open each cupboard with evidently-mounting disappointment. “You really don’t have any tea?”

“Warn a woman,” Tess repeats, hip-checking her gently out of the way and scrounging the supply of English Breakfast out from behind the stoner snacks. “Before you turn up in her kitchen looking all sex-rumpled. I haven’t even had coffee, Taylor, Jesus.”

Jamie blinks, taking the box from her hands. “O...kay. How was the rest of the party?”

“Not nearly as engaging as your night,” Tess informs her pleasantly, delighted when Jamie’s sleep-muddled expression lights up with embarrassment. “But an extravaganza in its own right all the same. Where’s my girl? I know you railed her into next week, but it seems bad manners to leave you to breakfast alone.”

“I didn’t--we--”

“Thin walls,” Tess sing-songs. “Like paper. Or, what, you’re English--parchment?”

“We have paper,” Jamie deadpans. Tess pats her shoulder, working around her to fill the kettle. 

“Good fortune really does smile upon you. Ah! Sleeping Beauty arises!”

Dani, looking only slightly more functional than Jamie, is emerging from the bathroom with an expression that suggests she, at least, is very aware of the acoustics of their apartment. It’s so tempting to tease her about it--Dani has this truly adorable habit of looking like she might combust if pushed too far, the red of her face complimented nicely by the gold of her hair--but Tess figures some things can wait. Lord knows they’re going to walk right into it soon enough.

But like--so soon. Like, she goes off to take a shower, and comes back to find they still haven’t left the kitchen soon.

“Seriously?” She laughs, watching them leap apart. It’s too clear Dani has forgone the idea of coffee and bacon for the much-more-invigorating art of pushing Jamie against the refrigerator. Not that Tess can blame her. 

“We--were just--”

“Right in front of my cereal,” Tess says gravely, shaking her head in faux-disappointment as she stretches over Jamie--whose hands are still rooted to Dani’s hips, the hem of Dani’s shirt dropping hastily back over her stomach--to retrieve a box of off-brand Lucky Charms. “No shame.”

They’re both making noises of disagreement, as though Tess hasn’t had her share of groping in the kitchen experiences to call on. She snorts. 

“Look, far be it from me to stop your, ah, young love in its tracks. Just. Keep it out of my bedroom, is all I ask. Unless...” She wiggles her eyebrows. Jamie clears her throat so violently, it sounds as though she might fracture something.

“Shower. Should. I.”

“That sentence normally goes in the other direction,” says Tess helpfully. Dani swats her back, grinning. 

“Got that out of your system yet?”

“Oh, not nearly.” Tess beams. “By all means, Clayton, show her where the shower lives.”

“I know where the,” Jamie begins to protest, but Dani is slipping both arms around her middle, pressing against her back to urge her toward the bathroom.

“That’s her polite way of saying if I don’t go with you now, she’s going to spend the next half hour fishing for details.”

“You still owe me those,” Tess calls after them. “Every last filthy one.”

***

They think the shower is noise-cancelling, too, Tess realizes about four minutes later. Jesus, these beautiful useless idiots. 

***

It’s the lack of subtlety masquerading as Chill, really. The fact that every single time Tess leaves a room, she can count slowly to ten, poke her head back out, and find they’ve picked right back up where last she interrupted. 

Step into the bedroom to change her clothes? Come back out to find Dani straddling Jamie on the couch. 

Take a quick smoke break on the stairs out front? Glance through the window to find Jamie shirtless, the unmistakable tread of scratches running down her back beneath her bra. 

Offer to run out for lunch? Spend an extra five minutes idly counting clouds, because fuck only knows the sounds Dani is making isn’t karaoke. 

“You two,” she announces, tossing the pizza box onto the counter with a flourish, “are going to break something if you keep this up. I mean, you’re at least taking hydration breaks, I hope? Do I need to bring you a power bar?”

Jamie has the decency to look slightly ashamed of herself, though there’s a definite grin beneath the hunched shoulders. Dani, selecting a slice of pepperoni-and-banana-peppers, shrugs. 

“Consider it payback?”

“For who?” Tess demands, delighted. Dani raises her free hand, ticking her fingers down toward her palm.

“Tyler, whose butt I saw like ten minutes before you introduced us. May, who you used to desecrate the kitchen floor. Carlos and Beth--”

“Liz,” Tess interrupts, “she goes by Liz these days.”

“--Liz, with whom you conveniently forgot I needed to shower before my presentation and took up the bathroom for three hours--”

“Okay, okay,” Tess snorts, groping for a dishtowel in some shade of off-white to wave. “Truce.”

“And that’s just this apartment,” Dani says cheerfully. She tilts her head to look at Jamie, whose face can best be described as aghast. “Back in the dorm, she used to sneak girls in after I was asleep.”

“You were a sound sleeper!” 

“No one is sound enough to ignore a bed frame breaking, Tess.”

“I...avoiding college was the right choice,” Jamie says weakly. Tess bats her eyes.

“You’re saying you’ve never dreamed of breaking a bed frame with me, Taylor?”

Jamie darts a look around at Dani, her eyes just shy of screaming. Tess is having the best time of her life. 

***

“Tell me honestly, though,” she says. Jamie gives her a sharp look, uncertainty obvious even as she reaches to accept the joint Tess is passing her way. 

“Really don’t think Dani wants me giving you a play by play.”

“Dani, beloved of my soul, was fool enough to schedule a doctor’s appointment while you were still in town. She knows what I’m about.” 

To Jamie’s credit, she doesn’t choke this time. She puffs once, twice, holding the smoke in her lungs an impressively long time before craning her head back and exhaling. "What am I telling you honestly?”

“You’re going to keep an eye on her, right?”

Jamie looks surprised. “Yeah. Not that she needs it, mind. Just. Yeah. Always.”

Tess sighs. “She doesn’t need it, but you know as well as I what that woman is like. Too good. Too fucking good for her own good, you know? Forgets, sometimes, that she can come first, too.”

Jamie offers a smile nearly wicked in its amusement. “Oh, I take care of that.”

“Yes,” Tess drawls, “darling, I can tell. You know, really relieved she never brought anyone home before now. I’m not sure my beauty sleep could have taken the abuse.”

Jamie laughs, leaning back and pulling a throw pillow into a loose embrace. “She doesn’t need anyone taking care of her. But...”

“But you can’t help wanting to, anyway,” Tess guesses. When Jamie nods, she takes another hit, lets the smoke burn in her chest. “She has that effect on people. Our girl would take a bullet for anyone, and it’s...impossible not to love her for it.”

“She’s the reason,” Jamie says softly, “I didn’t run. Reason I did a lot of things, some of ‘em really, really stupid. Sometimes I think everything I’ve ever done can be traced back home to her, one way or another.”

“That, my dear,” Tess says, “is what fools and songstresses alike call love, I think. Just...do me a favor, keep her from killing herself for those kids.”

Jamie nods. “I will. Promise.”

“Good,” Tess says lightly. “I like you, Jamie. You’ve got the hands of a sinner and the smile of a saint. I’d really hate to have to track you down and kill you for doing her wrong.”

***

For all the sex, and all the blushing that follows, it’s late nights like this one that really say it all. Nights where cards fade into lazy conversation fade into this: Jamie, asleep on the couch, her head resting in Dani’s lap. Dani, looking down at her like she’s never felt so at home in her own skin. 

And Tess, watching them both, astonished by the lack of fear in the room. The lack of distance. The lack of uncertainty. 

Dani, who has always been a nervous sort, whose panic attacks are so predictable on bad weeks, Tess came back from that first Christmas break with a laundry list of coping methods to offer--looks perfectly at peace. Her fingers stroke back Jamie’s hair, tracing her forehead, her nose, every brush of contact only seeming to sink Jamie deeper into dream. Dani has never looked like this before. 

“You’re happy,” Tess says quietly. Not a question. Not a challenge. Dani smiles.

“Part of me thought she’d get sick of it, you know. Waiting for me.”

“Who could get sick of you?” Tess asks, and means it. No one in the world stacks up to Dani, on a list of favorite people. No one in the world ever could. If Jamie really did fall ass over teakettle for this woman when they were barely old enough to know what love was, she couldn’t be blamed for it. Not for a second. 

“You’ll invite me to the wedding, of course,” Tess says, when Dani--eyes closed, fingers still tracing aimlessly--says nothing for a while. One blue eye emerges, her nose scrunching up. 

“Jumping ahead, aren’t you?”

“She’d do it here and now, if you asked. Shit, I could get ordained, do it for you. Always thought I’d look nice in a little suit.”

“You’d be gorgeous,” Dani says, without a hint of deprecation. Tess blows her a kiss. “And...yes. If and when, I can’t imagine doing it without you.”

“As officiant?”

“I was thinking maid of honor,” Dani laughs. Tess leans back, smiling. 

“That’ll do.”

The silence creeps in again, the sleepy indulgence of post-midnight living that feels so perfectly suited to the college experience. Nothing else, Tess suspects, will ever be quite this again--the quiet feeling like peace, the weariness feeling earned, not crushing. Jamie breathes out in her sleep, one hand drifting to gently grasp the hem of Dani’s shirt.

“Gonna miss you,” Tess says softly. “And this one, too.”

Dani smiles, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It won’t be the same again, will it?”

“Nope.” And maybe that’s a good thing, she thinks. Maybe that’s exactly how it should be. Growing up. Changing. Learning who they ought to be. “But you’ll call.”

“And write,” Dani agrees. 

“And send me pictures of your hot gardener,” Tess adds. “Lord knows, it’d be a crying shame to forget that.”

Dani laughs. “Never.”

“You did good, Clayton. Took you a minute, but--you did good.”

She lets the silence settle for real, lets Jamie sleep and Dani doze, lets herself sink into the armchair. They aren’t subtle, it’s true--she’ll probably wake tomorrow to find they’ve opted for a quiet round of the most wall-shaking sex she’s ever heard in Dani’s room--but that feels right, somehow. Good, to see Dani refusing to make herself small. Great, to see Dani refusing to temper an emotion this grand.

“I love you idiots,” she says softly. “You’re going to be just fuckin’ fine.”