#i have an accent as flat as the land i live on

[ravengards-rogue]

the evening stretch | warm-up series.

ft. the prompts, nsfw / "dinner" / arthur morgan.

✧ tags : afab!reader + fem!reader outdoors sex, oral (f!recieving), reader is an outlaw, established relationship, desperate arthur morgan, 18+

✧ wc : 2.7k

✧ a/n : hello! this is part of a little warm-up series i do on my other blog where i pick three prompts and try to come up with something. i normally do them in a rut. im working on a commission and im super stuck so.

this actually landed on javier four times in a row but im being kind and sparing a friend so. here's mr. morgan.

✧ synopsis : arthur thinks the place between your legs would suit him quite nicely.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

Honest to God, Arthur's never been like this before.

He ain't all that pious to start, so perhaps the sentiment doesn't stretch as far as he would like it too. But it's true, all the same - that in all the lives he's lived, he's never experienced this much bone-deep desire for another human being.

Which is outright ridiculous, since right now you're just making supper. Dinner, you always clarify with that yankee accent. You're going to have dinner together, 'cause Arthur needs to eat. He works hard, according to you.

It's not much, but you're a better cook than Pearson. Even if that's not saying a whole lot. And you're insistent on making the man eat, always on his case about how it's hardly enough for a man his size.

Arthur can chalk it up to being that you love him, as you have told him foolishly many times. He's sure you're not gonna be happy with him in a minute since again - all you're doing is making dinner.

It's just... something. Something about you today. Dammit, he doesn't understand it neither. You've got a job together, and you and Arthur play convincing husband and wife since you practically are anyway. Arthur's been watching you today closely. You lie pretty. Smile with all your teeth, clever with a careful finesse and an honest knack for debauchery and indecency.

You love calling yourself an awful woman. Joking about dying an unweddable spinster given your crudity.

But Arthur likes it in you. Of you. Likes it so much he's done nothing but readjust his pants watching you squirm your way out of every difficult situation and sling the revolver on your hip like a tried-and-true gunslinger.

You're a fine woman to him. A fine one.

The fire crackles as you place a pot over the little flame of the faux stove. You've made a real dinner somehow - with some vegetables and creeping thyme and carefully butchery of meat. It smells good and you seem proud of it, stirring the thing with the sharp end of your knife. Careful not to scrape the pot.

Arthur watches the light glow orange on your face, carefully observing the way it shines on you. You don't look up at all when you speak.

"Gonna stare a hole into me, Morgan."

He feels something warm crawl up his cheeks. He scratches his beard instinctively, tucking his hat over his eyes.

"'m sorry," He says, unsure of how to cover for himself. "Been thinking about some things."

"Don't hurt yourself," You reply, sardonic and dry. Arthur adores you. He laughs to himself and feels warmed by the pleasant smile that seems to give you.

"I'll try. Ain't much used to thinking,"

"Penny for your thoughts, then Mr. Morgan." You reply, carefully moving the pot around so nothing burns. "Might help you clear your mind if you get some of it off your chest."

He's backed himself into a wall. Goddamn him and his big mouth. He hesitates, taking it off this time. Fidgety.

"Yanno, there ain't a lot women like you. Not that I've met at least."

You give him a look. Your lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed by him.

"Is that so?"

He laughs to himself. "It is indeed. You're a real piece of work. 'Specially going around batting your lashes, making yourself out to be a housewife."

"Aw what, did you like seeing me all doe eyed?" You smile to yourself, teasing but not entirely insincere. "If it helps, since you're the fake husband, I'm only half-acting."

That makes him grin. Though you say it with confidence, the sincerity it makes you flush.

"It ain't that," Arthur says again, looking at your face for the second time in a few minutes. "Just that you're a fine woman to be around. What do they call it...resourceful. That's what I'm thinking of."

"Who taught you such a big word, Morgan?"

"Trelawny, I'd guess."

You laugh, loud and beautiful and Arthur smiles. You look at him from across the fire. "Well, I'm glad you like my company, Mr. Morgan."

"I do more than like it," He hums, offering a reprieve. He nods at you carefully, head tilted. "Come 'ere,"

Your eyes widen at him, but you don't deny him of what he's asking. For that he is awfully grateful. You're more than capable and much less than needy. There's victory in your deliberate desire for him, Arthur thinks. You want him enough to let him chase you.

You come sit by Arthur. You're a little awkward with him still but he don't mind. It adds to whatever he feels for you, sugar-sweet affection and all. You sit on your knees and Arthur turns his head looking at you.

Beautiful. Beautiful thing you are, really. He has a hard time finding the words to tell you.

He reaches up, hand cupping your face. You lean into the touch, palm resting on calloused hand. He adores you.

"And quit with the Mister Morgan nonsense. Drives me crazy."

"Arthur," You say, slow and deliberate. "You know you're looking at me like you wanna eat me."

'"Read my mind, then."

"Arthur," You repeat, scandalized. He would smile if he wasn't so serious. "We're supposed to be eatin' dinner. You got into a whole spat with them Leymone Riders just today. You need to recover,"

His smile widens.

"Lettin' me go down on ya will heal me just fine,"

You look at him exasperated. Arthur leans into your neck, placing chaste kisses down the line of your jaw. He kisses you just there - underneath your earlobe, knows it drives you crazy.

"Lay down, sugar. Help a poor, injured man heal."

You pull away from him with faux exasperation, fond smiling breaking your face.

"You can be such a dog some times, do you know that?"

"I'm afraid I do,"

You give him another unimpressed look, but you listen anyways. Arthur moves so you can lay down on the bedroll - his bedroll. He takes off his coat just before you lay your head, playing it underneath you to get you more comfortable.

"Dinner's gonna burn," You tell him, almost reflexively. He laughs as he looks at you, your hands folded over your stomach and flat. He laughs at you.

"Burn? You feeling warm?"

"Arthur!"

And he laughs again, catching your boot in his hand as you go to kick his chest lightly. He sets it back down as he stares at you. You're quite the sight. Adoration bubbles up into his throat, blooms out into a hum. The sound of crickets and owls and all sorts of night wanderers sound - but none are distracting enough to pry his gaze away.

"You're looking too much," You say, your voice a half tremble. He nods.

"Got too," Arthur hums, leaning forward into your space. You always smell good to him, some cross between soft earth, and sweet liquor and clothes left in the sun. Skin and salt and sweet. "Who knows how long I'll be around."

He presses his lips to yours gentle and you kiss him - but only once before pulling away. Your eyes suddenly serious, warm palm on his cheek.

"Don't say something so morbid. If you go, I go,"

"Sweetheart—"

"No buts." You affirm, pressing your thumb to his lip all serious. Your eyes meet and for a moment - just one minute, all he wants to do is stop time from moving. From stealing him from you in life at all. Even a few seconds, intolerable. "Don't feel to good to hear, does it? So don't say it."

"Alright, alright," He huffs, laughing against your neck. He kisses it again, right against your pulse - quickening under his teeth as he bites and scrapes. He mulls over how much he wants you, and how little time there is to do everything. "Jus' lemme...I dunno."

Now you're cheeky, smiling up at him. Lord above, you do something so terrible to him. "Now that's just not true, baby."

He laughs deep and raspy. It's not true, because he knows exactly what he's after.

Arthur lets his hands plane over your clothed body. He doesn't bother with the ritual of undressing you entirely - since the act doesn't deserve the intimacy. You do, maybe - but Arthur's head feels too foggy to do anything civilized. He has to settle for letting his hands grip the fabric of your skirt and push it until it bunches around your waist.

There's no real delicacy in it, save for the way your breath hitches as Arthur gives himself better access. He moves to lay on his stomach between your thighs. He wishes it were brighter to give him better view. He's seen it plenty but looking at your pretty pussy alone gets him harder than steel.

His hands go underneath every layer of fabric to undo the little tie of your undergarments. You squirm when Arthur takes them off, but you don't pull away.

It's pretty. Even with the dim light of just the moon and fire to let Arthur see it. What entices him mostly though is the scent, after a long day of riding out alone - there's something about the way you smell - sweat and all that makes the back of his mouth ache with want. Makes his teeth hurt just dreaming about it.

He doesn't let his animalistic urges take him yet. He knows you need the build up. His hand is soft as he grips onto your waist. He pulls your legs further apart and lets his lips brush the inside of your thigh. Starts at your knee and works his way up, his mouth burning hot - open kisses. You giggle at the sensation of his beard, but it's tamped down with lust Arthur knows like the back of his hand.

Slow, deliberate, sinful. He knows the way you liked to be touched so exactly, but the pace is set more by his desperation. It grows ten sizes listening to you sigh and huff, feeling your hands come down to touch his hair and play with it.

"Arthur," Your voice calls. Pleading. Wanting him. You're so good at making Arthur loose his composure with so little. It's hard to tease you as your voice clips off into a whine. "Arthur,"

"I've got you," He says, assured. He means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. He ain't a decent man, but this much he can say full ways. "I've got you, sugar. Ease up. Let me take care of you,"

And so you again, breathless - boneless and eager. You let Arthur into your space, and something about that. Something about you. His heart races, blood pumping through his body. It pulses in his ears, head swimming with nothing but praise for you.

You're a fine woman. You're a good girl. The best he knows.

Arthur can feel the way your clit pulses with want before he ever puts his mouth on you. Makes him chuckle, gloved hand resting on your navel. He uses his thumb to pull it back, before using both hands to spread you open. Then, in an act less then gentlemanly, spits on it hard. He watches it land, lewd as it drips between your fold. He laughs to himself.

Another pitchy call of his name and Arthur decides he's had enough fun to get him through the evening.

He kisses your clit first, thinks it's only gentlemanly. When your hips buck up trying to chase the feeling of his mouth - he laughs. His hands dig into your hips. You're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.

When he finally gets what he wants, his own body lurches forward from want. He nearly slumps into the ground - half-way between relieved and utterly addicted. It's a sense of euphoria unmatched by the finest liquor or cigars money can be.

The taste of you fills his mouth as Arthur eats.

Arthur is not used to playing predator. Not interested in the act of devouring. You often compare him to some sort of herbivore. But there's something too hungry, too visceral, too primal for him to be anything but a coyote. A teethed thing, all screwed up from hunger.

He lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. His senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. Spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.

"Oh, god - Arthur, you're—"

Arthur is pleased by the way your words are cut off by your own moan. He slides his tongue back up, wet muscle firm as it lays flat against your clit. There's a slight twitch like it's asking for more attention.

Arthur is all to eager vtoo provide, closing his lips around the twitching bundle of nerves. He knows what you like. Learned over time just the amount of pressure he needs to suck with and the speed he needs to draw his tongue over your clit to get you right at the very edge of your orgasm.

He teases you to that pace. Slow increases in either or, until it's just at that perfect medium. Once he hits that spot, you always moan so pretty.

You shudder, your body lurching up as your hands get tighter in his hair. "Aah, fuck. Ngh, Arthur. Don't do this t'me."

You begging him not too makes him want to do it more. If Arthur were any less aroused, he would. But his brain can barely think up enough to stamina to do that. His own cock is strained against his work pants - hips instinctively rutting into the bedroll just beneath him. Silently seeking friction all while hoping he doesn't get enough to distract him.

It'd be a damn shame, he thinks - letting anything pull him from the taste of your pussy. From the smell of it, from the sight of it, from the feeling of you. Sticky, pulsing strings of arousal coating his tongue and turning all his thoughts to dust.

His cock throbs again as you rut against his mouth. Arthur pins you in place.

"Please," You say. A magic word he ain't much stronger than. "Please make me cum,"

You really are a good girl, the way you know exactly what makes him tick. Arthur moans into your cunt as he sucks and licks and eats. He'd die over it, and he does not mean it lightly. It's the only thing in the world he wants to do in the moment. He laser focuses on finding that sweet spot again.

And he knows he does when you start whimpering. Squirming and holding onto his soft brown locks and pleading for something you don't know about. He can feel how wet your getting - dripping along down his beard and face. Thick strings of your arousal stick and slide down his neck.

He's never been a messy eater, but you've been disproving many of his prior understandings of himself. He supposes it's only natural.

"Oh, baby," You say, not even his name. Arthur knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. All he can do is encourage you. He hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna cum."

Arthur knows better. He doesn't do a thing but keep going. Lets you move and thrash and pull away but keeps you firm in his place and eats your pussy until you can barely think.

He knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. When you cum, you cum hard. Your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, toes curling and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.

He can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. You cry out, loud enough to startle any nearby critters. Your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. It's just as magnetic as it was the first time.

He's sure that will always be true.

When Arthur pulls away from your pulsing, wet core - he can feel just how much of his lower face is sticky. He's sure you also know, if the way you laugh is anything to go by.

And he's not long to follow after. Not even a few seconds and he can feel something in pants tighten - a mess of white staining the front of the denim in an onset of lust damn near shameful. Is he a teenager again? Lord above.

Breathlessly, you look down at him after you've ridden your high out.

Pulling up Arthur by the collar, you look at him slowly and frown. You look impassioned and a little frustrated.

You kiss him tender after you've come too. Once, then twice, then a another time with your hand still drawn into a fist. Arthur grabs it closed, opening your palms before kissing the palm of your hands until you're no longer mad.

"Hate how good you are at that," You admit, a little drunk of the euphoria of all of it. "Make me feel so crazy."

Arthur beams at you unapologetic.

"It's good to be that with me, sweetheart." Arthur says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Now how about you go and give me one more?"

You laugh breathlessly but don't go to stop him at all.

"Insatiable man."

"Only for you, my girl."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

concert, part 1

part 1 here (cw: age gap)

👑 (king): can I come pick you up? Me: yeah, sure, I’m almost ready 👑 (king): good, be there in 10

I look down at his text, smiling to myself, then I get myself ready. Checking my makeup, checking if I have everything in my little bag. Then I wait for him, nervously tapping my foot, thinking about our interactions over the last week.

I haven't seen him since the bar, we've just been texting and my god. He isn’t the biggest texter, but he never fails to answer a single one of my messages. Setting a new standard for sure.

My first message he answered within five minutes, making it a deal and asking me for the details on the concert. And then I had to send him all of my favourite songs, not just by Lorna Shore, but all the bands I talked about that he didn’t yet know. We were just talking about all the topics we could think about.

Like I wanted to know what accent it was that laced through his words when talking English and he told me that he actually was from Austria. I’ve never met someone who was from this country, so naturally I was curious. Especially why he lived here then and didn’t go back to Austria for his leave, which he just answered with a simple “I don’t have anything to go back to.” I didn’t want to pry, so I left it at that.

And he asked me what I did for a living and all my little hobbies. I could talk about those all day long, so there was a lot of back and forth (maybe a little bit more back from me than it was forth from him). I still was curious about his job as well, but I was too afraid to be called nosy again.

By the third day I got confident enough to accompany my messages with pictures. And no, not that kind of pictures. I just snap moments during my day and just them to him. My morning coffee, some scenery from my commute, a screengrab from the game I’m playing in the evening. Because I want to show what’s going on during my day.

It’s nice. It feels nice to talk to him. And we’re still kind of shy, holding back, but some of the texts even get flirty. My favourite thing to do during last week was to call him old every chance I got. Just to get a rise out of him.

I can’t help but feel that the last message has a double entendre. Like I should be the one worrying about keeping up. With him.

The doorbell rings and I go to open my door. It swings open and I almost rear back when his hulking figure towers over me. My god, I have forgotten how huge he is. I mean, I only saw it once when he got up from the table.

He's wearing the same worn leatherjacket and a shirt underneath. A Lorna Shore shirt. He got it right on time for the concert. I know because he sent me a picture when the package arrived.

"Hi.", I say looking up at him.

"Hi yourself.", he answers with a smile. "Looking good."

"Thanks.", I say as I do a little twirl for him, my skirt swaying while I do the turn. When I land on my two feet again, my DocMartens stomping onto the floor, I see his gaze wander up my body.

His lids are hooded, his mouth is slightly opened and I can see the row of strong teeth blink through. Our eyes meet and I feel a zap of excitement running down my spine. It just got harder to breathe. Because he looks at me like I would taste good. It’s actually making me a bit nervous. And I don’t think anybody ever looked at me like that.

“What?”, I throw in his direction, swaying from one foot to the other.

"Nothing…” is all he says, shaking his head. But it doesn’t feel like nothing. “Come on, let's get going. You have the tickets?", he asks.

I point at the little bag clasped to my belt. "Got everything in here." He nods and gestures me to exit the flat. I do so and lock the door behind me, following him down to the street where his car is parked.

It’s a Mercedes G-wagon. A fucking G-wagon. I don’t know which car I suspected, but I guess not this one. Although it makes sense when I see him right next to it. The kind of military look of the car, the colour (black, of course), it being quite an expensive brand, but also an older model, judging from the wear on the outside. Also a spacious enough car for a big man like him.

He stops at the passenger side and opens the door for me. And I can't help but melt a little. The gentlemanly gesture with him looking just like he looks. The big stature, the worn leatherjacket with the tattooed hands showing, the slight aura of danger around him that makes much more sense since I know he’s a soldier, that part of him not fully vanishing even when he’s on leave. The timid smile he gives me when I thank him for holding the door open for me emphasizing the contrast between his hard looking exterior and the softer core.

He waits for me to climb up into the seat, shutting the door for me and going around the car, to the driver's side. I snuggle into the leather of the car seat and look around a bit. His scent engulfs me, a warm, manly note, and I suppress a sigh. This man is just too much, and I'm going to a concert with him.

He gets in and starts the car which also turns on the sound system and a flurry of guitar sounds, drums and the distinguished voice of Chuck Schuldiner blasts from the speakers. I recognize the song instantly. "Oh, I love Spirit Crusher. The whole album actually."

He grins at me. "I thought so, that's why I put it on." He hands me the CD sleeve. "I bought this when I was like... maybe 16 or 17?"

"Oh my god, really?", I exclaim, inspecting the case. I turn to him pointing at the release date on the back, a mischievous grin forming on my lips. "That's the year I was born."

He sighs and rolls his eyes, snatching the CD case from me. "Yeah, yeah, we've already established that I'm old, ancient even." I bite back a laugh, doing a bad job at it. He leans forward, inching closer to my face. “Now what’s so funny, huh?”

I shake my head still grinning. “Nothing.” I pause for effect. “Old man.”, I add teasingly.

His gaze is burning into me. “Uh-huh, ain’t that right.” The slightly threatening undertone is not lost on me and it makes me shift in my seat.

He doesn’t say anything else, just pulls out of the parking space, and drives us to the concert location. The atmosphere gets a little bit more relaxed when he asks me about how work has been today (because we haven’t texted about that yet). I go on a rant because work really has been kicking my ass lately and my boss keeps getting on my nerves. So the car ride to the venue is filled with me explaining all of the details of what’s going on which would’ve have been too much to type out.

I’m still complaining about my boss’s antics when we enter the tall concert building. I show our tickets to the security guys at the entrance and they check us for stuff that you can’t bring into the venue. Well, they check me without hesitation, the security lady patting me down and taking a look into the little bag I have with me.

The security guy that has the pleasure of checking him hesitates for more than just a bit and I can see the little grin on König’s face as he’s towering over him, almost a head taller, and looking the most intimidating I’ve seen him yet.

“Don’t worry, he doesn't bite.”, I joke with the security guard who rolls his eyes, but finally goes to pat down the big guy.

König’s grin turns mischievous, looking down at him while he’s being checked. “Only if asked to.”, he says, glancing at me. And then he fucking winks. And I almost trip over my own feet. I steady myself, going down the stairs, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. Because that planted an image in my head I wasn’t ready for.

He catches up to me. “I’ll drop my jacket off and then we can get a beer?”, he suggests and I nod, following his lead. His hand drops to the small of my back, guiding me as we maneuver through the crowds of people. And I try to ignore how this light touch is making me feel.

We get in line at the bar and something I wanted to talk to him about burns at the tip of my tongue. Especially now that I’ve seen the expression on his face when somebody pushes past me, accidently brushing against me.

“Can you promise me something?”, I ask, putting on my nicest face to heighten the chances of him agreeing to it.

His lips curl into a sly smile when he sees the way I’m looking at him. “That depends on what you want me to promise.”

“Please don't stomp on any of the people if they bump into me.”, I tell him.

“Hm, I don't know if I can promise that.”, he answers with an honest tone in his voice, but the mischief in his eyes is telling a different story. “I have to look out for my concert companion, don’t I?”

“Well, can you at least leave them in one piece? I wanna leave the concert a free woman and not an accomplice to murder.”, I explain, not even taking myself seriously.

He laughs. “I think, we can arrange that.” He playfully nudges me with his arm and I almost topple over because I didn’t expect that. An “Oh shit” drops from his lips while his hands reach for my waist to steady me, and my first reaction is to hold onto him. His arm to be exact. My fingers grab onto his lower arms and I can feel the strong cords of muscle beneath my fingertips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“, he says.

I shake my head, interrupting him. “Don’t apologize, it takes more to break me.” Which sounds completely wrong and dirty in my mind, now that I think about it. But the sentence already left my lips. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his heated gaze on me, even when I don’t look up at him, still holding onto his arm when we reach the front of the line. Ordering beers that he pays for, just like we agreed to. I snatch up the two glasses and head to a quieter corner.

König isn't a big talker, although he seems more relaxed now, so it's still mostly me yapping about stuff that comes to my mind while we wait for the concert to start, him asking questions in between, nodding along, listening, and sipping his beer.

"I'm sorry, I feel like I’m talking too much.", I finally interrupt myself, smiling up at him apologetically.

He shakes his head. "No, it's fine, don't worry about it. I like hearing you talk." And his words make me blush and actually shut up for a brief moment where I can just smile into my beer and bask in the compliment.

“I think they’re starting soon, you want to go in?”, he asks me, smiling down at me.

“Yes, we can do that.”, I nod and we make our way into the hall. It’s already packed, but with König it’s easy because the crowd parts, looking up at the tall man when he passes. We find a spot that’s more in the back of the room, so he doesn’t obstruct the view of too many people.

I stand right in front of him, looking up at him, to see him scanning the people around us, observing every little bit that’s going on. His arm wraps around my waist, in theory a small little gesture. But his touch makes me light up, his fingertips softly digging into my hips. His fingers stroking ever so slightly, skimming over the fabric of my skirt, seemingly not even thinking about it. And I take the chance to lean myself against him, feigning the same innocence as he does.

Suddenly, the symphonic part of 'Welcome Back, O’ Sleeping Dreamer' starts playing over the speaker and the concert begins. I smile up at him and jump up and down all excited, pulling at his shirt to get his reaction. He laughs, even though I don’t hear the sound because the whole room erupts in cheers and shouts, only getting louder when the band comes on stage and the drums and guitars set in.

I get the impression that he’s enjoying it as well and the smile on my face gets even wider when he starts headbanging with the crowd. And it makes me happy to see him like that. The music sweeps me up and carries me away and I start to move with the harsh sounds blasting from the speakers.

What I don't know or see is the way he's looking at me when I scream the lyrics from the top of my lungs. How mesmerized he seems when I jump and mosh to the next song, dancing without a care in the world. How my wild and energetic euphoria of being at a concert infects him, even if he's still being a bit self-conscious.

It's been a long time since he actually has been to a concert. And he hasn't been all too sure why he even offered to go with me other than seizing the opportunity to see me again. But right now, standing in the crowd experiencing the thrill of live music once again, he remembers why he enjoyed it so much when he was younger.

to be continued - the concert is not over yet!

part 3 or more stuff in the Masterlist

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Three: Loki's Atoll

Your suspicions/worries are correct: the island is unpopulated, and likely uncharted. Meanwhile, the team realizes that you never made your rendezvous in Australia, and that they may need to enlist help finding you.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: none

MASTERLIST

It took you much longer than you’d thought to reach the base of the large rock formation sitting further into the island’s mass. The jungle floor was pathless, full of vines, rocks, tree roots, and palm trunks in your way everywhere you turned. The sun came down through the canopy in beams, the only aid to you as you meandered, observing your new surroundings in case you had to extend your stay. At least the interior was a few significant, blessed degrees cooler than the beach, with its hot sand and direct sunlight. 

Loki was smart enough not to speak to you while you walked, instead making some mental notes for himself about the environment, like the animal sounds he could hear in the distance, the fruits hanging from some of the trees and vines…and how your hips moved with an almost exaggerated accent when you were flustered. The jersey fabric of your maxi skirt clinging to your butt cheeks was by far the most exotic vision here. 

He finally dared to break the silence. “So…how much was that sweater?”

You moaned. “A hundred and thirty dollars.”

“And I must say the color flatters your…ankle.”

“Shut up.”

The cliff itself was perhaps a hundred feet tall, but it had enough of a slope to it that you could climb it without too much struggle (although the heat and sun didn’t help when it came to beads of sweat rolling down your brows and into your eyes). It took only about thirty minutes to reach the summit, which was thankfully flat enough for a few people to stand safely on top. 

“Shit,” you and Loki muttered in tandem. 

It was strikingly obvious at first glance that this was a tiny, isolated, unpopulated island. The rock sat at the edge of a lagoon, which took up much of the small atoll’s middle. You’d climbed from the back, and thus hadn’t noticed the large waterfall cascading from halfway down the hill on the other side. The pool below was an uncorrupted crystal blue. The lagoon itself was enclosed by the trees. 

There wasn’t a sign of humanity anywhere in the bird’s eye, 360-degree view you had. 

“Well, there we have it,” Loki said solemnly. “It seems like Loki’s Atoll is just for us.”

Your mouth fell open, and you let out a breathy ‘ha!’ 

What overwhelmed you more than the small little sandbar you were stuck on with the world’s most hyper-inflated egomaniac, was the expansive carpet of ocean that entrapped you. Nothing else from horizon to horizon. No indicator that this small piece of land was part of a larger, populated archipelago. That would’ve been your last hope. 

“We’re really stuck here,” you said sadly, defeated. 

Loki turned his back and looked out over the lagoon, in and of itself a beautiful sight, “So it would seem.” 

“And we have nothing to help us survive,” you added. “It all went down with the jet.” 

“Look!” Loki pointed off into the distance toward a small, artificial cluttering of drifting items in the water beyond the surf. “That’s not far. We could try and recover some of our things, perhaps find something to aid us.”

“Go ahead, fool,” you said skeptically. “You wouldn’t even help me row! You’ll never get beyond the surf without me.”

He gave you a look that could only say “oh, really shall we test that theory?” You still had every reason to doubt him. 

“Look, Loki, do whatever the hell you want, okay? I don’t give a shit anymore!”

He scoffed. “Did you ever?”

“I get that you assholes up on Asgard live to be a million years old, but down here, we don’t! I need to get off this little sandbar before I waste away. You can treat this like some postcard-picture vacation, but I doubt you’ll ever understand the meaning of the word dire.” Your rant was heating your face, which wouldn’t do, given the conditions.

At first, you couldn’t tell exactly what he was feeling. Insulted? Annoyed? Intrigued? But then he proceeded to open his miserable trap, as per usual. 

“Perhaps if you calmed down for five second to stop immediately antagonizing me--”

“--WHO GOT ME HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??” you snapped, pointing a damning finger right at Loki’s nose. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t immediately antagonize you? It was YOUR shit that brought us here! YOU couldn’t just leave me alone and…and…go fuck your whores!”

Loki smiled wryly. “Ah, that’s it…” he whispered cleverly. 

“What?” you asked, the blind rage bubbling under the surface barely contained anymore. You decided to start going down the cliffside to explore the lagoon and see if the water was potable. 

The Master of Disaster followed you. “Admit it, this has all been about your obvious feelings for me.” He delivered his remark as if it were the simplest, most well-known fact. 

You grunted angrily. “I won’t even dignify that with an answer.”

Loki snickered. “I’ll consider that a confession, then!”

“Fine then, you’re absolutely wrong,” you said. “I have never entertained the thought of having a romantic entanglement with you. I don't date ingrates.”

“She calls the god who saved her life twice in the same night an ingrate!” Loki summarized to the heavens, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Must you push away every male that addresses you? No wonder you’re a virgin!”

“I am not!” you pouted. It was true that you weren’t, but that didn’t mean you exactly had a lot of experience in the department of sex. Dating was never an area you felt confident enough to explore regularly. In fact, you only had one relationship that lasted longer than a year on your resume. 

“See, it’s THIS that I hate most about you, Loki,” you said, finally reaching ground-level. You began to trace a path around the rock formation toward where you’d seen the waterfall. “You always feel the need to resort to a sexist quip instead of, oh, I don't know, just keeping your big mouth shut? If you ever want a relationship with someone to last more than a week, you need to turn down the bullshit and turn up the respect.” 

Loki scoffed again. “It’s a good thing I’m not looking for a serious romance, then. I suppose the idea of answering to a little woman doesn’t appeal to me. I already endure enough henpecking from you on a daily basis.” 

When you arrived at the lagoon, you lost your breath at the beauty of the cove. It was completely encircled by land. The water was so clear you could see the bottom of the pool (you guessed it was about eight or ten feet deep). The falls were gentle enough in their cascade that you imagined you could shower beneath it. It looked like there could even be a cavern hidden behind the wall of water. The small shore was littered with coconut palms and large, flat stones big enough to spread out on. There was no evidence of creatures either swimming or drinking in the pond. 

You bent over and scooped a small sample of the blue water, daring to sip it, relieved at the lack of a salty taste. “It’s fresh. If we can start a fire and somehow procure a pot, we can boil it clean.”

Loki didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked further down the beach until he found some wet, fine sand just under the water. Kneeling down, he began to use his magic to manipulate the clay into a large pot. 

“I guess I’ll have to get used to you breaking your parole,” you mumbled. 

Loki set the first bowl aside and began to form another. “If it means we don't dehydrate, then yes. It may be futile to send a distress signal, but I’m not going to waste away for the sake of the United Nations.”

You had to admit, he had a point. Loki’s magic was the only tool for survival you had at the moment. 

“Maybe you could make me some shoes while you’re at it?” you added. Loki didn’t seem to hear you. 

You stayed at the lagoon for an hour or so in an attempt to catch your breath from everything that was going on. Loki, surprisingly, didn’t say a word the whole time. After he made three large clay pots with his magic, he did something that caught you off guard: he turned himself into a small monkey and began climbing one of the coconut trees. You’d forgotten his magic could do that. 

If only he could turn into one of those giant eagles from Lord of the Rings and fly us out of here, you thought. But if he could surely he would have thought of it by now.

“You can make fire too, right?” you finally broke the silence after wading for a bit, your skirt hiked up to your knees, the hem tucked into your waistband. 

“As long as you don’t mind green flames,” Loki replied, turning back into his humanoid form and sitting at the top of a palm. He began hacking away at the bundle of ripe coconuts and tossing each one down to the sand. “Norns, I do wish I could summon my daggers.” 

“Why can’t you?” you asked half-heartedly. 

“Let’s just say, Thor and Odin arranged for some of my seidr to be disabled. Even a vow before the United Nations couldn’t convince them to allow me access to my weaponry.”

“How the hell can they take your magic away?” you asked, marveling at how cruel that sounded. 

“How could Odin render Thor unworthy of his blasted hammer?” replied Loki, throwing the last coconut onto the ground, sliding down the truck after it. “It’s something you mortals still can’t seem to comprehend. Some things just…work differently.” 

You sensed there were layers to Loki’s words, but addressing it would only cause further unnecessary strife. You only began to fill one of Loki’s pots with lagoon water. “I imagine it’s early evening,” you mumbled awkwardly. “We should get back to the beach before sunset.” 

Loki brought the harvested coconuts back in one of the other pots, and once you found yourselves at the beach again, he began hacking away at the husks with a sharp rock. “You know, you could do some of this work!” he complained. You decided not to fight him, but you did shoot him a smirk. Seeing him sweat was satisfying.

As the sun set, you and Loki kept your distances from one another. You paced the shore nervously as Loki built a green fire and boiled water to drink. 

You’d have to strategize for rescue in the morning, perhaps even build a shelter. How often did hurricanes come to this part of the world? Were there wild boars or other dangerous beasts lurking in the trees, waiting for you to fall asleep? You dreaded the thought. But for tonight, the weather forecast promised a clear night sky, so sleeping under the stars would do. 

Neither of you said a word to the other for the rest of the evening. As the stars climbed into the indigo canopy above your heads, you manipulated the sand around you into a mound that accommodated your curvy body enough to feel comfortable. You were surprised at how quickly you fell asleep that first night, the last thing you noted before drifting off being the faint flicker of green firelight from behind your eyelids. 

“Guys, we need everyone in the conference room ASAP,” Tony was giving all of the Avengers who happened to be in the tower today a red alert via the intercom. Today, that was Steve and Bucky, Natasha, and Bruce. “We’ve got a problem.” 

Everyone took the alert seriously, and before five minutes, the Avengers were assembled. 

“What is it?” asked Nat, crossing her arms. 

“The quinjet’s signal was lost over the South Pacific a few hours back. Loki and Y/N never landed in Sydney,” said Stark. 

“Shit!” Nat swore. “He could be anywhere without accountability--”

“--he could be dead, but more importantly, Y/N could be dead,” said Bucky. He hadn’t admitted it to anyone yet, but Bucky nursed a crush on you himself, so this news worried him particularly. “Let’s get the rescue jet--”

“--hold on there, loverboy,” Stark held up a hand. Bucky’s stubbled cheeks went red. “We can’t just do a quick scan of the Pacific Ocean and find them! It’s kind of a big lake.”

“Loverboy?” Bucky looked down sheepishly. Steve shrugged awkwardly. 

“So what do you suggest?” asked Steve. “Technically speaking, part of the UN terms concern constant accountability for Loki. If he and Y/N are alive, they could be anywhere in the southeastern quadrant of the planet. Loki could potentially do some damage if he gets a tickle for it.” 

“Last confirmed check in was over Hawaii, and it was on schedule,” said Bruce, looking over Tony’s shoulders as he went through the last readings on a transparent screen in front of them both. “There’s a very, very big area that they could be in, and that’s if they survived the crash.”

“We have to assume they did,” interjected Steve. “For God’s sake, let’s have some hope. Tony, what do we do?”

He looked at the people in the room, and his face dropped. “Look, we could send search parties out, but it's a patch of TENS of THOUSANDS of square miles, kids. Even I don’t have the tech developed that could find them in that big of a space. It could take me two more lifetimes.”

“Then let’s triangulate their last signal and make some educated guesses. Perhaps that’ll give us a start,” Steve suggested. “What was their planned flight path?”

“Pacifically, the Specific,” quipped Tony. No one laughed. 

“Or,” Nat added, her voice trailing off for a moment as if her idea was too ridiculous to suggest, “We could call Asgard.”

“No!” said Tony with an eyeroll. “I don’t want to deal with those snobs, my head hurts.”

“Thor might have some kind of Loki senses we don’t,” said Bruce, agreeing with Natasha. “It’s the best card we’ve got.” 

Tony went quiet as he thought it through. “Fine. Call Dr. Foster and get her to give her boyfriend a buzz. The sooner we find them, the more likely they are to still be hanging on.”

You awoke to the sun rising, your skin pressed against the sand of a tropical beach. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing over the shore had kept you asleep in spite of the circumstances. Feeling at least a little rested, you rolled over onto your side and allowed yourself to fully come to. 

The first thing that caught your eye was a strange pile of something brown just beyond arm’s reach, as if it was set there for you to find. You scowled and sat up. At first glance, it looked like a pile of shit, which meant Loki must’ve put it there as a prank. You were ready to call him out, wherever he was, until you saw what they really were. 

They were a simple, crude pair of sandals fashioned out of vine, stone, and clay. And indeed, Loki had put them there for you. It was a good thing you didn’t shout curses in his general direction, for you would’ve instantly put your foot in your mouth. 

But…how did he know my size?

Turns out, he didn’t quite guess correctly. The shoes were a little large, but still much better than a broken kitten heel and a decaying angora sweater. 

Before you got to your feet, you saw Loki out of the corner of your eye. He was wading about waist-deep in the ocean, his sculpted back bare, his hair loose and sticking to his shoulders. He wasn’t doing much other than standing there shirtless, looking out at the rolling sea and yellow sky. 

He’s kind of…beautiful, in his own way, you thought. I mean, he IS a god, right?

It was a shame that those looks were wasted on such an asshole of a person. You were sure the UN wouldn’t have been so keen on a solution of forgiveness had he looked more like The Hulk. Loki’s charisma was genuine, even if it was for ill gain and attention most of the time. You were surprised at how he was able to gather some coconut, start a fire, and fashion a hanging grate out of vines and bamboo stalks without bringing up a single insult. 

You got to your feet, brushing off your skirt before knotting the hem at your knees. Maybe…maybe I should extend the olive branch. 

Raking your fingers through your hair, dismayed to feel the sand and pebbles that had settled into it while you slept. Well, he can’t expect me to look like some Baywatch lifeguard. 

Granted, he did. As you got closer and were able to make his backside out a bit more clearly, you were sure you saw the top of his ass crack peeking out from the surface…

Oh my god, he’s completely naked! 

You froze at the shoreline as you realized that maybe you should have faked staying asleep. How poorly would he take to you peeping at him? How awful would the endless teasing be, especially on an isolated island where you couldn’t escape from it? 

However, before you could bug out, Loki turned around and caught sight of you on the beach. He grinned flirtatiously and winked, but as he opened his mouth to address you, something else nearby caught his eye instead. You followed his gaze to a large, dark heap washing up some twenty feet down the shore. Loki’s face fell again. 

It was a corpse. 

You screamed. 

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[xsapphirescrollsx]

Hallows' Eve

Written: Oct 2 2020

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes, dark!Steve Rogers, dark!Clark Kent x Black Female Reader

You expected a nice night on the eve of Halloween with your boyfriend, Bucky.

A/N: Ahh shoutout to my bff @titty-teetee for indulging me with this idea lol. I love ya >:D

October 30th, middle of somewhere, Texas.

Well, there was a house-- rickety as it was, the home stood in a clump of mesquite trees, accented with tufts of Johnsongrass, springing up through the cracks of the stone walkway and leaning against the stairs to the front porch. It had never looked darker than this night had. But even so, the jagged wood roof  rose high to a second story, long windows looked like eyes with the small front door for a mouth. A steady breeze moved through the trees, shaking and whishing the long thin branches, slicing through the air. The whispering of nature speaks to you, like God to man, invoking what has been and what was to come. An unexpected thin place perhaps, the house, having not been filled for quite some time looked like it could have been haunted. Maybe a part of you wished it was. Like the walls and foundation had the ability to make up its own people within, or remembered who once lived there. 

Bucky’s fingers nudged your lower back as you walked alongside him. The duffle bags zipper clinked against the fabric and you were suddenly aware of how quiet it was out here. The crisp autumn air, slowly contorted to that spikey chill of early winter lingered on your skin. So you walked closer to him for some quick warmth. 

“They should be--” said Bucky, lights glowed up from the dirt road. The paleness glowed over both you and Bucky, the house, the dormant land. “There they are.” he said pausing for a moment and then continued once again.

“You had to pick the spookiest spot huh?” you said under your breath. 

He shrugged as he stomped up the stairs. “I was here yesterday, I got it ready. It’s a perfect spot for a quick get away.”

“But did you have to invite company? I was looking forward to it just being you and me.”

Bucky rummaged for the keys in his pocket as a couple of car doors slammed behind you. 

“‘Come on babe, Steve doesn’t have anywhere to go really.”

“I’ll start the fire!” shouted Steve. 

You didn’t turn around, your eyes stayed on the shadows of Bucky’s face where his eyes should have been. 

“Okay, I get that. But what about the other guy? What did you say his name was? How do you know him?”

Bucky jabbed the key with the lock, he chuckled a bit before answering. “Clark Kent, his name is Clark.”

“So you’re picking up strays now?” 

“Get to know him, you’ll like him. He's a great guy, hardly a stray...”

You followed Bucky into the house slowly, he flicked on the switch flooding the living room with light. Okay, you thought, doesn’t look so bad. At least the furnishing appeared to be from within the last ten years, the walls looked newish, with sharp borders, and reasonably decorated. 

“Besides, I picked you up, remember?”

You dropped your bag flat on the ground. “Hey, now. Are you trying not to get lucky while we stay here?”

Bucky continued into the house with the grocery bags. “I’ll get lucky regardless.” he cut his eyes over his shoulder back toward you. It sent another chill, this time up your inner thighs. He wasn’t lying.

“Oh god, not that stupid-”

Bucky ducked in close, the flimsy plastic mask buckled under the pressure of nuzzling your neck. You gazed into the bathroom mirror at Bucky who’s rubber Michael Myers mask was staring lifelessly back.

“I know you wanted to try something different….but….”

His hands kneaded your sides, higher he climbed over your sweater to your breasts.

“You look ridiculous…”

One hand left your nipple and began tugging at the top of your leggings.

“Shh…” he tried to stifle a laugh. “..just go with it..”

And you did, by leaning your head back against the blue denim jacket as his fingers wondered underneath your underwear.

“..let daddy have a feel.” his breathy question muffled through the mask. Slowly he began to circle your clit, mouth hanging open your hand held the top of his black gloved hand and pushed him to press harder.

“Look at yourself...how needy you get.” he whispered.

You try to peer beyond the mask, the slits for eyes but there was nothing. Only darkness met you there. Bucky brought up his hand, held it in front of the mirror and you. He split his fingers, thick wetness strung between them like webs.

“Bend over-- hold on to the sink.” he ordered, with his hands disappearing behind you. The sound of his clothes ruffling you stared back at the mirror.

Bucky stepped forward, knocking your ankles apart with his shiny black boots and yanked your pants, underwear down and gently, he tipped into you. His long length traveled against your folds sinking further inside.

Ghostly scenes are made from the smoke casting up from the flickering fire being fed from lava colored coals. The metal chair underneath you feels cool on your bottom, because even though you are sitting on a blanket the cold night air hangs around you. 

Steve was ending his story. Though hardly a spooky tale, it didn’t have to be, for his tales were based on true events. Speaking of blood and gore the morbid tone grew in his voice and brought a shadow of delight in his eyes. You carefully watched him, observed his hunched over shoulders, his eyes turned to yours sometimes while he spoke but mostly stayed on the fire. 

You chugged from the bottle of hard cider as Bucky ate, that stupid mask was pulled up over his brows. But Clark Kent, this stranger, sat nearly directly opposite. You moved your eyes to him ever so often while Steve told his story. One of the two thought about food on the way here, chicken, you guessed was their craving. Clark leaned back, his black jacket bunched at his waist as he rose a hand to his mouth. The crunch of the crust of fried meat did not break Steve’s momentum. 

When he finished, Bucky nodded to the accuracy of the amount of soldiers, to why the only man left was brave and courageous. Clark’s eyes met yours over the flames, his skin pale, the wavy dark curls framed his face. He smiled at you as he chewed. You noticed it then, unsure why you wouldn’t have before, he held the grey cooked bone between his fingers and stuck the end in his mouth. You blinked, maybe you were seeing things -- this was your sixth cider for the night.

“Are you eating the bones?” you asked.

Clark continued to gnaw on it till it broke off in his mouth. “Waste not want not,” he said through a mouthful.

He continued to stare back at you and at the same time a chill coursed its way down your spine. Shivering in the gentle breeze the urge to go to the bathroom shot through you. 

“I’ll be right back,” and excused yourself from the fire.

Had to be a bit past ten p.m., though this was supposed to be a pleasant fall break, it didn’t truly feel that way. Not with two extra guests. You tried to not feel so desperate to be alone with Bucky. You finished washing your hands and opened the bathroom door. In the dark, lit up by the light of the bathroom a figure stood. You jumped so hard, grasping at your sweater, bent over grabbing your waist, the boogeyman mask simply stared back at you without moving.

“Bucky I swear to -- why would you? -- take that stupid thing off-” and you reached for the mask but his hand grabbed your wrist. Slowly he walked over the threshold, leaned over and flicked off the light. 

“Oh no!” you feigned a plea. “Seriously..--help..help.” you giggled through another.

The door slammed behind him trapping the dark inside. He pulled you close at first, residing to his strength, you let him touch, grab, pluck at your body. Backing you back up against the sink the rubber mask pushed against your neck, smiling in the dark you could hear him attempting to kiss you there. 

His hands ran around the waist of your leggings, one big hand gripped and caressed your ass, slipped toward your split and rubbed your asshole. You jumped again, this time wrapping your arms around his neck. Different, he had never done such a thing before, but you went with it. 

His finger crawled passed it, his other hand pushed down the front of your legging and circled your clit. 

“..help...a big bad man...help..” you chuckled under a moan. 

He jerked you away suddenly, pulled down your leggings and underwear, with a hand on your shoulder he forced you to bend over. The room filled with the sound of a smack to your back side. 

“Bucky!” 

The stinging lingered but white hot pain replaced it with another hit from his gloved hand. 

“Okay!” you rushed out. Maybe he was just being kinky, perhaps your pretending might have put him out of the mood. 

He hit you again making you grip the lip of the sink harder. “I’m sorry daddy..” you hissed.

He was back behind you again, his whole body pressed against you, scratching at the skin of your ass he plunged two thick fingers into your entrance.  Heavy breathing billowed from under the mask, hot air pooled over your shoulder and around the back of your neck. The weight of him bent you forward. He pulled out his fingers from within you and began to prod with something warmer, and far thicker at your slit as his other hand tangled with your fingers on the sink. 

And he pushed in, “..damn!” you moaned.

Jerky, irregular thrusts stretched you more than what you remembered. “Bucky!” you gasped, hoping he would slow the pace. But the other hand grabbed for your throat, squeezed tight and pumped you harder. 

“Daddy, please..” you half begged, half needingly whimpered. 

That changed his stroke, and soon the ache descended into bliss. 

“Fuck...daddy…”

His hand on yours returned to your clit, pushing hard and swiping steadily, your knees nearly buckled. Thicker for sure, veiny too, you thought, god what the loss of one sensory can do on a drunk mind. Your body bucked back against him as you rode out the orgasm. He squeezed harder, hissing and groaning under the mask you could nearly imagine him as someone else. And when he stilled inside of you, even his hiccups of pleasure could be thought of another. You shook the fantasy away as he stepped back. 

Before you could even turn around, the door opened, your eyes shot to his brown boots and then up to his back. And he left you there.

You stuffed pieces of a premade popcorn ball into your mouth. Bucky sat there weaving a tale of spirits walking through walls, of ancient gods embedded into objects best left to rest where they laid. Still buzzing hard you stayed captivated by his tone. It was something about the secretive way his voice projected that kept you staring at him, wondering if it could be true, but knew it mustn’t. 

It was still cool out, the shabby blanket thrown over your sore legs did little to keep the wind out. But it made for a good catcher, which is what you were doing toward the end of his story. Picking up pieces of fallen popcorn, and pizza flavored chip crumbs somehow made it to your mouth despite the only source of light was a waning fire.

“So if you ever hear your name called..don’t ever answer back, unless you can see it’s a actually living person.” Bucky finished and glanced over at you proudly.

“I hate that story.” you slurred your words a bit and shook out the blanket on your lap. “I hope you’re happy, you have to walk me everywhere until we return home.”

You picked up the last bottle off the ground and drank the last bit. The clash of flavors swirled on your tongue leaving a bitter after taste.

“Babe do you have any gum?”

“There’s a pack in the middle console--” Steve spoke up. “Back there in the truck..” he said hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes over in Steve’s direction. A smug grin, and a wrinkle on the side of one eye simply gazed back at you. 

“You’re fine,” he said finally. “You’ve got us here...nothings gunna get you.” he reminded smoothly.

And the moment was quiet, poised on the end of the gentle breeze blowing through the heat of the fire. The rustle of sleeping honeysuckle vines, somewhere near the old rotted out shack Steve’s truck sat was the only identifiable sound for a few seconds. 

“Fine.” you huffed and stood up to get that gum.

You walked down the dirt path the short way from the front of the house where Bucky, Steve and Clark sat. The tin roofing of the old shed rocked, and slapped against itself the closer you got. And of course Steve parked on the other side, out of the sight of the house and fire. But you walked quickly, or rather, as fast as two aching legs could in the cool weather. 

The knocking sound only got heavier, louder as you squinted in the dark toward the blackest corner of the area. Steve’s truck was within a few footsteps and you batted away any imaginings of spooky phantoms. You slipped passed the door, your hand flipped up the middle console and snagged up the pack of gum before slamming the door back. And when you turned around, just off from where you had previously walked was a figure. The white, deathly pale mask was the only part you could really see.

“Fuck!” you shouted, dropping the pack of gum. “Bucky!” you hissed and reached back down to retrieve it. 

The yellow fire light was at his back when he moved forward toward you. 

“Okay...no more mask!”

You stuffed the gum under your arms and went to yank at the mask. But he caught your arm and squeezed down like a vice grip. “Hey--easy there..” you said quietly. 

He pulled you toward the shed, but just outside of it, along the rotten wall of it a few old deep freezers were lined up against it collecting weeds, and dust. 

“Oh no, Bucky..those look super dirty..” you tried to jerk your arm away but he only pulled you harder. “...Really? You’re this committed to fucking in that mask?”

This time your hand grabbed enough of the back of the mask to rip it fully up over his head. At that same moment you were jerked forward between the rusty freezer and him. Your eyes now bulging and fighting for light to correct what you were seeing in the dark stared up at him. You blinked several times once more before you realized the angular features did not belong to Bucky. Thick curly hair, messy all over haloed around his face, and of course, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t noticed before, he was taller. It was Clark.

You made to quickly move away from him but he snapped you back, “Get off me!” Your voice shook, and so did your body. 

“Bucky’s right over there...all I have to do is scr--”

The air whipped out of your lungs so fast as Clark slammed his palm over your mouth and rushed your back down on to the freezer. 

“I’ve been waiting all night for this..” he whispered.

No amount of squirming could equal the might Clark welding against your struggling. It was like a man made of iron held you down, even when his other hand disappeared between your legs, the tearing of your legging, your underwear did not loosen his hold. And then the unfolding of his clothes paired with the gentle brushing of the vines against wood near your head sent you into hysterical kicking. Your legs on either side of him squeezed, and jerked to no avail. 

“-don’t act so innocent. You’ve already fucked two different men tonight.”

You stopped kicking, eyes wide above his hand you glowered at him through the dark. “You won’t mind..will you?”

Shaking your head you held your breath. The thick end of his cock began to push past your folds. 

“Slut.” 

He lowered his forehead on to yours, what you imagined was him staring back down at you but could see only the tip of his nose. A shuddering breath pulled through your nose as he sank further to his balls. “You’re wet from it still…”

He started snapping into you, hard and fast, slapping his lust into your unwilling cunt. Clark’s hand slipped to your chin, his lips hovering above yours. 

“Are you going to call me daddy too?” he asked, with his breath steadily huffing into your mouth. “..Say it for me baby..” 

“Let me hear that little desperate voice..” He kissed you, slipping his tongue along the inside of your lower lip and then against your face as you turned your head. “Come on..” And then he started jabbing, a feral thumping into you. Sharp pains up your thighs shot further into your core. You denied him and he lowered his head to your neck. He sucked on your skin, flicked his tongue around and inside your ear. “Say it,” he whispered. 

You whimpered in response as his teeth began to snag on the wet skin of your neck. He sucked hard, drawing out needle points of pain. 

You pray to god Bucky could hear this, you’ve been gone too long certainly either Steve or him could. Clark kept nibbling, and groaning in between thrusts. When you refused once again he shoved his palm back over your mouth, the other brought your wrist up and twisted it into a bone breaking angle. 

He stopped moving inside of you as his deep voice raked over clenched teeth, “What was that?” he asked. The warm palm slid down to your chin. 

“..daddy.” you shivered out.

You could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Good..girl.” he whispered. 

“That wasn’t so hard to say was it babe?”

The sound of Bucky’s voice from the darkest, most grown up side of the shed sent your eyes reeling in the dark. Clark put his hand back over your mouth and kept going. 

Bucky stood at the edge of the freezer, in the dark the features of his face were smudged. A gentle hand caressed the top of your forehead. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let Clark finish.”

At Bucky’s words, Clark released your mouth, he rose up and held your upper arms down as he continued to fuck you roughly. Your eyes stayed on Bucky’s silhouette, high pitch whimpering up at him did not go unheard. 

Bucky cupped your chin and head. “Shush,” he hushed down your sobbing face. 

Another pair of hands tore at the front of your sweater. To his right, another figure stepped to your side. The figures loomed over you while your breasts chilled, and peaked in the cool night air. A deft hot hand kneaded and groped at the nearest one. 

“You told us she was good….” Steve pinched your nipple hard. “She’s fucking outstanding.”

Bucky leaned over you, he grabbed for your thigh but you kicked away. Clark relinquished some leverage to pull your thigh up so Bucky could hold your ankle. “Yeah, get in there good.” Bucky’s voice rose above your strangled cries. Steve got your other leg, held it folded it in high and tight, that allowed Clark to pound you deeper. 

He grinded his hips into yours burning his stiff cock into your core. His grip tightened around your arms pinning you for good below him. “Where am I going to empty my balls?” Clark demanded on a puff of air. 

Tears slid down the corners of your eyes. They rolled from the darken outlines of Bucky above you to Steve at his side and then back to the man between your legs. 

“..in me.” you sniffled out. 

“And who are we--” Bucky asked softly. 

You didn’t bother to look in the direction of his voice, Clark’s head threw back, a deep moan started in his chest as his hips kept pumping. “Say it baby..” Clark whispered.

“..daddy.” you whimpered.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Gnomes #1

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Culture | Homelands | History | Religion ---WIP

Today we remember that the Forgotten Folk exist.

Featuring whatever scraps of their culture I could get my hands on while digging.

Including gnome and halfling solidarity; gnome weddings; birthdays; the toaster and some other stuff.

Then the three distinct groups: Svirfneblin, Forstneblin and Rock Gnomes who don't have a fancy gnomish name as of now.

-

Amongst themselves, the gnomes refer to themselves as the Doamun - roughly translated to "Us-who-endure," and their language is munthar ("us-talk"). The gnomish accent is something of a brogue; soft and quieter, described as having a humming or murmuring quality. Pronunciation is mostly flat, with a firm downward emphasis on stressed syllables.

Amongst outsiders the doamun are often referred to as "the Forgotten Folk", because history and the vast majority of non-gnomes often totally overlook their existence.

In the Realms there is a form of short-hand sign language that developed amongst workers in noisier industries to quickly communicate basic, vital information using arm and hand gestures. Gnomes and halflings have both adopted this into their everyday speech when conversing amongst themselves, and are capable of adding extra information or carrying on two conversations at once (one verbally, one by sign). The two races also have a tendency to co-opt human slang and make their own variants while living in cities, so that they can “talk in front of humans without humans knowing all that’s said.”

Gnomes deliberately keep to themselves, to avoid the violence and other trouble that often seems to plague other races' societies. Due to their lack of enmity with any particular faction, and their dedication to political neutrality, they also make useful intermediaries when there's friction.

Some call gnomes cowards, which would be incorrect - gnomes have martial traditions and the willingness to use them if they must, it's simply that gnomes as a whole have absolutely no interest in territorial borders, or having land be considered "theirs," or wielding power. These social constructs are foreign and irrelevant to them. Gnomes are largely content to live in their towns and villages hidden away from the world. Humans have begun to shake this ages-old neutrality, however, as the never-ending expansion of human settlements has begun to encroach on the peace of gnomish homes.

This desire for peace and privacy is a factor in the fact that gnomes heavily favour the school of Illusion when it comes to magic.

Their lack of interest in riches and glory means that should a gnome achieve those things, the famous adventurer can expect to return to a nonplussed community that places no value on these things and sees them as just some guy. Maybe one with a head too big for their shoulders after spending too much time with the Big Folk.

-

Tidbits of overarching gnome culture:

Gnomes have a unique form of traditional dance called "slap-dancing" - the audience forms a ring around the dancer, and both they and the dancer slap the front of their upper thighs to form a syncopated beat between the steps.

Doamun history is an oral tradition, preserved by women in the form of traditional chants.

Gnomes are the master inventors of the realms, and have invented numerous clockwork gadgets. Including a kind of clamp that works as a toaster.

A birthday is a day to reflect on one's ancestors and departed loved ones while the individual is "still here" for another year. Visiting graves and telling the departed how you're doing is a common way to celebrate. (That doesn't mean there won't be a party though.)

While not on the same level as dwarves, gnomes can definitely hold their liquor.

The Doamun and the Hin ("halflings") appear to have had significant cultural exchange;

They both have the knowledge to concoct a very powerful painkiller called meerithaele. This drug is only used in the most circumstances, when the patient is suffering extreme physical trauma, or to ease the suffering of the dying.

When a gnome would count with their hands, as humans do with their fingers, they instead count the backs of their knuckles.

Apparently the Realms has a tradition of ancient magic based on runes, and the Doamun have their own form of it, but I can't find any more details. It's an old, dying art that most people know nothing about, even amongst the gnomes themselves.

Their famous philosophers include Nith Foelkor (884-929 DR) who wrote a treatise called Yoan Drae, roughly; "The life of a gnome." He posited that the only concrete truth of existence is what one perceives and feels.

Other traditions they share with the Hin include very similar wedding ceremonies:

While there are traditions for weddings, they're not that big a deal and the partners tend to invent their own customs, or at least their own spin on tradition, unique to themselves and their relationships. There is no standard dress for weddings, and the bridal veil is not a concept in their culture.

The traditional structure is as follows:

There will be an officiant, and the vows will be said in a setting of natural beauty - such as a glade or by a stream. The officiant will begin the wedding by beginning the "calling song", which will signal the couple to step forth - if it's a m/f couple then traditionally the groom will step forth, if it's a same-gender couple then the oldest of the pair is the first to step forward. These rules are not set in stone though, and the couple may chose to mix it up. There are many traditional calling songs, which are often customised to fit the couple. Sometimes couples write their own.

Once the two are standing face-to-face you have the usual "does anybody here object?" - It is not socially acceptable to actually object, unless there are legitimate legal issues (such as if this marriage is taking place in a realm/amongst a clan that doesn't recognise polygamy.) Naturally, many romantic dramas feature the romantic lead standing up and declaring their undying love at this point, but in reality that wouldn't be acceptable behaviour.

There will be a brief sermon on love and marriage, and a varying degree of religion, depending on how religious the couple/clan is. The couple exchange speeches they've written for each other (as before, either the groom or the eldest traditionally goes first).

The couple then spit on their left palms and raise them up to hold hands as the officiant begins a lucky chant to bless their wedding. The bodily fluid is usually spit, doesn't have to be - you could use tears of joy, or blood, for example. They will then embrace, kiss and exchange tokens. These tokens can be anything, including rings, though those are not the default.

Then the reception; dancing, music, food and then the couple goes off to enjoy some private time - said private time may be anything from planting a new seed as a symbolic ritual to going on some kind of quest/adventure together.

-

According to their creation stories, the first gnomes were born when Garl Glittergold came across a cavern rich with minerals. He breathed upon them, and they opened up to reveal the first gnomes.

Forest Gnomes The forstneblin live for around 400 years. They stand at a range of 2'1" - 2'10" tall and they none ever reach 3 feet, making them the smallest of the Doamun. They are the only gnomes that live almost exclusively above ground, and according to the creation myths were born from emeralds, which are sacred to them.

Forstneblin have made no mark whatsoever upon the history books, the most they've done is shut down logging companies and other incursions in their home forests, and even then their work and settlements are so well hidden by illusion magic that nobody realises they were there in the first place. Other defences include the local fauna, as forest gnomes put their innate ability to speak with animals to good use and use them as an information network. Nature and life are sacred to the gnomes, and clerics are as likely to have injured animals brought to them for healing as villagers.

They have no quarrel with or even a mistrust of outsiders, they simply do not believe that either party has anything to interest the other, so they don't make contact. When they do approach an outsider, they'll use illusions to pass themselves off as a member of the outsider's own race. They are shy in their interactions, but pleasant enough and easy to befriend, and when it comes to outsiders they generally get along best with the races whose cultures share their love of the natural world; other gnomes, elves, and halflings. Humans, they tend to be wary of, as human industry rarely keeps the welfare of the environment in mind.

Their communities are rarely more than 100 people strong, and are sustained through foraging and a small bit of hunting. The entire hamlet is carved inside the trunk of a still-living tree, carefully constructed so that they are hidden within the boughs and almost impossible to spot. The homes are spaced out enough to afford the occupants sufficient privacy, and all sport cylindrical windows to allow plenty of light in. Each home has a passage down into the earth below the tree-hamlet, where a communal chamber has been excavated as a public space.

Forest gnomes have a great respect for their elders. The leaders of these communities are the eldest gnome in them, and they have no divisions of labour based on gender; everybody is treated the same. This leader wields no authority, they are simply afforded respect and their advice is valued on account of their long life experience.

Religion is important in forest gnome society, and clerics and druids are common. Their patron deity is Baervan Wildwanderer, who has charged them with the protection of nature. The gnomes, who love said nature dearly, are incredibly grateful to the deity for entrusting them with this.

Childhood is a time to run wild and do as you like under the careful, but unobtrusive observation of one's elders, and children usually learn the ropes of adulthood simply by observing their parents.

The age of majority in forest gnome culture is 20 years old.

As with all gnomes, forest gnomes have a love for gemstones and enjoy crafting with them. Forstneblin jewellery often features motifs depicting the beauty of the natural world.

-

Rock Gnomes Despite not having an official name, we do have the pattern for the names of gnomish subraces, and the word for "rocks." I would hazard a guess it's Cammarneblin, though obviously that's a headcanon. Rock gnomes are associated with diamonds, and favour those sacred stones in their craftswork.

Their homes tend to be underground, in "burrows." If they live in a human city, they'll usually buy a house and start extending the basement (or make one, if none is available). Human cities with a significant gnome population may end up with some kind of underground warrens populated by the gnome community.

They live for 350-500 years, and stand between 3' - 3'6" tall. Rock gnome children have hair that can be any range of colour, including the ones seen on humans, or any other colour on the light spectrum - however their hair will begin to turn white or grey once they reach adulthood. Their skin comes in any shade of brown, although they don't tan or pale.

Rock gnomes are the most commonly encountered gnomes, and the ones you'll find in human cities (although the vast majority of them have no interest in living there).

Their culture places great emphasis on the importance of the journey over the destination. It's the learning and the joy of creation that makes things like jewelling, and gem cutting, and alchemy, and magic, and inventing so wonderful, not whatever the end product is - although it's certainly nice if that product is beneficial. Life itself is one big journey, and it is to be enjoyed as much as possible. Play is just as important as work, and if those can be the same thing then that's all the better.

As with their forest cousins, children are given free reign to explore the world at their own pace. While all young rock gnomes are expected to learn basic self-defence, and a useful trade, they're also encouraged to dabble and experiment until they find something that suits them. Youths are given a long time to explore what the world has to offer, and what they want from it, and rock gnomes aren't socially considered adults until they're 40. And then there's a party.

There is always a party. Rock gnomes do not need such silly things as reasons for parties, though a flimsy excuse can probably be found somewhere, if required. Said parties are wild, out of control, and may last for tendays. Part of the reason for that is that the rest of the time is spent working for tendays on end, and after stepping away from the workbench or the mine, working out what month it is and getting the cricks out of one's neck, what one really needs is clearly to blow off some steam.

Rock gnome religious philosophy holds that life and the world at large is a puzzle, meant for solving. The greatest joy lies in the study of that puzzle and the onward march of science.

While they hold great affection for their gods, attend services regularly, and often talk about them in daily conversation, they don't tend to be religious as a culture. To a rock gnome, the gods are present and reachable everywhere and always, and specific buildings and pomp and ceremony are just toys to wave around.

Prone to inquisitiveness and a highly sociable society (overly so by some people's standards), a common trait rock gnomes are infamous for is that They. Do Not. Shut Up. Ever.

They get along best with dwarves, who share their love of craft and creation; and halflings, who they share similarities like a love of a simpler life, home and family, and a good time. The fact that the Big Folk tend to literally and figuratively look down their noses at all three of them doesn't hurt either.

They are infamously bad cooks (rock gnome cuisine is either too bland or too salty), but their alcohol is considered excellent. They also make rock candy. Between their skill as brewers, their love of fun, and the dedication gnome musicians have to their crafts, gnomes are the best guests or hosts you can have for a good time. You are, however, entirely to blame for whatever shenanigans happen if you get drunk with them.

They're also the inventors of the firearm (gunnes), and the only people who've mastered their use. It is in fact common to find a rock gnome bearing a pistol.

-

Deep Gnomes The the shortest lived of the gnomes, with an average lifespan of up to 260 years. They stand between 3' - 3'6" tall, and tend towards a scrawny frame, sometimes described as "gnarled". They look like they're made of bone and sinew, although said sinew is actually a significant amount of muscle mass and deep gnomes are heavier than they look (average; 45lbs). Their skin takes on tones of earth and rock; brown, grey or brown-grey. AMAB svirfneblin do not grow hair on their scalps, and AFAB gnomes grow stringy dark grey hair (which may be dark enough to seem black). Likewise their eyes are dark grey to black.

According to legend, the deep gnomes were born of rubies, and prize those best.

The reality of survival in the Underdark means that deep gnomes are far more reserved and practical than their cousins. Their society functions on strict male and female gender roles, with each work force answering to the King and Queen respectively. The men make up the miners and the armies, and are responsible for expanding city limits, trade, and other vocations that require leaving their carefully hidden homes. The women take on the roles of maintaining their settlement and society; the water and food, fishing and farming, city services and maintenance, crafting, raising and educating the children, etc. Women rule inside the city, and men outside of it. It is possible to find svirfneblin outside of these roles, but it is very rare.

Their governments are monarchies, with the monarchs being advised by a council of elders. The monarchs are elected from amongst the city (anybody is eligible, but status within the community plays a large part), and rule only by the consensus of their people - deep gnome communities must be able to trust each other and cooperate to survive so deep into the earth, there is no room for selfish tyrants. Everybody has their place and their role, and everybody does it so that all may live. Kings and Queens are not necessarily married, though it is possible for a married couple to both be elected or for a governing pair to get married on the job. Regardless, these are simply jobs, and no relationship between the two is inherently involved.

Despite their practicality and apparent sullenness, the deep gnomes do not lack for creativity. They love gemstones and take joy in working with them to create art as much as any gnome; it's for the sake of their craft and the gems that they came to and remain in the Underdark.

Each svirfneblin settlement is unique in its design - featuring anything from smooth rectangular cuts to undulating waves and curves in artistic places. Their cities are well fortified fortresses, built near mineral veins. Homes are carved into the walls of the cavern, consisting of a series of small rooms with windows overlooking the city. The rich gnomes live in hollowed out stalagmites. Cities are much larger than the homes of other gnomes, often hosting over a thousand residents. As light and heat could give away their location, the deep gnomes simply don't use any such thing. They navigate purely by darkvision, and their world exists only in greyscale. On that same note, sound also carries, so these civilisations tend to be eerily quiet compared to what one expects from a lived in settlement.

Deep gnomes don't bother with keeping history or tracking the passage of time. The closest they get are two holy days; the Festival of the Star in winter, and the Festival of the Ruby in summer. The festivals celebrate the svirfneblin ancestral ties to the surface world, as well as their descent into and continued survival in the Underdark.

Naturally, they don't trust their Underdark neighbours, not any outsider really. The common practice of slavery disgusts them, and they would rather not deal with any society that partakes in it. Nevertheless, they are willing to engage in careful trade when required for survival, and Underdark trade being dominated by the drow, interactions with the dark elven merchant clans are a necessary evil. Surfacers tend to assume that svirfneblin are the "evil counterparts" to surface gnomes - as duergar to dwarves, or drow to elves - and respond to them with similar hostility and violence. Even if they're not assumed to be evil, deep gnomes are so used to being on guard for danger from strangers that they're sullen and suspicious of anyone they don't know, and many people write them off as rude and miserable.

Amongst themselves, deep gnomes tend to be warm and affectionate, and they're fully willing to adopt friends into this circle once they've proven safe to trust. When one of the community betrays their neighbours they will be brought before the monarch and council - whether it's the king and male advisors who presides over the proceedings, or the queen with her female advisors, depends on if the crime took place outside or inside the city. Rehabilitation of the offender is preferred, and punishments escalate in severity from shunning, to incarceration, banishment or execution. If banishment is the punishment then the exile will be armed and given supplies in the hope that they won't die. If the offender is deemed a security risk then banishment will not be considered.

Svirfneblin children are treasured and doted upon. Once they start puberty they will begin their apprenticeship, and at about 20 they will be considered an adult. There is no celebration or any note of the occasion; you know you're an adult when you graduate and start working. There is no retirement age, you work until you die. Gnomes live with their parents until they get married, at which point they'll move out.

Their lives aren't devoid of joy - the priesthoods are responsible for morale, and often declare an impromptu holiday when they feel the people need cheering up. Clerics of Segojan Earthcaller, god of the deep earth and the dead, also take on the task of caring for the elderly.

Deep gnomes tend to come across many lost, ancient magical artefacts in their excavations, and cities tend to preserve these treasures.

Their books tend to be crafted from lizard-skin and bioengineered fungi cultivated for the purpose. Svirfneblin fashion tends to sport a lot of gems and jewellery. Due to the lack of fire, they don't tend to cook. Fungi, raw fish and rothé meat all feature heavily in their diet, and most outsiders find their cuisine unbearably salty. They have two unique beverages; a unique, nameless brew made from fermented fish, and Gogondy which is a crimson wine made of... something, and apparently includes crushed rubies amongst the ingredients. Drinking it is said to induce visions, and is likely to knock you out after a few mouthfuls.

[icallhimjoey]

Picture this: y/n comes home very drunk from a night out with her girlfriends and is trying to jump his bones the whole time while Joe is taking off her make up, giving her water, and changing her into comfy pajamas 🥰

just in time for halloween, i themed this request for all of my spooky babes (a little, it's whatever) enjoy! Wordcount: 2K

----

Soft Hands

“Fuck. So, none of them fit?” you said, speech slurred slightly, giving your set of keys another double take. You tried to focus your eyes extra hard on them properly, again. Then you gave it another go, holding a key you knew wasn’t meant for this lock, but, maybe it was, you know? Couldn’t hurt to at least give it a little try.

Joe was laid out on the sofa, TV displaying a random Halloween film that was on with its volume turned low, his attention mostly on the phone in his hands.

He’d heard you from the moment the taxi doors had opened, filling your quiet street with loud girly screeches that shouted drunken heartfelt goodbyes and laughed when you had tried to slam the door shut, but missed the door entirely with your hands. You’d already committed your body weight into it and practically launched yourself onto the pavement. One of your friends had to then also climb out to make sure you were okay and had to drag you away from the car by your arms, so they’d be able to drive off without catching any of your limbs under the tires.

You were all giggles and swirly vision, which was ultimately why you’d tried to open your front door with the wrong keys.

After finally locating the right key, missing the lock with it about six times, suddenly, it fit, and you stumbled into your flat.

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself as he’d listened to you muttering swearwords under your breath outside on the doormat, eyes still glued to his phone.

He hadn’t gotten up to help but had instead been curious how long it was going to take you, gaging how drunk you were before he’d even laid eyes on you.

“Hands up, it’s the– it’s the police,” you spoke into your flat after slamming the door shut behind you and you heard Joe snicker from the sofa.

“Eddie, you’re a wanted fu– fugitive, give yourself–” you hiccuped as you slowly took careful steps into the living room, trying your very best to remain steadily on your feet.

“Give yourself up to the law,” it was difficult to remain stood up with your arms unable to help you balance yourself as you held out a plastic toy gun that scanned the room before it landed with its barrel pointed at Joe.

“Hopper...” Joe said from his spot on the sofa in an American accent as if he was stood face to face with his arch enemy.

Then he paused for just a second before laughing loudly and exclaiming, “Your full bum is out!”

It took you a second too long to pan your eyes down, noticing how your skirt had fully run up over your cheeks, exposing your underwear through your sheer tights.

You huffed a laugh at the look of it.

“Oh,” was all you could say before sloppily trying to straighten your outfit, but it was to no avail. You wanted to get out of it, anyway.

“Did you have fun?” Joe put his phone down and grinned at your messy hair, the aviator sunglasses all tangled up on top of your head, and Joe thought back to how just hours earlier you’d been faffing at it for ages with your straightener.

It had been a while since Joe’d seen you like this, a full mess of a girl.

You’d been stupidly excited for Halloween this year, but your boyfriend hadn’t been. For obvious reasons. Not in the mood to pose for a million photos with people dressed like Eddie Munson, he’d decided to just stay in for the night and maybe hand over some sweets if kids were to ring your doorbell.

You’d been all pouty and sulky about it – “Come on, dress up as Eddie yourself, no one will assume it’s actually you! – and even tried convincing him to come along by dressing up as a stupidly slutty sheriff, overdoing it completely.

Like you were meant to, on Halloween.

When your friends had picked you up earlier that evening, you'd pointed at your boyfriend and confidently said, "Don't wait up," before immediately regretting it, laughing, and saying, "No please wait up, I'm going to get so drunk.”

You'd been right.

When you’d stopped sending Joe pictures of you with random people dressed as Stranger Things characters and instead, had started trying to Facetime him, he knew it was only because you were too far gone to text coherently.

 “I got hit on tonight,” you replied to Joe’s question giddily, almost erratic, like you’d revealed a very exciting secret and stalked your way towards him.

“Did you?” Joe chuckled, still in the same relaxed position on the sofa, legs outstretched along the seats, moving them apart slightly as you got closer, bracing for impact.  

“I did,” you smiled until your eyes went squinty, so pleased with yourself for it.

“Everyone loved sexy Jim Hopper,” you let yourself fall onto Joe.

“Sexy Jim Hopper got a lot of free drinks tonight,” you sighed heavily, the alcohol thick on your breath, and you pressed your face into Joe’s chest. You could just go to sleep right there.

“Mmh, well,” Joe mused as he gave you a squeeze. “Sexy Jim Hopper smells like it too, come on,” Joe patted you on the bum, urging you to get up off of him as he tried to sit up himself.

You didn’t do anything to help him, eyes already closed, making Joe grunt loudly as he fought against the bodyweight of the two of you. He continued to push you back up onto your feet before guiding you to the bathroom by your shoulders.

Joe ended up having to curl his arm around you to open the bathroom door, because when you reached it, you just stood in front of it and held your toy gun in your hands, pressed up to the side of your face.

When the door swung open, you stretched your arms out and as you did, the toy slipped from your hands and loudly clanged as it landed in the tub.

“Jesus Chr– how many times have you done that tonight?” Joe ducked down and flinched in reaction to the sudden loud noises. You just gave him a dumb smile, remembering the amount of times you’d scurried across the length of the several bars and pubs you’d visited to retrieve your prop.

“Guns can be a weapon in more ways than the obvious one,” you tapped a finger to your temple as if you were feeding Joe a crumb of great wisdom. If you’d said it any slower, you’d have been talking backwards.

Joe pulled down the lid to the toilet seat and made you sit on it. He then reached for your toothbrush, dotted on a bit of toothpaste, and turned back to see you slumped back, head hanging totally unsupported, and your eyes closed.

“Baby, come on,” Joe said, not getting a reaction out of you. He looked at you a second, reached a hand over, hesitated for a moment, and then went for it anyway.

Hunching over you, he grabbed your cheeks in his hand and squeezed his fingers together until your mouth opened. He was ready to brush your teeth for you like you were a toddler. You whined loudly, frowned deeply, and smacked his hand away before he could, though.

It resulted in your toothbrush falling from Joe’s hand and landing face down onto the tiles.

“What are you–” Joe started, then sighed, frustration building.

“Bed,” you moaned, reaching out to use Joe for leverage as you wanted to get back up on your feet.

“No, no. I remember you specifically telling me that I wasn’t allowed to let you fall asleep in your make-up,” Joe pushed you back down before reaching for your toothbrush and tossing it into the sink.

As his face moved closely in front of you, you suddenly grabbed hold of it with both hands, your grip entirely too strong for it to be cute or endearing. You squished his cheeks together, leaving his mouth a funny shape that you pressed a few rough pecks onto.

“Look at this man,” you said, and let your frown grow deeper as your grip became stronger.

You wanted to crush him like you’d want to squeeze cute kittens, entirely unable to handle the overwhelming feeling of adoration you felt.

“So handsome.”

Joe wrapped your hands into his own softly and then slowly pried them off him before pressing a kiss onto your lips. Drunk you had a weird way of showing affection, but Joe was kind of into it and he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged on his cheeks.

“I’ve been saying it all night,” you said, head now falling back against the wall behind you as you watched Joe reach for your make-up wipes.

“No thanks, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Thanks for the drink, I’ve got a handsome boyfriend. Shame my boyfriend’s not here, he’s very handsome.”

“Eyes closed,” Joe said, now holding a still folded wipe in his palm and when you closed your eyes, he swiped it across your cheeks with an incredibly careful touch.

“No,” you corrected him and pressed his hand harshly into your face. “More pressure, soft hands,” Joe huffed a laugh at the given nickname. 

Joe obliged, but when it came to your eyes, he didn’t want to hurt you. With soft downstrokes over your lashes, Joe wasn’t getting rid of any mascara or any eyeliner.

"Your hands, they're too soft!" you whined in annoyance before taking over, rubbing harshly at your eyes over the wet fabric.

“Careful!” Joe directed. “We’re removing the make-up, not your actual eyes,” and you giggled until it made you go floppy.

It took entirely too long, and way too much effort to eventually untangle the sunglasses from your hair, get you out of your outfit and miraculously to also brush your teeth.

When Joe finally announced that he was going to take you to bed, you’d wiggled two tired eyebrows at him suggestively.

“Oh yea? What’s my handsome boyfriend going to do to me?” you tried your best to be seductive, failing miserably in your drunken haze, barely able to carry yourself into your bedroom.

“Your tired boyfriend is going to make sure you don’t get any sick on the sheets or choke on your vomit,” he said, pushing you into your bedroom by the shoulders like he’d gotten you over into the bathroom earlier too.

“No, you’re so boring, I didn’t dress like that all night for you to just go to sleep,” you said, hands reaching behind you to grab at his crotch. Joe only narrowly managed to avoid them.

The second you saw the bed, though, you were gone. Plummeting into the pillows, you didn’t even bother getting under the covers properly.

So, Joe helped, slinging your legs into the bed, pulling the covers over you, placing a bucket down next to you alongside a tall glass of water on your bedside table with a painkiller carefully placed next to it for when you’d wake up the next morning.

When he got into bed next to you, Joe was surprised when you moved over closer to him as he got comfortable.

“Come here,” you said with your eyes closed, and Joe wasn’t sure if you were still awake, or talking in your sleep.

“Get it up here near my face, I’ll suck you off,” and Joe paused to look at you, a laugh stuck in his throat, ready to slip out at a moment’s notice, but then he swallowed it when he saw that you’d truly fallen asleep now.

“Sleep tight,” Joe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist, fingers curling 'round the side of it and nuzzling into you before letting himself drift off to sleep as well.

-----

(yea i added that pic after the portland '24 con bc of what he said, sue me)

-----

The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @nobody-000 @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @thefemininemystiquee @dirtyeddietini - add yourself  

[mstornadox]

Watching Death and Other Details is like watching a really long video demonstrating change blindness mashed up with The Glass Onion and The Imposters, with a dash of The Talented Mr. Ripley and a big scoop of Agatha Christie. The geographic settings and time period clues (and fashions!) are deliberately vague, even in the ads for the show. I thought it would be set in the 1920s. When the show began, I revised it to the 1950s. And then a kid shows up live-streaming on his phone. There is an English estate somehow located in Seattle, Washington. Rufus’s accent is not consistent. So many British actors speaking with a flat 1950’s American accent.

After watching 5 episodes, I have embraced the aesthetic and am along for the ride.

I am low-key hoping that a person in a gorilla suit will randomly walk through a scene.

However. I’m crossing my fingers that it sticks the landing like The Glass Onion instead of becoming The Imposters. The latter’s cast and crew seemed to have a lot of fun making it, but it sure sucked to be in the audience.

If it sucks, I’ll just have to revisit a murder mystery about a ship that is excellent—A Restless Truth by Freya Marske.

[lilwenney]

single will has me feeling a type of ~ way ~ so pls write something of a first date to help me get through this

lemme cook here.

this, but it's a blind date.

his producer abygail brought it up, mostly as a joke, late one night while they were all stuck in the office. mikey had cracked some joke about how they could make a video of will's (less than successful) dates that was quickly shot down, but abygail was more serious when she said "i should set you up with my friend, she's cute, i think you would like her."

and will, who had been out on two dates in the past month that were less than ideal, kept it in mind. he needed to get out more, go somewhere else that wasn't the studio, office, or his empty flat. so before he packed up to go home, he stopped by abygail's desk and asked if she had her friend's number. she did, she gave her friends a heads up via text, and then gave will the number.

you had woke up the next morning to a few social media notifications, and two missed texts. one text from your friend abygail, and one from an unknown number. you checked the text from abygail first.

trying to set you up with someone again. giving will your number.

all you could do was roll your eyes and laugh. abygail, along with the rest of your friend group from university, had a tendency to try and set you up with any single guy they met. you were the last one of the group without a boyfriend, and it wasn't because they didn't have a say in it.

you shot abygail a quick text back before opening the other text from an unknown number. the text was introducing himself, telling her that abygail had tossed out the idea to him and he decided to go for it, asking if you wanted to go out for a drink with him.

you had only heard about will from abygail - from when she landed the job as his producer and then from any general funny stories she had from working at the office or while traveling. but you didn't know anything else about him - what he looked like, where he was from. you barely had a general idea of what he done for a living.

"just tell me you didn't get me up with an absolute loser," you begged abygail as you swiped on a layer of lipgloss in your mirror in preparation to leave to meet will.

"he's not a loser, i promise," she said through a laugh. "he's funny and can be really sweet, and he's cute, so that's a plus too."

you double checked your purse before looking up at her and nodding. "let's just hope you didn't change your standards since the last time i checked." and she just laughed and shoved you out the door of the flat.

you met will in stratford. as you approached him standing outside, waiting for you to arrive, you cursed abygail for not introducing the two of you sooner. fuck, he's cute was the only thing running through your head. abygail's standards didn't drop after all.

so you tried to play it cool all night. you two greeted each other with formalities and a hug before heading inside, taking the elevator floors up to the restaurant bar, and you wound up outside on the terrace with drinks downed between you both.

will was cute, but he was also funny, he had an accent that you adored, and you were able to flow through conversation with him like it was nothing. and will had to admit that he thought you were so attractive that it almost made him nervous, like he was swinging way out of his league, but when he had you giggling, he relaxed.

abygail had done good for the both of you.

standing on the edge of the terrace, leaned against the railing as the wind nipped at skin that wasn't covered by will's jacket. he lent the jacket to you when he noticed you shiver at the night wind, and you caught the scent of his cologne on the material.

"i wish she had something sooner, would've saved me a lot of absolutely horrendous dates." you told will after he said he wanted to text abygail and thank her for the idea.

"you too? fuck," will chuckled as he turned to you. "thank you for coming with me, when you didn't have to."

you could see the sincerity in his eyes as he looked at you and you calmed your racing heart with a nod.

"i'm glad i came," you told him. "i just, uh, i hope i didn't run you off with all the stories i've spilled tonight."

he shook his head and leaned off the railing, taking a small step towards you. your eyes followed him, head tilted back as he hovered over you.

"don't think you can run me off, especially not after you didn't say anything when i told you i have a tattoo of a bloody f1 car." he said with a grin and you laughed.

"i thought it was cute, you and your little race car..."

"oh yeah?" he teased, a hand reaching up to touch your face.

"yeah," your laugh continued as you tilted your chin forward, a signal that he caught onto with ease, and will leaned down, meeting you in the middle with you on your tippy-toes for a kiss that sealed the fate for the rest of the night. and even a little longer, too.

[cr1mson5returns]

I fell down a sudden and spiky rabbit hole wondering where exactly in my home state of Kansas the fictional town of Smallville is supposed to be. I checked the DC Wiki for comic book information and got nothing. Kinda pissed me off, because I didn't want to have to randomly assign a plot of land to Smallville. But when I checked the Smallville Wiki (TV series Smallville, that is), I found out that the show gave it the zip code which corresponds to Chase, KS. Chase is in Rice County, which is a few hours west of Wichita on the highways, putting it pretty solidly in South Central Kansas.

And guys.....as a bitch who was born and raised in South Central Kansas, you have to know that we're some characters out here. I can't speak for Rice County, never lived there, but there's this hilarious smattering of accents scattered about the south central part of the state. Some people have that flat Midwestern/Wichita way of speaking, where you can almost pretend they're not Midwestern if they didn't unironically say "lemme just squeeze by ya" so much. But other people have that Rural Kansas drawl that isn't quite as Southern as you can hear the closer you get to the Ozarks, and despite that you'd still be able to pick them out in a crowded room because they sound a touch out of place amongst everybody else. They say "color" like "collar" and talk about "y'all down on Green Street" and they warsh their clothes while they're drawling some pictures. And that's just the way we talk, don't even get me started on the very rigidly Baptist morality and the tense feelings about whether we should even root for the Kansas City Chiefs since they're Missouri's team, anyway.

Armed with this knowledge and context, I present to all of you: Clark Kent who hauled hay in severe thunderstorm warnings as a teenager because fuck, it had to get done somehow and half the time the National Weather Service was just being cautious. Clark who learned to drive at age 12 on the farm and the county sheriff saw fit not to ticket him when he was 14 and took Pa's truck into town to pick up some last-minute ingredients for a birthday cake at the store. Clark who went to Wichita State for a journalism degree and thought Wichita was a big city and complained about the stupid ass layout of the streets between clearly historic districts and newer developments. Clark who got on a domestic flight at Eisenhower Intercontinental Airport and took off for Metropolis intent on getting out of Bumfuck Nowhere. Clark who comes back to Smallville when it's all too much because the city's great, and Lois and Jimmy and everyone else are just as great, but Kansas has the most beautiful full moon nights and not as much light pollution on the horizon, and he can fly through the Flint Hills and pretend he's a kid again and things aren't so noisy and weird and terrifying.

[saphira5]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Civilian Reader

The harsh cold winds blow y/n long curly black hair behind y/n.

Y/n stands in open hanger, looking out into the snowy covered landscape, y/n body is blooded and bruised. Y/n shoulder is slowly bleeding out from a knife in it. Y/n looks left and right, y/n can't see a thing because of the harsh winds and snow. Y/n could see the snow piling up, "I need to move".

Y/n had to puncture y/n jacket to fit the knife, y/n knew you shouldn't take out the knife because y/n would bleed out. Y/n begins walking through the snow, the winds hitting y/n face. Y/n couldn't feel the cold anymore. Y/n walks and walks, y/n couldn't see anything or hear anything. Then y/n slips, you land on y/n butt, you look to see what made y/n fall.

Y/n sees frozen water, y/n stands up and keeps on walking.

Suddenly the harsh winds stopped, the snow fell very lightly. Y/n looks straight out into the distance, y/n only sees frozen water and small and large glaziers sticking out from the frozen water. "It must be a lake, or the ocean".

Y/n begins running on the ice, y/n chest hurts from the harsh cold air in y/n lungs. Y/n eyes, ear, nose and mouth are hurting from the cold. Y/n then sees something out in the distance. A black object moving towards y/n. You stop and lays down flat, behind a small glacier, y/n tries to be inconspicuous. The wind then begins to pick up a bit, the wind carries a single voice your way.

"This is Bravo Six, go head", "a British accent!" y/n hears them getting closer and closer. Y/n then hears something in the distance, y/n turns to look left.

Y/n sees a tank heading y/n way, you stand up.

Y/n looks forward and y/n sees a group of soldiers. They all have shocked expressions on their faces, y/n then begins running toward the tank. "Y/N", "how does he know my name", you keep running to the tank. A loud bang then goes off, y/n stops and looks at the tank. Y/n then hears a loud crack, y/n turns and sees a big hole in the ice. Y/n sees the soldiers crouching behind the ice glacier y/n was laying behind.

They have their weapons pointed at the tank; y/n then sees the ice beginning to split. Y/n turns and looks at the tank, y/n makes a fist, then y/n punches the ice. The ice then begins breaking into pieces quickly. Y/n looks up and sees the tank fall into the frizzing water.

Y/n then turns and looks at the soldiers, "from the UK".

They all stand up, y/n takes a step back, you are carful with falling into the frozen water below. "Y/n, its ok", y/n looks at a man with a black balaclava and a skull mask.

"How do you now my name", he takes off the balaclava. Y/n eyes go wide then y/n runs to him and hug him tight. "SIMON", he hugs y/n tight, he puts his head in between y/n neck and shoulder. You both stay like that for a while until y/n hears a cough.

Y/n then feels something under the ice, y/n pushes Simon.

He falls on his butt a couple of feet away from you. He looks at y/n with shock, y/n looks down then at Simon y/n smiles at him. Then y/n goes through the ice, y/n stay there for a bit. Letting the water chill y/n bones, y/n embraces the coldness and then y/n is out like a light. You wake up gasping for air, y/n looks around. Y/n looks the left hoping for Simon, but he isn't there.

Y/n stands ups and walks to the living room, y/n moves the curtain aside, y/n opens the glass sliding door. Y/n steps out into the cool air, y/n stands on the baloney looking out to the ocean. The sky starting to brighten with each passing minute.

Y/n begins thinking about the things that had happen since y/n kidnapping.

"Simon and the 141 had found out about y/n past, a HYDRA super soldier. Hydra had kidnapped y/n, you escaped and meet Simon and his team. When we all return home y/n was arrested by Kate Laswell, y/n was interrogated and tortured. They kept asking "why are you here in the Uk", "what is you mission". "Who is your handler". Y/n remained silent for the entire year y/n was there in that room. One day the captain of the 141 walks in, he pulls up a chair and seats in front of y/n. You were strapped to a chair, with a mask on y/n face. He looks at y/n and you look at him. He has a neutral expression on his face, but y/n can see he was hurting. "You were a soldier for the UK. "Queen Elizabethe Dog", they called you, y/n was never an enemy to the UK are any other country across the globe. Only HYDRA". He looks at y/n for answers, but y/n remain silent. He then stands up and release the straps holding y/n down. Y/n stands up quickly and y/n takes the mask off. Y/n then walks to the door but before y/n disappears you say. "Take care of Simon", y/n then walks out and y/n heads to Scottland where y/n old friend home is. He had passed away a couple of years ago, he wanted y/n to take care of his home".

Y/n wished Simon was here but the way he treated y/n after he found out what y/n was. It had hurt y/n so much, y/n wished you could go back in time and tell him the truth. But Simon didn't tell y/n about him being a soldier or about his family. Y/n found out from HYDRA, but y/n understood, you would wait for however long for him to open up to y/n. You had hoped he would do the same, but he didn't.

[mushiewrites]

The Nail Polish Ficlet

I wrote this purely because @awkwardtickleetoo + I painted our nails and I randomly sprouted this idea. That's it. That's the only explanation for this. Enjoy! :3 💅🏻

(lee!Dream / ler!George / ler!Karl : 920 words)

“I actually like this. This looks so cool!” Dream smiled down at his hands as Karl screwed the cap back onto the bottle of black nail polish, the grin on his face letting the blonde know he was pleased with his work. 

“I told you that you’d like it! It’s fun, right?” Karl watched as Dream stood up and walked towards a light in the living room, wanting to get a better look at them.

“What’s fun?” Dream heard the accent in the voice behind him, smiling as George made his way down the steps to the living room, turning to give him a smile. He turned his attention back to his hands, admiring the way the nail polish complimented his rings. 

“Look George, Karl did my- whahah?!” The blonde jolted forward as he felt a squeeze on his left side, quickly taking a few steps forward before he turned around to glare at the attacker. George was smirking back at him, slowly taking the same steps Dream had just made, making the younger boy break out into panicked giggles.

“No! Noho, George! Y-You’re gonna make mehehe mess them up!” He continued to move backwards until he felt his back hit a wall, glancing to both sides of him and finding himself trapped between a table and the fireplace. He was stuck with nowhere to go, and with nothing to do besides try and convince the brunette to spare him.

“Oh goodness me, you’re right! I would never want to mess up your pretty nails, darling!” The elder spoke with thick sarcasm, smiling as he continued to step towards Dream until there was absolutely no possible way for him to escape. The tone of George’s voice amplified the feeling of nervousness in Dream, making him giggle and turning his cheeks a rosy pink. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he shook his head quickly, holding his arms out in front of him in the hopes he could somehow stop George blindly.

“You’re lyihihing! I knohow you’re gonna- nohoho, please don’t!” He was thrown into another round of high pitched laughter, trying his best to keep his arms to his sides and his hands to his chest as George poked around Dream’s torso. When the older boy began poking at his lower stomach the blonde squealed and threw his head back, his laughter booming as he tried to bat away George’s hands.

“Ooo, don’t mess them up!” George spoke in a high pitched voice, clearly amused with the way Dream was twisting away from him in different directions after each poke. 

“Okay I have to get a closer look at this, he’s being too cute.” Dream heard Karl’s voice growing closer, opening his eyes to see the smaller boy make his way over to George and stand beside him, watching the older boy take him apart in the most ticklish ways.

“Nohoho, Karl, hehehelp mehe! H-hehe’s gohonna ruin thehem!” He pleaded with Karl, trying to gain sympathy by mentioning his nails. Both boys laughed as a poke landed a little too close to his hip, making him bark out a louder squeal. 

“Come on, gorgeous, just a little longer okay? I wanna see you laugh.” Dream opened his mouth to protest but was cut off with his own bubbly laughter. George began using both pointer fingers to push slightly into the sides of his tummy, quickly but gently wiggling his fingers and sending Dream into borderline hysterics. 

“NAHAHA p-plehehease! I cahahan’t anymohohore!” Dream had his hands gripping opposite shoulders, trying to keep his hands flat against them in an attempt to not hit his fingers on anything in his struggles.

“Alright cutie, I guess I’ll help you now,” Karl giggled again as he poked at George’s side twice, causing him to yelp and fling himself backwards, his arms crossed over his torso and hands over both of his sides. The curly haired boy turned back to Dream, who was still lost in his giggles. “And thanks for being so sweet, for me.” 

“You’re both idiots.” George complained from a few feet away, pretending to be annoyed as he rubbed his hands up and down his sides.

“Yeah, and you’re a ticklish idiot.” Karl smirked as he watched George turn bright red, opening his mouth a few times to try and respond but finding that the words were trapped in his throat.

“W-Whatever, idiots. I’m getting food.” The brunette pulled out his phone as he turned to walk out of the room and into the kitchen. 

Dream let out a sigh of relief, turning to go and sit on the couch. He jumped forward with a yelp when he suddenly felt two pointer fingers taser into his sides, laughing as he spun around and found himself looking eye to eye with Karl.

“Karl, whahat the hell? Y-You’re supposed to behehe on my side! You’re the one who painted them, don’t you wahant them to stahay nice?” The blonde whined through his giggles, checking his nails quickly to make sure they were still perfectly smooth. 

“I know! Which means I can fix them, too,” Karl smirked menacingly, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers towards Dream. “I’d run if I were you.”

The blonde turned on his heels and sprinted out of the living room, laughing hysterically as Karl chased after him, teasing him as he went. And if Dream got caught and his nails were completely ruined, he didn’t really mind. 

Afterall, Karl was right - he could always fix them.

[x-heesy]

𝚂𝚠𝚊𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝙸𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚢 🇮🇹

Hey

Mixer T, there

PK

I jump on Italian rap like a trampoline

Brother, I've been at it for a while, you scream

She gets wet when I rhyme

To do it better I found the algorithm

The flow weighs one kilo

Like the Migos necklaces

I'll smoke you in one hit

You're a Chilum in the park, I ride it with the widest filter

Then I enter precisely, bro, archery on the sample

When I hear you you're like the wind if I'm turning it around

No, I don't feel like a deaf man sleeping

Bro, I win gold, platinum and silver

With her in the hotel, bro, more stars than Hokuto

I go, straight cash like Coccoluto

Her pussy is Newton's apple

I smoke it whole bro in a minute (wooo!)

We are artists

We seem happy but then we're sad (hey)

We write records (ha!)

These rappers go home then diss us (wooo!)

I have the black box, you a package (ha ha!)

I'm a goal in the final with the heel

With you it's like boxing with the bag

When I hear your music it comes down to me

I don't care if it sounds good or if it sells

We are us and we don't change anything

We are us and we don't change anything

Emme!

I smoke from morning to night, bro

I'm having dinner with my girlfriend

Crazy panther kitten, bro

Guajira Guantanamera

I'm going up the stream

Brother, no, no, I don't have a dick, I have a propeller

His face white, hungry, anemic

Fievel landing in America

Sometimes, sometimes I inhale such a quantity that I pass out

I watch her ass go, they are so high that it seems like they are going up

You're on a pedal toilet

What a toilet, what a rate, with an ass that looks like a hexagon

Maybe it was better if you remained a bachelor

It's getting late, let's talk, I'm running bro!

I'll take a shot of ice cream, bro

Then I smile at you like a triceratops

Wanted flow machine gun, bro (hey)

Matrix change I'm regenerating it (hey, hey, hey, hey)

Die of envy, yes, you are triggered (seh)

Bad language, the beat is eviscerated

The feat is refined, the drink is mixed

What a fucking life, bro, I was a hermit! (em!)

By work, bro, I'm still a rapper

Even though I'm handsome, I'm an influencer

We are us and we don't change anything

We are us and we don't change anything

Ouch, ouch, tremble when you hear Lebon on the mic (Lebon on the mic)

Alright, 24/7, all night (all night)

When do you make wheat? Tomorrow (yep)

I'm Jimmy Iovine bro (yep)

Without the styles where do you go? Goodbye

God gave me the flow, he said 'go (go, go, go)

I do not know how

You don't know what

You know it well

That you are not what

You can make foam

You're a soda girl

A slap on the head when you're posing (pshh)

Music is a drug (hey)

And I always have the best one

Moment, moment, moment

I rock anyway and the microphone is off

I sing and you can't hear the accent

And you don't hear the jungle until I turn it on

Well done, take the bulldozers against the blacks and the Vatussi

I swear I can't do it like you do (yeah)

I should sell envelopes at Russian weddings

And be in the red like the Tunes (wooo!)

Life as an artist is sad, especially if you live in Italy

How to get a flat earther pregnant and raise her kids in Australia

It's like a prison, they condemned you

You want an hour of air, but conditioned

Out of the box forever

We are us, we don't change anything (Ah!)

Esagono (Hexagon) (feat. Salmo) by Gemitaiz, MadMan, Salmo @ombrabrontok @luna---zylum @bigbonzo @boanerges20 @faccaldo 🤌🏾🤌🏾🤌🏾

[darkhorse-javert]

Anthony 'Tonk-Tonk’ Roberts (Blind Dates OC)

This might be a bit of a cheat @blind-dates-fest (?), as I have written about this character before, and in passing in some of my fic. But here's another whole peice from his perspective.

Late Summer 1945 France

The flat land is plain and simple, smooth fields, distinguised from from England by the beautifully lined trees on some of the roads, otherwise it isn't really that different. Strange how feral and dangerous it had been only two years ago. Music reaches his ears and he realises he's humming again, very softly. Clair de Lune. Well, safer than La Marseillaise used to be, or God forbid, one of the favoured songs from the Mess. How often in the blind terror of needing to be quiet, had those got stuck in his head, and he'd had to swallow them back.

A wall rises in front of them, and the bus draws up. The conductor stands and calls out clearly, "Nouvion, Messieurs and Mesdames, Nouvion."

It's a sudden shock, the word pronounced so clearly, in the French accent. He climbes to his feet and pulls down the haversack, joining the exodus down the centre aisle. He climbs down the steps and stills. I'm here

A French bark of annoyance behind him and an elbow jolts him forwards, so he stumble walks through the arch. this time he stops with his back to the town wall.

It's all here, exactly the same as it had been. The fountain, the spindly trees- those look better than he remembers actually - the shops, that shabby little blue awning over the cafe, even the cobbles have barely changed.

No, there's one different thing. He crosses the square to the statue set in the dip in the wall. It is Him, the cafe owner, as to the very life, even holding out a menu.

'E is Msuir Rene" a woman's voice says in heavily accented English "E 'Nighthawk' in La Resistance in La Guerre. 'E very brave."

"Yes He helped me in the War." He tries to say in French, knows it comes out garbled, more broken than he wants. He can at least ask. Monsieur Rene, is he alive?" He's had one of the exiles drill that question into his head, the sylabelles rote.

The woman nods and waves to the building they are next to "Yes, yes "'E iz alive. 'e run the Café."

He turns with her guesture. The painted name is proud on the front. Café Réné. Here at last.

He bows slightly to the woman "Merci, Madame." Now if i remember, he weaves through the little tables and their woven chairs, then pushes open the door.

The bell clatters it's warning as he steps inside,and the black and white back of the broad man behind the bar turned, revealing Monsuir Rene in his long plainfaced, slightly portly way. Still the same

"Good Afternoon"- the man called in French "You would like a table?"

These phrases he knows easily, knows through the repetition of the months living here, and hearing them day in day out. Even if they are now spoken more quickly -the speed of full french, not dragged out for his or the German's benefit.

His mouth is dry, as if he's been chewing leftover ship-biscuit, "Msuir - je suis un aviator." Was it un?, he racked his mind, it would have to do "un Pilote British." He tapped his chest, waved back towards Rene In La guerre vous-" Oh, what the sod was 'help' in French? he pointed to himself, then the floor "moi hide ici. Je suis RAF. je suis Anthony Roberts."

Monsuer Rene was frowning in concentration as he listened, then his face lit up with a slightly too wide smile. "You (something) here, Welcome, Welcome, Good very good." The man is keeping his French very simple.

"Thank you, Monsieur. Thank You." It's all he can manage suddenly, to repete the words with great fervour, as if that is really enough. They could have been shot for hiding me.

And there's one of the waitresses, the taller dark-haired one he remembers, comes trotting up "What is your name?" she asks in good English "zere were many pilots here."

"Je suis Robert Je suis- he flutters his fingers in the air, at which they both look blank. The piano is still there, he strides over to it, flipping the cover, even as they rush, probably to try and stop him.

Those were the notes. Bent over he begins to play, one of the lead pieces from the Madame's Caberet evenings. He looks over his shoulder towards them, and there is dawning understanding and recognition. He

"Rober, Rober." Yvette claps her hands, "Welcome back."

He grins, sits down and morphs the tune into La Marseillaise. how many times had he wanted to do that, but hadn't dared. Now I can.

[faegoddessog]

 Seventy Two Hours of Bliss Ch. 8/41

Chapter 8: The Goddess at Natural Bridge

Chapter Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, dominant female character, cunnilingus, unprotected PIV (please play safely!)

Series Masterlist

Series Summary:

You are neighbors with Austin Butler on the Gold Coast of Australia just prior to shooting Elvis. You become just friends because he is taken. However, after he is single again, you both find out just how attracted you are to one another and things get unrelentingly hot.

SERIES WARNING: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only,  here there be lemons.

Author's Notes: I started writing this while remodeling my kitchen, so that informed the slightly quirky narrative. It starts slow, but once it heats up, it is on fire. I have tried to pull facts from RL as much as I could, but obviously there are some assumptions and flat out dreamy wishes  involved here. 

Chapter 8: The Goddess at Natural Bridge

After a quick rinse off and a delicious breakfast of homemade waffles, you talk about what to do next.

“Let’s go for a drive and a picnic!!” you say, “I have a car in the garage downstairs."

“Are you ok with driving on the wrong side?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, switching is not a problem for me,” you wink, you aren't sure if he caught your reference.

“I am down if I can get out without being seen,” he says, “it’s our 3 days after all.”

You guys pack a lunch and head downstairs. You pile him under some nonsense in the back of the old Land Rover and drive out. As you stop at the entrance waiting to turn, a man with a camera runs up to your open window.

“Hey, have you met Austin Butler yet? He’s supposed to be living in this building,” the man asks.

“I do not know ooo zat ees. Leaf me alon, shoo,’’ you say in your best French accent.

“Il est en acteur,“ the man replies en francais.

“Je n’ai pas le temps pour les acteurs. S’en aller!” you say in perfect, haughty, French and wave him away. He flips you off as you drive away. After about 10 min of driving, you tell Austin the coast is clear, no one was following you.

“Was that French? ” he says, untangling himself from his cover and climbing into the front seat.

“Yeah, I speak enough to get by,” you say smiling, feeling really cool for sneaking him out and showing off your French.

"That was awesome, what did you tell him?" he asks.

"He said you were an actor and I told him I didn't have time for actors and to go away. I enjoyed the irony," you reply laughing.

“Where are we headed?” he asks.

“A place called Natural Bridge, I’ve heard it is really cool,” you inform him. You point to the radio, “you are the tune commander, let's get some driving music going!”

“ As long as yer OK wi' Elvis…” he drawls.

“I ‘spose that’ll do, hunny,” you say in your own southern accent.

You drive inland, about an hour. Most of the drive you both are just enjoying the views, the tunes, the feeling of freedom and allowing space for introversion. Your backside is a little sore, but it’s a delicious kind of sore that reminds you of squirming on Austin’s cock.

When you arrive, there are no other cars in the parking lot, which apparently is a miracle. You set off on the short walk to the waterfall. It’s all jungle and wooded. The pool of water under the cave-like waterfall looks so inviting, but the sign said ‘no swimming’ so you don’t even mention it. You guys have a lovely walk, just enjoying the nature therapy. You have always found waterfalls exhilarating, the power of water over time on something so hard as stone.

Austin brought his camera and is snapping pics of you in front of the waterfall, leaning on trees etc. He keeps giving you directions like a proper photographer, telling you to 'make sure you are thinking of something'. Clearly he loves the creative process of it. You have never modeled before, but this is just playing around, so you do your best and follow his directions. He shows you how to use it and you take a couple of him. You refuse to let him put his model face on, you want him just being him.

As you both stand at the railing in the cave and watch the water pound down through the hole it carved above, he slips in behind you, arms around your waist. One hand slipping under the waistband of your biking shorts, the tips of his long fingers gently pressing your mons.

“How’s about we find somewhere off the beaten path?” he says in your ear. Sex outside was one of the ideas he had talked about last night.

You lean back into him, one hand snaking up to the side of his head. ‘MMMmhmm, I thought you’d never ask,” you turn your head to kiss him.

He takes his hand out from your pants and grabs your hand. You start walking, scanning the path for a suitable spot. You think about the covered picnic tables, but then reject them, even though they seem to provide some cover, you could be set upon at any moment there.

You find what looks like a game trail on the far edge of the 1km walking path that branches off the main trail. After about 5 min into the jungle it ends at the stream. You decide to walk up the stream for a bit and find what looks to be the perfect spot. Overhung with bushes between a tree and water on the other side of the stream.

“C’mon!” you shout to be heard over the rushing water.

You wade across in your Chacos. Austin shakes his head, and starts to untie his hiking boots. The water is only 10 ish feet across and not too deep. The coolness on your feet is a lovely counterpoint to the jungle warmth as you make your way across, splashing just for fun.

Once across, you duck under the large bush and find a perfect little hiding spot. After checking for any sign of ants or biting insects, you open your backpack and pull out the blanket you brought, spreading it over the little pebble beach underfoot.

Austin takes his time getting across. As you toe off your hiking sandals, he ducks in just behind you, carrying his shoes, stepping gingerly on the wee rocks with his bare feet,

“This is perfect, I couldn’t see you at all once you were in here.” His hands are wrapping around your waist again, pulling you to him.

Feeling his naked skin, you realize he has already taken his shirt off. You turn around, running your hands up his bare chest, up to his face, and pull him into a deep kiss. He is kissing you back, crushing you to him. You feel wrapped in him as he hunches slightly over you in this shorter space. When he pulls back a bit, you get your hands on the button and zip of his fly and undo them. You reach down under his waistband. He groans in the back of his throat as your hand closes around him and you pull out his gorgeous cock.

“I like it when you make those noises.” you say, “Lets me know that you like what I am doing.”

“Oh, I do like it. So far I like everything you do,” he says, kissing you hard, “and everything you want me to do to you.” He pulls his shorts and underwear down and off. He lowers to his knees in front of you, kissing your belly as you pull off your top and sports bra. Your breasts in the fresh air feel amazing. His fingers are brushing across one of your nipples, sparking with the bump of each finger, while his mouth finds the other. His tongue flicks across the tip. Your fingers run through his black hair, holding his head to you as he sucks and sends sweet tendrils of pleasure that make your pussy clench. Hooking his fingers on your shorts, he peels them down.

“Oh my,” he exclaims, ”no underthings again! Damn baby, you are a dirty girl.”

Your coquettish face says ‘who me’ as you pull off your shorts.

He continues on to your other breast, he looks up at you with those stunning blue eyes and smiles with your breast in his mouth.

All of a sudden, it hits you. How the fuck did you get here? In the rainforest, with your own personal dark Adonis worshiping at your feet as though you were Aphrodite Herself. Indeed you do feel like a goddess standing there unashamedly naked, in the wild with him kneeling before you, his long hard cock ready to pleasure you. The thought makes you bold. If You are a goddess, then he has to do as You wish. You take a deep breath, pulling energy up from the earth on the inhale and down from above on the exhale.

You reach down and grasp his chin pulling him away from Your tit. Looking at him with power and lust in Your eyes. “I am your Goddess, am I not.”

He nods slowly. You had talked a little about power plays last night, so he is going with it, if hesitant.

“You say, ‘Yes My Lady’”, still holding his chin.

“Yes My Lady,” he jumps into the part, now that he knows his line, with a look of utter devotion.

“Mmm,” You lean down and say in his ear, “ I love that your cock,” You reach down and cup him,“ is ready for Me and I plan on riding you until I cum all over it.”

He bounces a bit in Your hand as he clenches.

”If you are good, I will let you cum too,” You give his balls a little pat, then straighten up.

“I want you to use that delicious tongue to make sure I am good and wet." Legs spread, Your hips thrust forward. He sits back on his heels to get his face low enough.

“Yes, My Lady” he says with a smile as he presses his face to Your nook. He starts out lapping slowly at Your bare lips with a flat tongue.

As he reaches up his hands to help, You say: “No hands, I want only your mouth on me. And don’t think about touching yourself either, that is for Me to play with.”

“Yes My Lady” He says lips against Your peach, and he puts his hands behind his back.

Pressing his face to You, his tongue dips between Your lips then strokes up and out, grazing Your clit on the way. He goes in again, tongue going a little deeper this time, flicking back and forth at Your entrance then licking up.

“Mm, that’s good. Do it again, deeper and longer, and look at me.” You reach above with one hand to hold on to a branch steadying Yourself.

“Yef Ma ladah” He mumbles as he dives into Your muff, wiggling his head back and forth to get as deep as he can.

His nose pressed against the little patch of hair You keep, tongue curling along Your lips and thrusting as far as he can into Your slit. The sight of this astoundingly gorgeous man on his knees; head tilted back; praying at the oldest altar known to humankind; never taking his eyes off Yours; is breathtaking. If You weren’t being a Goddess right now, You would be a puddle at his feet. You put one hand on his head, holding it still as You crush Your pelvis into his face for a heartbeat. He flicks his tongue onto Your clit as You pull his face away. A string of wetness bridges from his mouth to Your cunt. His chin is dripping.

You didn’t think he could get hotter. You were wrong.

“Lie back” You say, stepping to the side.

As he complies he says, “Please My Lady, may I have more of Your sweet nectar on my tongue?”

In any other context it would be ridiculously corny, but here, in this unexpected scene, it somehow works. You were trying to decide whether to ride his face or his cock next anyway.

“Awww, such a good devotee, always wanting to please Me.”

You stand over his chest and holding on to his hands for support, lower down, knees on either side of his head. He cranes his head up as You lower down, eagerly sucking and licking Your clit and alternating with dipping his tongue into You as far as he can.

Goddess it feels good. You start feeling the seeds of an orgasm sprout under your nub.

"mmmm yeeeeessss. That's it pet.," You lift up and sit back, giving him breathing room.

Panting just a little, he looks up at You through heavily lidded eyes, deep in lust. You casually reach behind and start toying with hard cock. He groans at Your touch.

"That was excellent, pet. I was quite close to drenching your face. Do you want that? Can you take more?" You ask.

His only answer is to reach his face towards Your pussy, tongue out and flicking.

"Ah, Ah," You tighten Your grip on his dick. "What do we say?"

"Yes, my Lady Goddess." his tone is begging for more.

"Mmm, that is better," as you settle back down on his face, his mouth devouring You. You can’t help but start rocking back and forth across his tongue and mouth, trying not to grind too hard into his beautiful face. You start pinching Your nipples and moaning. He doubles his efforts and manages to catch Your clit and sucks hard. Suddenly the dam breaks and You have to shove Your hand into your mouth to keep from screaming into the jungle. Your juices flow onto his face and he laps greedily at your cunt with little growls of pleasure.

Pulling back, Austin’s messy face is smiling up at You. ‘Thank you My Lady.”

You move back along his body, taking his wet face in Your hands.

“My pussy juices gracing your face is the only thing that could make you look even better than you do already, my pet,” You croon to him before you lean down and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Now, touch me,” You order.

"Yes My Lady" His bottom lip brushing yours as he says the words of acquiescence.

His hands eagerly stroke up Your legs and hips and back with his fingertips. He runs his hands over Your ass, reminding You of the soreness there and how this morning your roles were opposite. You take his lower lip between Your teeth as part of Your kiss. A low growl escapes Your throat. You grab his shaft, rubbing the tip of him around the entrance of Your pussy to get it good and wet.

“I’m going to take you inside of Me now,” You say against his ear, as a little moan escapes him, “I want to hear in that luscious voice of yours how much you appreciate and love getting to be that close to your Goddess, Understand?”

“Yes My lady,” he says with a nod.

You start to slide down, on hands and knees over him, eyes closed, glorying in the feel of him inside You, especially just after a clit orgasm.

“Oh. My, Lady,” he gasps with each breath, in Your ear. “You. Feel. So. Exquisite. Wrapped a-a-a round me.”

You smile and start to move along his length, up and down.

“Being inside of You is heaven, My Lady.”

You start to move faster, up and down.

“Tasting you still on my tongue is my reverie" his deep voice in Your ear making You hotter.

You are slamming up and down on him, grinding Your clit onto his pubis as You fill Yourself with him.

“I love it when you use me. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he moans, head thrown back.

It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough.

“I need you to thrust into me dear one, I need you hard and deep now,” You say in his ear. You sit up hovering a bit above him to give him room to fuck You, and so You can rub Your clit.

“Yes, My lady” he moans as he starts to drive into You.

You place his hands on Your tits, “Pinch My nipples," he obeys.

”You feel so good, My Goddess.” He says, tilting his head so he can watch himself slide in and out of You.

You feel transcendent with him beneath You, plunging into You, naked in the forest. The wild surrounding you both. As You rub Your clit with Your fingertips, You couldn't stop Yourself pitching over the edge into that incomparable oblivion if You tried. You moan out a string of ‘yesses’ and ‘fucks’ as You clench around him, full body twitching on top of him.

"Stop" You command, catching Your breath. He is trying to stop thrusting, but can’t quite. His hands are gripping Your hips, holding on for dear life.

“May I, My Lady?” he groans, eyes shut, through clenched teeth.

For a quick second, You think about telling him no, but You aren't that cruel of a Goddess.

“Yes,” You say breathlessly leaning over him, “fuck My pussy until your cum drips from it.”

Permission given, begins thrusting harder and faster than before. Your eyes and mouth gasp open as You feel him hitting all Your spots again. You are so sensitive still, You don’t even need to touch Your clit to start feeling Yourself rise again. He grins at Your reaction. “Oh gods,” You moan at him, You are about to break again when You hear him through gritted teeth.

“Oh. My. Fucking. Goddess.” Thrusting with each word, cumming deep inside You.

“Don’t stop” You demand. A half dozen more thrusts and You are coming undone all over him, screaming soundlessly, jerking and bucking, grinding, hands digging into his shoulders, feeling Your juices and his cum sliding between you. You lay down on top of him, both of you twitching and panting, smiling. Intoxicated by one another.

“Oh wow, that was fucking hot Austin. I am jello. Thank you.” you breath, head on his chest. His arms are wrapped around you.

“Oh no, thank you My Lady, " using your Honorific one last time. "Damn, I’ve never been ordered around quite like that before. It was kind of freeing, not having to decide what to do next.” You can hear the lazy smile in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s kinda nice to just do as you’re told sometimes, like this morning. It wasn't too much for you?” You inquire.

“Oh no, The goddess thing was surreal, you all of a sudden just turned into this imposing figure that I wanted to please,” he says with a little awe in his voice, “it was amazing, you are amazing.”

“MMM Thank you love. If that is true, it is because I'm right here, right now, with you.” You prop your head up on his chest, he pulls you up into a sweet kiss.

"What made you decide to do that? Did you plan it?" he asks after laying his head back down and snuggling you to him.

“No, it was total spur of the moment. Us being naked out here, you kneeling in front of me, I just felt like Aphrodite being worshiped by Adonis, so I thought, why not?” you laugh.

“If worship were always like that, I’d go to church more,” Austin shakes his head.

“If you think about it, sex is the closest to our creator we can get. It is literally the physical act of creation. One could make an argument that it’s the oldest way to praise the deity,” you soapbox a little.

"I've never thought of it like that, but you can be my goddess anytime hunny," he slips into Elvis a bit, not even realizing it.

You recover together, eating the picnic you brought. He asks if he can take pictures of you naked. You agree only if you can get copies. He asks you to pose like Aphrodite recreates a few sexy memorable moments from the past hour. You even lay down at the edge of the creek for him, water flowing over your naked body.

"Where are you going to have those developed? Aren't you scared they will leak?" you ask.

"No I do it myself. I used to have a dark room in my basement. So I'll find somewhere."

When you get back to the main path, you watch to make sure no one spies you stepping out from the woods. There was no sign saying you couldn’t, but better to keep it under wraps.

Austin holds your hand for the rest of the walk, rubbing your knuckles tenderly. There are definitely more people here now. You wonder if any of them can tell how much you both are glowing.

[taylortaylormoon]

It’s not wip Wednesday but here ya go.

Uhtred x Finan hinted smut but not actual smut not yet anyway.

‘I could get used to this,’ Uhtred thinks, feeling Finan’s body pressed against his trying to have as much contact with his lord as possible - had they been back in the halls of Coccham, Uhtred would already be in his lap. Instead, Uhtred would have to accept this ‘controlled’ form of intimacy; he takes another drink and blames the pooling of heat at his core on the ale.

“The man is naked at his point, by the way. So I tell ‘em to stop runnin’, right” Finan yells to be heard over the crowd of the alehouse, gesturing wildly as he tells his story. “He, of course, starts runnin’ anyhow, so I chase after him.”

Knowing where the story would go next, Uhtred moves his and Finan’s drink in preparation as the Irishman makes a sweeping motion over the table, knocking Osferth’s drink over. “Only I land flat on my face instead 'cause I got caught in his pants.”.

The table erupts with laughter at the end of the joke, the abundance of ale more than made up for Finan’s drunk storytelling, and Uhtred has heard every drunken version of this tale to know how the story goes.

They have been away from Coccham too long, the two men making do with quick flights of touching and kissing to sate their appetite, but the more the two drank, the hungrier they got.

Finan, at this point, relied too heavily on the dim light of the tavern to hide many of his touches, but now the Irshman had become emboldened and snuck a hand under Uhtred’s shirt, fingers tracing old scars along the other man’s soft side. Uhtred allowed the touch to continue, leaning into Finan’s touch as best he could. Both pulled away when bodies began to move away from the table.

“You alright there, lord?” Finan asks; his accent comes back more potent when he drinks. Sihtric hides a smirk in his cup as he and the rest of the men leave for the night.

“I’m fine,” Uthred replies, weakly swallowing the saliva building in his throat, as at some point, Finan had lost much of his armor and clothing; Uhtred had only now noticed it.

“You don’t look so good… maybe I should take you back to your room.” With a sensual wiggle of his eyebrows - well, an attempt at sensual. When Uhtred only snorted in response, Finan forwent any caution or subtlety, his mouth ghosting over the other man’s ear. “I need you, lord…Uhtred.”

“Finan,” Uhtred gasped, hands pressed against Finan’s firm chest, holding some distance between the two for property’s sake. “Go upstairs…wait for me there.”

The noise Finan made sent lighting down Uhtred’s spine, and fuck if he didn’t want to take Finan here and now, but they couldn’t.

Uhtred doesn’t follow Finan up right away now. They are both too hot, so he waits. He orders another round of watered-down ale, takes his time drinking it, and tries not to think of Finan. Of how frustrated his Irishman must be, how long before he’d march down in his small clothes - or worse, naked. While that idea pleased Uhtred’s body, his mind knew better, So once his ale was down and the appropriate amount of coin was left on the table, Uhtred made his trip upstairs.

Finding the room was easy enough; even in Uhtred’s inebriated state, it was the only one unlocked. Uhtred was prepared for any reactions from Finan, but the one he got us was unexpected; instead of angrily pacing the room or fucking his hand, Finan was lying on the bed asleep. His face pressed down into the pillow, and the sight of his naked backside was lovely.

Uhtred entered the room as quietly as possible; though the man was desperate for Finan, he relented that this was the best outcome. Striped down to his small clothes, Uhtred crawled on the bed, moving softly towards Finan, debating internally on how to sleep when Finan struck.

Finan The Agile, who was living up to his name, switched their position, pressing Uhtred face first on the bed while he ran his hands down Uhtred’s side.

“Finan-” The rest of Uhtred’s words were cut off with a gasp as Finan bit down -hard- on the junction of his neck and sucked, making the start of what would be a prominent mark in the morning.

“No talking,” Finan ordered, kissing the angry mark softly, then moving his mouth toward Uhtred’s ear, his lips ghosting over the skin before he pressed a kiss into Uhtred’s hairline. “Ya had your chance..but it’s my turn now.”

Uhtred moaned wantonly at the touch of Finan’s hard cock against his ass, “You feel that, lord? You thought making me wait would tame this beast?”

“Fin-” Finan growled at the sound, pulling Uhtred in for a harsh kiss taking the other man’s lip between his teeth and tugged.

“No talking,” Finan ordered, pulling back just enough to reach the oil on the table, dumping a generous amount onto his hand, “I shouldn’t be so nice to ya, Lord. Shouldn’t take you rough and fast with little preparation, shouldn’t pound you into the bed til your boneless like ya need.”

Finan’s words had Uhtred dripping; it took all his self-control not to hump the mattress. He wanted Finan in him - under him didn’t matter. He just wanted to feel something at this point; he wanted to beg so badly the words were so close to leaving his lips. Instead of speaking, Uhtred used his free hands. It was an awkward angle but Uhtred managed to get his knees under him and spread his cheeks before Finan.

“Fuck Lord- Uhtred -love - mo goá.” Finan’s lips were on him again. The forgotten oil was now spreading over Uhtred’s body; it felt cool against his hot skin. “You can’t do things like that! I’m trying to be in control, and you you.”

“Drive you crazy?” Uhtred teased, chasing after Finan again, letting his lips fall against the man’s chest and neck. “Then we are the same.”

“Aye, that we are.”

— insert smut here/Finan wrecking Uhtred—--

[clottedcreamtea]

teehee i am writing too much in order to avoid doing my 5 missing physics assignments!!!!!

here is another chapter.

....

The morning felt as though it had come much too soon for Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s taste. He had barely closed his eyes before the sun was shining through his stained sugar glass windows, casting shapes in colors almost as pretty as him all across his room.

Months of training had been grueling, remembering proper etiquette for dinners, the proper titles for each elder, how to greet lower-city citizens without seeming condescending… It was too much for a Cookie to bear!

But time had come and gone, and today would finally mark the day Royal Milk Tea Cookie was properly initiated into the Convocation of Elders as a peacekeeper between allied nations.

Clotted Cream Cookie and Financier Cookie (among a larger group of talented heroes) had just finished their intense venture between leaders of the Vanilla, Hollyberry, and Dark Cacao kingdoms, before fighting Dark Enchantress Cookie only to find that their opponent was none other than an illusion.

It was an incredible precedent to set, but Royal Milk Tea Cookie was sure he could live up to it.

Dressing in his best attire, Royal Milk Tea Cookie adorned himself in a blue velvet dress, with a white lace petticoat and lace accents across the skirt, a long white cape with a seashell clasp, in honor of his heritage as a Cookie of the sea, and white gloves and boots, with gold accents. 

“Royal Milk Tea Cookie!” Oyster Cookie called from the bottom of the stairs. “We’re going to be late if you don’t finish getting ready in two seconds!” The silver and grey elder sounded exasperated, like due to all the preparations she had been dealing with as she readied the elders of the Convocation to accept her son into the oligarchy. 

(It truly was a difficult task. After the argument between the many elders so many years ago, things were tense in the nation and it took several months for trust to be rebuilt between the elders. Mille-feuille Cookie and Custard Cookie were highly disliked by all of the other members due to their lack of guilt after attempting a selfish grab at power, but for the sake of the nation, the others forgave them.

After the forgiveness, it was brought to light that Oyster Cookie, much like Custard Cookie, wished to indoctrinate her son into the Convocation once he was old enough to understand what they all stood for. Facing backlash from some and support from others, Oyster Cookie held her ground, claiming that she would provide proof that there was no trace of nepotism in allowing her son to join the oligarchy, documenting every session of training for her son every month until he was twenty-one, old enough for his opinions to be fully-formed.

And here the pair was now. Having rightfully earned their way to the top once more.)

“I’m coming!” The Oyster heir called back, rushing down the hallway and sliding down the railing of the spiral staircase before landing flat on his backside at the base of the stairwell. “Oomf!” He puffed in pain.

“Very professional,” Oyster Cookie remarked. “We’re three minutes late. Hurry out the door before the elders start questioning my judgment!” Oyster Cookie ushered her son back onto his feet before pushing him out the door and into the street, where the pair began a brisk walk toward the center of the town.

Apart from discovering a plan from Dark Enchantress Cookie to return after making her way to Beast-Yeast, the venerable elders had discovered a plot amongst them, with Mille-feuille Cookie being the ringleader in a power-hungry cult, corrupting many orphan Cookies under the guise of being a religious group.

Very quickly Mille-feuille Cookie was exiled from the Convocation, imprisoned within a chamber that seemed immune to any destruction. Unfortunately, days later Mille-feuille Cookie had disappeared without a trace. The elders made no fuss about the disappearance but did warn allies to be on the lookout for any suspicious Cookies around the Republic.

A good thing to come of the discovery was the free spot within the Convocation that Royal Milk Tea Cookie would be filling within moments. The pair had arrived at the wonderfully large doors to the Republic’s center building, letting themselves in as a pair of Pearl Legion guards stepped aside.

“Oh, goodness we’re more than ten minutes late! Hurry, hurry!” Oyster Cookie began pushing her son forward as she checked her pocket watch before stuffing it back into her skirt. The pair very quickly approached the drawing room where several impatient guests were waiting, faces bored.

“Elder Oyster Cookie!” Sablé Cookie began, her voice as beautiful and condescending as ever. “We have been waiting for ages for you to arrive with your choice for the Convocation’s representative!” The youngest of the elders swept her long bangs to the side, which achieved no more sight than previously allowed. 

“Has Royal Milk Tea Cookie made his arrival as well?” Vanilla Sugar Cookie, the eldest, asked. She made her way toward Oyster Cookie, who stepped aside so the short, older woman could see her son.

“Why, yes! He is here with me. I would be glad to begin the initiation so long as everyone is here,” The silver elder stated with hidden malice in her voice. Time had passed, but none would forget the awful proposition that Custard Cookie suggested several years prior, and how it had nearly brought the Convocation to a brutal end with the conflict created.

“Everyone else has already made their arrival,” Custard Cookie stated, simply. The elder made his appearance, stepping forward and holding out a book, likely on which Royal Milk Tea Cookie was to swear as he was initiated into the Convocation. “We were simply waiting for you. I presume there is no further issue, Oyster Cookie?”

Face twisting with disgust, Oyster Cookie cleared her throat. “Yes, we may begin.”

(The pair had never gotten over their mutual distaste for each other. The insult toward Royal Milk Tea Cookie did not go unnoticed on the day of the argument, and Oyster Cookie would never halt her grudge until a formal apology was issued. But she knew that would never occur.)

Around the table in which everyone was gathered, each elder took their seat at their house’s respective chair, only leaving Custard Cookie, Oyster Cookie, and Royal Milk Tea Cookie standing as the initiation began.

Custard Cookie opened the large book to the center, motioning for Royal Milk Tea Cookie to place his hand among the pages. The young brown-haired Cookie placed a hand on the book Custard Cookie was holding and the other upright, parallel to his body. 

“Do you, Royal Milk Tea Cookie, swear to uphold all beliefs by the Convocation, no matter what you believe?” Custard Cookie began.

Hesitating, Royal Milk Tea Cookie looked around, icy blue eyes cutting through the polite facades of everyone in the room. He took a breath. “I do.”

“And do you swear to always follow orders, no matter the demand?”

“I do.”

The book slammed shut and Royal Milk Tea Cookie barely had time to pull his hand out so as to not lose it altogether. He dropped his other hand and crossed both across his skirt beneath his cloak.

“With your agreement to the terms of the Convocation, I, elder Custard Cookie, pronounce you the official representative of the Creme Republic.” No one commented on it, but there were traces of anger hidden beneath the formal indoctrination.

Oyster Cookie grinned happily and politely clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! Let us celebrate!” The elder had been preparing for this for too long and would not let the happy moment disappear. She wanted to cherish this memory for as long as the newly-reunited Convocation would allow.

Mulled Juice Cookie, his skin nearly as red as the berry juice he drank, stood up grinning. “I’ve saved some Hollyberrian berry juice just for the next happy occasion! Finding a replacement for Mille-feuille Cookie was no feat, Royal Milk Tea Cookie, and you should feel honored you earned a place with the elite!”

The elder clapped his hands twice, and in filed a long line of servants, all carrying trays of berry juice in different glasses, no tray the same color of juice. It was likely from the many different houses within the Hollyberry kingdom.

“Indeed,” Sablé Cookie approached Royal Milk Tea Cookie, voice low. “It was difficult finding a proper individual fitting of the Convocation’s name. I was impressed when Oyster Cookie proposed you fill the spot after her opposition to Custard Cookie’s similar decision with his own son.”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie knew what the stuck-up Cookie was implying, but it wasn’t true. Oyster Cookie was incredibly strict when it came to finding a proper replacement for the previous elder, and her son had to obey every guideline otherwise he would be left out of every political affair entirely, only making a place as a figurehead for House Oyster. The proof she had provided after so many sessions was somewhere within the Republic’s center. Sablé Cookie’s words meant nothing to him.

Annoyed at the quick assumption of nepotism, Royal Milk Tea Cookie huffed and snatched a glass of pink berry juice, smelling faintly of pomegranate. He politely excused himself from the drawing room and made his way toward the balcony that overlooked the bay, where he could see sailors boarding the next ship out into the sea.

He wasn’t the product of nepotism, Royal Milk Tea Cookie assured himself. He had worked hard for his title, reading books and letters and following orders without question. He had made it, though, and was ready to take on any challenge that decided to come his way.

“I apologize for my tardiness, everyone,” A smooth, buttery voice crooned from the entrance to the drawing room. The doors had opened and Royal Milk Tea Cookie leaned back into the building to see an all-too-familiar face. 

“Clotted Cream Cookie?” The blue-adorned Cookie said, amazed. He was gorgeous. Platinum blond hair, golden brown crust, beautiful blue eyes, and a wonderfully tailored cream suit, with a single dark green sleeve. 

As he watched on from his spot on the balcony, Royal Milk Tea Cookie saw an arm that looked like his mother’s point out of the drawing room, followed by Clotted Cream Cookie turning and making eye contact with the new addition.

Face flushing, Royal Milk Tea Cookie attempted to find something to busy himself with; he drank his juice, leaned against the balcony wall, looked out to the sea…

(It was no secret that Clotted Cream Cookie had feelings for Royal Milk Tea Cookie as a child. Every touch of the hands or brush of the shoulders had brought the blond Cookie’s blood right up to his cheeks.

Royal Milk Tea Cookie didn’t flush nearly as frequently as his friend, but he noticed the responses from his actions, and he was very flattered that his feelings were reciprocated. He had dreamed of a day when he and Clotted Cream Cookie would one day be best friends, ruling the Republic with the help of all the elders as a united front, houses Oyster and Custard joined through a happy and voluntary marriage.

Royal Milk Tea Cookie did not want to enter an arranged marriage for the benefit of House Custard, of course not. He did, however, want to one day marry his best friend simply out of love.)

“Hi,” Clotted Cream Cookie spoke softly, nearly against Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s cheek.

“AH!” The sudden approach spooked the shorter of the pair, making him drop his glass out of fear, spilling the juice all over his cape and Clotted Cream Cookie’s pants. “Oh, Witches, I’m so sorry! Here, let me clean it up.” He hadn’t even heard Clotted Cream Cookie walk through the door! How did he frighten him so bad?

“No, please, Royal Milk Tea Cookie,” Clotted Cream Cookie stopped his old friend from stooping down, laughing loudly. “It’s alright. I know we both have plenty of help at home to get these stains out.”

Oh, he was beautiful, all right. His smile was like sunshine beaming down upon Royal Milk Tea Cookie. He couldn’t look away.

“I’ve missed you,” Was all he could manage, staring dumbly up at his friend. Royal Milk Tea Cookie finally cleared his head enough to realize that the two had clearly grown apart height-wise, with Clotted Cream Cookie standing over him by a notable few units.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Clotted Cream Cookie sighed, face softening. “Lots has changed in the last several years we’ve been apart.”

“Yeah,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie nodded, “Except for your father. He’s still so tense!”

The pair burst into laughter, filling the awkward silence that had nearly encompassed the conversation (or lack thereof). As they laughed, another familiar face approached from inside the building.

“What did I miss?” 

“Financier Cookie!” Royal Milk Tea Cookie carefully stepped over the shattered glass, reaching to give a big hug to his other childhood friend. “How are you? It’s been too long!”

After discovering Mille-feuille Cookie’s plot against the Republic, Financier was the worst affected. Mille-feuille wasn’t just her mentor, she was like a mother to Financier Cookie, and the heartbreak she endured would have been suffocating for any Cookie in her situation. Luckily, the paladin held up well. She was a tough Cookie.

“I’m doing well, Royal Milk Tea Cookie, thank you,” The brunette Cookie smiled softly. “The Consul likes making my job harder, though. His constant enjoyment of unsafe neighborhoods and dangerous adventures makes protecting him quite difficult.”

The trio began to laugh again, but the happy scene was cut short by Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s keen eye.

As she had approached, Financier Cookie had stood close by Clotted Cream Cookie, arms pressed flush. She was his bodyguard, Royal Milk Tea Cookie had dismissed. She was supposed to be close to him! But after the warm remarks about him making her job more difficult, the Oyster heir began to piece things together. Both of her childhood friends were wearing matching golden rings on their hands, signifying a bond much more intimate than a bodyguard and her charge.

“You two got married?” 

Clotted Cream’s face turned to concern, and he quickly attempted to calm his dear friend. “Oh, no, we aren’t married!”

“Not yet, Consul,” Financier Cookie took his hand in hers, ignoring the clear distress on Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s face. The paladin was smiling. Royal Milk Tea Cookie felt as though he would be sick any moment.

He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Well, I do hope you’ll invite me to the wedding. I think I will depart now. It was wonderful catching up!” Royal Milk Tea Cookie walked briskly back to the drawing room, where the elders were finishing off their glasses.

“Oh, Royal Milk Tea Cookie!” Oyster Cookie called as she happily noticed her son enter the room. “Did you catch up with Clotted Cream Cookie?”

“I would like to leave,” Was all he responded with. Oyster Cookie quickly set down her glass to inspect the stress in her son’s voice.

“Leave? What happened?”

“They’re engaged, mother. Clotted Cream Cookie and Financier Cookie.”

Tears were nearly falling down Royal Milk Tea Cookie’s face as his mother stood up and began screaming at her colleague. 

“You lowlife soggy excuse for a Cookie!” 

The group of elders was shocked at the foul tongue of the most proper of them, all turning their heads to see whom it was she was so angry with.

“I beg your pardon?” Custard Cookie replied, spiteful.

“You were berated for attempting to marry our children, and yet here they are, Financier Cookie and Clotted Cream Cookie, prepared to be wed!” Oyster Cookie pointed out the doorway, at the pair of Cookies who had finally made their way back to where Royal Milk Tea Cookie had run off to.

“Oh, please. I had no choice in the matter! Financier Cookie and Clotted Cream Cookie expressed to me that they were in love, and no cruel words can change that!”

Royal Milk Tea Cookie couldn’t bear to hear it. He bid goodbye to his mother and turned to leave, pushing pash Clotted Cream Cookie with tears streaming down his crunchy face. The elders continued to argue, but he needed to go home.

“It was all a dream,” Royal Milk Tea Cookie tried to reassure himself. “It’s not real, and tomorrow morning you’ll join the Convocation and none of this will be real.” Storming out the large double doors, the young Cookie couldn’t help but think that his wishes would go ungranted.