#sun/burn slowly pulled ahead to a strong second place finish

[acacia-may]

Many thanks to everyone who voted in My Out-Of-Context Aubrey Dynamics poll! Aubrey and Basil swept the day with nearly 50% of the vote! Congratulations Photobomb Nation!! 💖

[wh0re43van]

Older- (Stan Bowes X Reader)

Word count: 4k

Summary: You’re interning under Stan who's taken quite the liking to you, but you’re much too naive to notice at first.

Warnings: age gap, smut, thigh ridding?, cheating

A/n: Okay ya’ll, this is not my best. My motivation randomly dropped like a week ago and I've been trying to get it back. I'm so sorry.

I started my paid internship at Trump tower a few weeks ago in order to finish up my business degree. I’ve only seen my temporary boss a few times, but he is an extremely intimidating man. His suits are always pressed and starched in a very neat way, his hair always gelled back perfectly; not one strand out of place. He walks with confidence and determination. He’s horrifying. And of course, on the day that I’m having a major wardrobe malfunction, I have to go into his office. I stayed at a friend’s house last night and left my work shirt at home. Thankfully, she also has an office job as well, so she has appropriate clothes- at least for her body type. She’s much smaller in the bust than me, so the top button on my blouse has been popping open constantly. I’ve been walking around with my hand on my chest all day as if I’m saying the pledge of allegiance on repeat.

I stand outside of Mr. Bowes door, taking a deep breath with my papers in hand, ensuring my button is snapped shut- at least for the time being. I bring a shaky hand up to knock on the wooden door. A few seconds later I hear,

“What now? What is it? Come in!”

Great, he’s already frustrated with me. I slowly open the door, sticking my head in. He doesn’t remove his attention from the many papers spread across his desk.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bowes,” I say in a feeble tone, standing awkwardly in front of him. He looks up when he hears my unfamiliar voice. His dark eyes scan over my face and my body. I feel small and weak under his intense stare.

“It’s fine Miss…” he says firmly awaiting me to introduce myself.

“Oh! I’m so- I- Y/n Y/l/n,” my tongue seems to stop working. “I’m an intern. Th-that’s why I’m here actually,” I smile nervously. “I need you, uhm, to fill out this form proving that I- I’ve completed the first two weeks here at the company,” I clear my throat, mentally kicking myself in the ass for how stupid I sound. Mr. Bowes, however, seems to find it amusing. A small smile creeps onto his face, revealing two charming dimples.

“Very well then Miss Y/n,” he holds out a strong hand. My trembling fingers pass him the papers. “No need to be so nervous,” he says, staring directly into my soul. His dominant presence makes me feel like a child who’s been called to the principals office. He scans over the form. “Can I have you go ahead and sign this for me, Miss Y/n. That way as soon as I get around to it we can fax it to your school. I’m all about efficiency,” he smiles politely, handing me a pen.

“Of course, sir!” I say a bit too enthusiastically, I flinch when my voice cracks. As I take the pen from his hand, I can see him stifle a laugh to save me from embarrassment. I bend down to sign the paper with a shaky hand, before standing back up. Stans eyes are locked on to my chest, he clears his throat, using his eyes to motion to my blouse.

“Shit,” I mutter as I turn around quickly, my cheeks burning crimson. I quickly pull the fabric together tightly to snap the weak fasteners. Even with the snap buckled, there’s a gap in between the two buttons; I try my best to hide it. I slowly turn back around to face my boss, my eyes closed, too afraid to look at him.

“Mr. Bowes, I am so sorry, I this- I- th-“ I take a deep breath. “This isn’t my shirt. I apologize,” I finally open my eyes to see him leaning back in his chair, his face firm but a glint of amusement in his eyes. He grabs a mint from his desk, popping it in his mouth.

“Have a seat, Miss y/n,” Is all he says, staring at me with the intensity of a thousand suns. I take a seat from my shaky legs. “I’d hate to have to do this upon our first-time meeting officially,” he begins, but the smirk on his face says otherwise. “But it is company policy that I inform you that the attire you’ve worn into work today is not up to our standards,” he says simply as he leans forward onto his elbows. “Do you always wear such revealing clothes,” he asks, tilting his head to the side a bit.

“No! No, Sir, of course not,” I plead, hoping that he’ll believe me. “This isn’t my shirt, it’s a friends! I was in rush, and I couldn’t find my shirt- well this all she had. She uh- her, uhm chest is a bit smaller than mine so it’s not exactly, uh, the most flattering on me,” I try to explain in a mush of words. He listens intently, nodding his head.

“I see,” he sits up, straightening his tie. I can see his biceps strain against his white button up as he adjusts the strip of fabric around his neck. “You seem like a respectable young lady, and I’m a sensible man, Miss Y/n. I understand that there are some things out of your control,” he offers me a small smile, seemingly dismissing the situation.

“Thank you, Sir,” I let out the breath I was holding.

“Please, call me Stan,” he insists as he leans back in his chair.  

“Yes, sir- I mean Stan!” I correct myself, my cheeks blushing. “I apologize, I’ve never referred to a man of such power and superiority in such a casual way,” I admit honestly. He seems to like my acknowledgment of his power over me, he puffs his chest out a bit at the comment.

“Refer to me in whatever way makes you comfortable, Miss Y/n,” he grins.

“Yes, sir,” I look down at my feet, my stomach is a ball of nerves. Stan just sits there, staring at me as if he enjoys intimidating me, while I wait for him to dismiss me.

“Are you free this weekend, Y/n?” he asks as he leans back down to his elbows, crossing his hands, while awaiting my answer. I notice a wedding ring on his finger.

“Uhm, I believe so,” I say but it comes out more of a question. Why would a married man possibly want to know about my weekend plans?

“Would you be willing to meet with me outside of the office to complete some more work? I believe it will enhance your education and your experience with us,” he offers simply, but I notice an underlying tone in his voice, I’m just not sure what is.

“Does it count as over time?” I ask with a small laugh, finally being comfortable enough to crack a small joke. He looks a bit thrown by my comment- which confuses me- but he lets out a small chuckle.

“Yes of course, I would never ask you to work for free,” he smiles while grabbing a piece of paper, scribbling down an address. “This is my home address,” he hands me the slip. “Does 9 am Saturday sound okay?” he raises his brows.

“Uh yes sir, whatever works for you,” I smile, accepting the scrap of paper. “Should I just knock? I apologize, I’m not yet acquainted with the etiquette of professionalism,” I blush a bit. He seems to enjoy my naiveite.

“Yes dear, just knock,” he chuckles. “Oh, and please be sure to wear something more appropriate,” he says but it comes out light- a joke.

“Oh of course Mr. Bowes! I wouldn’t want your wife to get the wrong idea,” I say out of respect for his relationship, motioning to his wedding band with my hand. Stan looks a bit taken back, almost as if he forgot he was married somehow. He clears his throat.

“She’s out of town with our children this weekend. With no distractions we’ll be able to get the work done in just a couple hours I’m sure,” he’s back to his calm, dominant demeaner now.

“Alright Sir, I’ll see you at 9 am on Saturday,” I smile standing from my seat, walking towards his door.

“Miss Y/n,” his voice stops me, I turn around. “I need to know that you understand that this is something that will be kept between us. I need you to tell me that you won’t speak of this to anyone,” he says sternly. My face contorts into a quizzical expression.

“Uhm yes sir, I can do that. I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. “But can I ask why, Mr. Bowes? I’m just a bit confused. How is this any different than us doing work at the office?” I ask genuinely. I know I don’t understand work etiquette quite yet, but this seems a bit strange. My response seems to stress him a bit, but ultimately he lets out a chuckle.

“Look y/n, I’m a married man with a reputation to uphold, you’re a young bright-eyed lady. Word spreads fast,” he says slowly.

‘oh’ I understand what he’s implying now.

“Yes sir, of course. I understand. People have a tendency to talk,” I nod, wringing my hands nervously at his stern demeanor.

“Very good,” he seems pleased with my understanding. “You’re dismissed,” he motions to the door. I thank him, walking out of his office.

“Well, that was odd,” I mutter to myself as I find my way back to the secretary quarters.

•

•

Saturday morning comes soon enough. I get dressed- making sure to put on a shirt that actually fits this time- and a skirt that stops just above my knees. I pull on some black thigh-high stockings and allow my hair to flow freely. I’m not sure why, but I decide to put on some light makeup. Just some mascara and a subtle red lip. It’s strictly just work, but I can’t help but want to impress Stan. He’s just such an alluring man. I know it’s wrong, he’s a married man- not to mention probably at least 15 years older than me- but he’s so charming. I take a final look in the mirror before heading to the taxi that Stan has called for me.

I walk up to his beautiful house; He obviously has money. I knock on the door, adjusting my outfit while I wait for him. Within seconds, Mr. Bowes is greeting me.

“Adalaide, so nice to see you,” he smiles warmly, inviting me in. I look around the nicely decorated home in awe. “I trust that no one has seen you come in?” he asks as he pokes his head out the door before locking it behind me.

“Uh, no sir. At least not that I’m aware of,” I smile innocently. “Mr. Bowes your home is stunning,” I say still looking around.

“Oh, this place? It’s nothing,” he grins, putting his hand on my lower back, leading me to his couch. I jump a bit at the unexpected touch, but I don’t mind. I’m just a bit confused by it. “So, this shouldn’t take much time, we can get started if you’d like,” he explains, his voice low and-if I’m not mistaken- a bit sultry as he sits down on the sofa next to me. I take a seat, then I notice that there is no paperwork in sight.

‘that’s odd,’ I think to myself, searching around for the task in question.

“Sure Mr. Bowes, you’re the boss,” I giggle lightly, awaiting directions. He looks at me, placing a hand on my knee.

“Miss, Y/n. I have to ask,” he sighs. “You do understand that I didn’t bring you here for actual work, right?” he leans a bit closer to me, raising his eyebrows. My smile drops.

“Oh no… Am I in trouble?” I ask innocently, looking at him with sad eyes. He lets out a chuckle.

“No, my dear. Of course not,” he gives me a kind smile. “I was just hoping to get to know you a little better,” his voice comes out low as he rolls the hem of my skirt in his hands, that’s when I notice his wedding band is no longer on his finger.

‘Oh…OH!’ my eyes widen at my epiphany. I’m not allowed to tell anyone, his wife is away, he made sure no one saw me come in, he’s had his hands on me since I got here… for fucks sake the first time I met the man, my tits were out. God, why am I so naive?

“Oh, I uh,” I clear my throat nervously. “I understand now, Sir,” I blush, slowly looking up at him. His looking at me with lust filled eyes.

“My, you sure do blush a lot,” he says with amusement in his voice. “It’s adorable,” he smirks. He seems to be attracted to how innocent I’ve been about this whole thing.

“Uh, thank you sir,” I give him a shy smile, nervous- but excited- about what’s going to happen in the next hour. This man is like catnip; I couldn’t resist him if I wanted to. He makes a simple white button up look far too good as his hand slowly moves up my thigh.

“No need to be shy y/n,” he says in a whisper against my neck. “Just relax,” his voice is low and gentle, but dripping in seduction. I shiver as he slips a warm hand under my skirt. His fingertips brush my skin where my stockings end.

“Yes sir,” I bite my lip in anticipation, nodding my head. I turn to face him, our eyes exchanging an intimate look. I can’t wait any longer. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his face against mine. He lays me down on the couch, his lips still on mine. My stomach flips seeing the dapper man hovering above me. “May I suggest going somewhere a bit more…private, Mr. Bowes?” I ask as my fingers twirl the dark hair that falls neatly at his neck. The living room is full of large bay windows, as anxious as he is about his nosey neighbors, this doesn’t seem like the smartest place to have an affair.

“These are the kind of ideas that will move you up in this company,” he smirks as he stands, offering me a hand. I giggle, letting him lead me to his bedroom. I can’t believe how elegant his house is, if I wasn’t completely dripping in arousal and desperate for this man, I’d take the time to complement his house again. The room is neat and minimalistic. I take notice of the picture frames face down on both the night stands.

‘That’s probably his family,’ I frown to myself. Guilt flushes over me quickly. I turn to face Stan to tell him that this might be a bad idea, but the way he’s is looking at me while he loosens his tie makes any thought other than his skin on mine fly out the window. Stan smirks, keeping his eyes locked onto mine as he sits down on his bed, patting his leg.

“Come here, darling,” Stan coos, his voice makes me weak. I take a step towards the bed. “Crawl,” he demands simply. I give him a confused look. he smirks as he slides his brown leather belt out of his pants. “Crawl to me, dear,” he lays the belt on the mattress beside him. As he begins to unbutton his white dress shirt he asks, “Can you do that for me, y/n?” I simply nod as a grin creeps onto my face. I’m confused, but oh so excited. I assume this is something the older men are into, and I’m more than happy to explore that. His eyes follow me as I drop down to the floor. I slowly crawl over to him, settling on my knees in between Stans slack clad legs, looking up at him with lust laced eyes as I await further instruction. “Use you manners,” he says in the tone he uses on me at the office. I catch onto what he’s implying after a few seconds.

“I apologize,” I giggle, as I look up stan. His stern look and his sultry gaze make me drool. “Yes sir,” I smile, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Stan smirks, seemingly pleased by my response.

“Good girl,” he nods. “Come here,” his voice is stern yet sultry as he pats his leg. Butterflies explode in my stomach and down to my core as I straddle his thigh. I sit on his leg with nothing more than his pants and my underwear keeping us apart. I can’t help but giggle with excitement as his hands run up my legs to push my dress up before he cups my ass in his hands. “You’re stunning, Miss Y/n,” his voice came out low as he smiles genuinely.

“Thank you, sir,” I blush. He grabs my chin, pulling me into press his lips onto mine. I giggle into as I wrap my hands around the back of his neck. His hands slide up my body, stopping to hold onto my hips. As I brush my fingers into his slicked back hair, he starts to bounce his leg and using his hands to maneuver my hips back and forth. I moan into the kiss as Stan bites my bottom lip, unzipping the back of my dress. The fabric pools around my waist, bouncing with his leg as I grind against him. The friction against my core makes my toes curl as Stan moves his mouth roughly against mine.

“Are you enjoying this dear?” he breathes against my lips in low tone.

“Mhm,” I moan, gripping onto his thigh as I grind against him, focused on my own pleasure. I feel Stans hand grip my neck, pulling my head down closer to his face as he continues bouncing his leg. We breath the same breath as I stare deep into his dark eyes, moaning inwardly. “Manners, darling,” his growls, squeezing my throat with the last word as his lips brushing against mine. I whimper in his grasp.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I whimper, staring into his stern eyes as I feel my orgasm quickly building from this new experience. The entire situation is so wrong; he’s my boss, a married man in his 30s, yet here I am; his college intern grinding an orgasm out on his leg. I roll my eyes back as I release, moaning out in pleasure as the euphoria floods my senses.

“Look at me, darling,” stan growls, tightening his grip on my throat. I open my eyes, biting down on my bottom lip. Stans watching me intently as he continues bouncing his leg, seeming to notice every twitch and moan my body makes as I ride out my orgasm. His strong arm reaching for my throat is tensed, making the veins pop out more than usual. Stan is truly one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.

He finally stops his leg, and I lay forward onto him so that my head is resting on his shoulder as I catch my breath.

“Thank you, sir,” I whisper. He lets out a small chuckle.

“You’re welcome, Miss y/n,” he grabs my chin, tilting my head to look at him. I press my lips against his as he lays me down on the bed. His hands slip my dress completely off my body as mine work to finish unbuttoning his dress shirt. His kisses trail down my neck as I reach to undo his pants. “A bit eager, hm?” he laughs into the crook of my neck.

“Extremely eager, Sir,” I giggle as I continue to slide the trousers down his legs. He kicks them off before sliding down my body, settling between my legs. He kisses my stomach down to where my panties rest, each peck sending electricity through my body. His soft hands gently remove the thin fabric covering my core, as if he’s afraid he may break something. His eyes are focused on my body as he rids me of the fabric. “You are stunning,” he breaths, not looking away from my now completely bare body.

“Thank you, sir,” I blush, he smiles at me before dipping a finger into my entrance, earning a gasp out of me. He bites his lip, removing his now slick finger, bringing it up to trace circles on my clit.

“Always so ready to please. That’s a good quality to have,” he chuckles, standing from the mattress to further remove his boxers and shirt. Seeing him in all his glory is surreal. He crawls on top of me, earning an audible, anxious gulp from me. He smiles as he leans down, resting his toned forearms on either side of my head, lining himself up with my entrance.

“Are you ready dear?” he asks, in my ear.

“Yes sir,” I whimper, shaking from anticipation. With that he pushes into me slowly as a low groan creeps from his throat. I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut trying to adjust to his size. His movements start slow, but soon the pain melts into pleasure and I give him permission to speed up. His thrusts are quick and deep, earning desperate moans from my mouth with each stroke. The way Stan holds my hip and grips my throat while he fucks me is a sensation I’ve never experienced before. I’m complete putty in his hands, allowing him to use me in anyway he sees fit, and I’ll thank him every time. Briefly pulling out of me, Stan flips me around to my stomach.

“Hands and knees,” he pants out as he stands from the bed. I quickly scramble on the mattress to get into the position he’s requested as my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. “Good girl,” I can hear his smirk as he brings a hard hand down over my ass, earning a whimper from me before he thrusts back into me, no mercy this time.

“Fuck!” I moan out as I feel him bottom out immediately. Stan finds his rhythm, using his hands to pull my body against his with every deep stroke.

“God, you take me so well,” Stan groans as he moves a hand underneath me, rubbing his thumb over my clit. I moan loudly at the extra stimulation. Stans thrusts get sloppy, and his groans get louder as I begin to flutter around him, focusing on my own climax as he pounds into me relentlessly.

“Fuck,” I whimper, warning stan of my orgasm approaching.

“Be good for me, I want you to beg,” Stan pants out with smack on my ass.

“Please sir,” I whine as my legs begin to shake. “Please let cum. I can’t hold it. Please sir,” I plead in a way I never thought I would speak to man.

“Good girl,” he speeds up his finger that’s working with my bundle of nerves. I quickly come undone. Sweat forms a thin sheen on my forehead as I release around him, seeing stars. Soon after, he pulls out before I feel his warm seed shoot out, running down my back. I lay down on my stomach, closing my eyes as I try to catch my breath. Stan lays down right next to me, pulling me into his side. I look up, his chest heaving as he wipes his forehead with his hand.

“I think we’ve made a lot of progress today,” he chuckles as he brushes my hair off my sweaty face.

“I agree, Mr. Bowes,” I giggle as I rest my head on his shoulder.

[folkloreguk]

🍒Cherry Ice Cream (2)🍒

A/N: Part two is here! There won't be another one after this. I just wanted to split it into two little scenarios with one being cute and the other not so cute lmao...I hope you enjoy - as always I appreciate feedback a lot!

taglist: @lovely-ateez

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), lifeguard!au, pool sex, unprotected sex

words: 3.4 k

PART 1 (fluff, both parts can be read independently)

It was the middle of the summer holidays and you had never been happier. Sunny weather, swimming, lots of free time and as much ice cream as you wanted were only a few of the reasons for your luck. The main cause was the boy of your dreams. A few weeks ago, you had met. It had been the most chaotic, embarrassing day at the public swimming pool – or so you had initially thought. Turns out being a walking disaster could not only attract negative attention. When the otherworldly handsome and kind lifeguard had pulled your clumsy figure out of the water and even bought you ice cream to make you feel better, you had a feeling things were about to change. And you hadn’t been wrong. Maybe you were seeing things through rose-colored glasses and a mix of lovestruck hormones, but you suspected he might just really be this great.

Ever since your first ice cream date, the two of you had been inseparable. Looks were one thing – and you had made yourself aware that though he was a picture of perfection, he could still have turned out to not be your type at all. But the inside reflected on his outside. Every day you found out a new enrapturing detail about him. He was a never-ending book that you were utterly unwilling to put back down.

Your days were spent at the public swimming pool, watching your lifeguard boyfriend do his job and questioning if this was all some sort of hidden camera prank. During his break he came running straight to your spot under the trees and plopped down on your towel, ready to spend the most time with you until he had to go back. Although your streak of bad luck was over, he still took care of you and made sure you were okay in the heat. He reminded you to drink enough water and sent you a good morning text every day. When he had first asked you to help him put sunscreen on his shoulders, you had hesitated with cheeks hotter than the sunlight that day. Now it was a daily thing, and sometimes when his hands were on your back, rubbing in the lotion, you caught yourself wishing there weren’t a hundred families around you. But it was hard scoring alone time with him at the pool. Even later at night, right before closing time, there were always one or two diehard swimming fans there.

“I love watching my cute girlfriend swim,” he would keep telling you.

“You better make sure you’re paying attention to the rest of the visitors, too,” you would reply, but secretly love his flirty remarks. Perhaps he wasn’t even so far off. After your first encounter, it was apparent that maybe you were the one guest who didneed the closest monitoring. Even his co-workers knew of you. They had made it their life mission to remind him daily how whipped he was for you, but he never cared about their teasing.

At night, you rode your bikes home. Towards the candy cotton clouds on the horizon, through the small suburb, you rode side by side, still damp hair flowing in the wind. Outside your home he cupped your face then, the sun kissed skin of his hands still warm to the touch. Like he was the slowly setting sun himself, he kissed you goodnight. You were addicted to his lips. He made you fly, brought back all your fondest memories as if he himself was in them, and let you forget every worry you’ve ever had in the world.

One evening at the pool, you lay on your bathmat, headphones in your ears and your favorite summer playlist taking you to another world. Suddenly, two hands grabbed you by the shoulders. You jerked up in surprise.

“Oh my god, we could have hit our heads together!” you scolded your boyfriend, who was smiling at you like an innocent five-year old.

“Guess what. My boss just told me that I can close the place up tonight. You know what that means, right?” he said.

“Tell me more,” you smirked.

“Technically, we can stay here however long we want. And do whatever we want. As long as no one finds out,” he whispered the last part into your ear. Chills ran up your spine despite the heat in the air.

“Do whatever we want, huh?” you said. “I thought you were being a model employee?”

“I am,” he shrugged with his child-like smile. “And the model employee needs to go back to work now. I have a reputation to uphold. You’ll be waiting for me, right?”

“Of course,” you nodded, watching his figure as he jogged back to his seat by the pool. The next hours seemed to go by extra-slowly, to your dismay. After his announcement, you only found yourself staring in his direction more than on any other day. Truly, you could never get used to his handsomeness. You thought of his voice that made you melt like ice and his hands when he kissed you. Too often they remained in innocent, safe territory. Maybe that was about to change. It was a Friday, meaning the opening hours were longer than usual. By 10 pm however, even the last person had left. The public swimming pool was closed. Officially.

You had to admit, you could get used to having an enormous swimming pool all to yourself. Blissfully, you dived through the water, not having to worry about crashing into anybody’s legs or losing track of your surroundings. You had always felt as though swimming was a little like flying. Not that you knew what flying would be like. But if you had to make a guess, feeling weightless and small in a seemingly endless space probably came close. All your life, it had remained the same. Playing pretend in the water, acting like a mermaid scavenging for the most precious treasure of the seven seas – all your loveliest ideas lingered in your memory like it had been yesterday.

The pool had a shallow end, about the depth which allowed your head to reach above the surface, and progressively deepened towards the other end. You took a gulp of air and descended into the darkness. Taking long strokes, you dived towards the white light at the wall of the shallower pool end. With the brightness ahead of you, you failed to notice the shadow behind you.

As you were in the process of coming up from the water, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around you. For the second time that day, you jolted in surprise and quickly gasped for air.

“You scared me out of my wits! Will you stop that!” you said, but you were already smiling. It was hard to carry grudges against the boy behind you. Not when he held your waist and rested his chin on your bare shoulder, grinning as if it was a crime to even suspect him of such things.

“Hi, there,” he said and pecked your cheek sweetly. “I missed you.”

“So did I,” you admitted. Only months ago, you had made fun of how lovestruck your friend had been. You weren’t one to speak now. His hands let go of you while you turned your body to face him. Then they were on you again, and although it was a small touch, your lack of clothes created a tension between you right away.

“Wanna race me?” he whispered into your ear, as if there was anyone around to listen in. Was he serious? Did he really think you wanted him to let go of you now? His voice on your neck rendered you wanting him so bad, you had to take a deep breath to compose yourself.

“I’ve been swimming all day,” you said. “Besides, didn’t you say we could do whatever we wanted? We can swim whenever we want, during opening hours.”

“Oh, sounds like you have better plans?” he asked. For a moment, he touched your forehead with his. If you bent forward slightly, you could have kissed him. His hungry eyes were on your lips when you had finished the thought.

“I was thinking you could kiss me, for starters?” you coaxed him. He chuckled.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too, the past few hours,” he realized. “You know, I was trying to be subtle about it.”

“Forget about being subtle,” you said. “Let’s just make out, please?”

“I’d like nothing better than that,” he smiled, and then your mouths touched. His gentle lips tasted faintly of chlorine and salt, a taste you had come to associate with him and magnificent things. You held his face in your hands tightly and pushed your body against him yearningly. Reacting, he sighed and deepened the kiss. His wandering hands found the small of your backside as you arched your back into his frame. You hummed quietly, hands burying in his wet hair and playing with it at the nape of his neck.

All your childhood you had been searching for your treasure under the water. Now you understood. He was right there in front of you. Little you would be proud you had found someone this precious and incomparable. And hot.

“Jump,” he said. You did as he suggested and wrapped your legs around his waist. The proximity of his body made your heart hammer against your ribcage with such feverishness, you worried it might jump through your chest. With the way he touched every curve of your body, you almost forgot how to kiss. Luckily, your instincts did the job for you as you sipped on his lips and sighed every so often. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you felt his smirk when you moaned in surprise. Every inch of your skin burned with desire for him.

As he carried you over to the side of the pool, you pulled away shortly. You took the liberty to attack his neck with frenzied kisses. It felt just as you had imagined a thousand times. You couldn’t possibly recount all the instances when you had found yourself staring at his neck and shoulders in the past weeks. He was easily the biggest distraction you had ever known. But it wasn’t your fault his tanned skin was so inviting and his strong presence ever so alluring. Returning his teasing, you bit into his shoulder, kissing and sucking on it right after.

“Fuck, baby,” he said in a throaty tone. “You’re amazing.”

Softly, he rubbed his nose against yours before your lips locked again. The kiss was all but soft. Your tongues meddled as if you were starved people and you could barely keep your hands in one place. Not that you would want to. You wanted to glue his hands onto your body or better yet handcuff him to your wrists. What was the opposite of a restraining order called? You were about to invent a word for it. Never before had you been so intoxicated, so in ecstasy with another person.

He pulled aside the fabric of your top momentarily and cupped your breasts in his hands. You gasped and melted into his touch and the way he played with your nipples. He attacked your neck in kisses and you shut your eyes, enjoying the sensation of his lips.

“I really want you.” He had his hands on your ass and all you could think about was the growing bulge in his swimming shorts. Your hard nipples rubbed against his chest, the thin fabric of your swim top doing little to nothing to separate your bodies. How could somebody’s whole existence be so titillating? He pulled away, just far enough to speak but barely. “I’ve wanted you like this for a while. But I didn’t want to unsettle you by making you think I just want sex from you. Truth is, I don’t want you to be just some summer romance, Y/N. Every day I hope you’ll still be here when summer is over.”

“Why would you think I’m going anywhere?” you asked. “You’re the reason I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I ask myself every day how I managed to end up with you in the first place.”

“That’s easy. First, threaten to demolish the turnstile with your stubbornness, second, offer your head to a bunch of kids with a water ball, third, square up against a bug in front of a hundred people, fourth- “

“Okay! Enough,” you said. “Don’t bring up my clumsiness. That’s just about the least sexy thing in the world.”

“Baby, I think there’s nothing not sexy about you,” he spoke. He kissed you deeply and all your embarrassing memories vanished at once. “So, you’re cool with this?”

His sudden change in tone caused your breath to hitch in your throat, as his hands lingered by your hips, just above your bikini bottom. You only nodded, the motion getting more eager as the words sunk in. He slid his fingers along the inside of your thigh, and you squirmed under his touch in desperation. Swiftly, he pushed aside the material above your center. His digits slid through your wetness, catching the nub between them, and rubbing ever so slowly. An overwhelmed gasp spilled over your lips, and you closed your eyelids.

“Fuck- ,“ you muttered under your breath. He teased your core, nearly sliding his finger into you, but then pulling away to find your nub to toy with.

“You look so beautiful,” he said. At his words, you looked at him through fluttering eyelids. He was one to talk about beauty. The luminescence from underwater sharpened his features, and his eyes had something magical, something enchanting about them. Like he could have you – or anyone – without saying a word. He reminded you of a merman, or rather a siren. Ready to drag you along with him, deep under the surface. And you were so willing to let it happen. For all you knew, you were long lost and under his spell anyway.

“Have you ever done it in public?” he asked. You were too distracted by his fingers on you at first, head hanging back in ecstasy, until you snapped out of it.

“No, but – fuck – I guess I can strike that one off my sex bucket list after tonight, can’t I?” you said.

“You have a sex bucket list? Interesting, tell me more about it,” he smirked. His eyes darkened and his tongue licked over his lips once. As if on command, his lazy ministrations on you quickened, rubbing your clit in small, circular motions until you were a moaning, stammering mess. You suspected he did so just to see your immediate reaction, and you gave him just what he wanted.

“Can we postpone the – the talking…on later?” you murmured, feeling like collapsing against his broad shoulders. “I’m kind of too busy to – to talk.”

“I can see that,” he teased you, kissing you gently. The delicacy of his lips only made your head spin more. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

“Don’t you want to get busy too?” you asked. You reached for his swimming trunks and wrapped your hand around his hard member through the material. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Shit- me too.” His arousal echoed in his moans, and he sucked in a breath. There was a sense of power in knowing you could make him react so gravely by doing so little. You tugged on his trunks and pulled them down a little to reveal his full length. Palming him, you felt how painfully hard he must have been for a while now. He groaned and it was the best thing you had ever heard. Eagerly, you slid your bikini bottom off and watched for a moment as it sunk down into the depths of the pool. Your legs wrapped around his waist again as he aligned his cock with your core.

At this point you supposed you were both out of words. Hunger had taken over and you barely managed to form a sentence. He kissed you and you hummed and nodded, wanting him to know you were ready. Easily, he entered you and you whimpered at the way he stretched your velvet walls after all the wait. Your senses were overcome with everything around you. The warm water enveloping the both of you, the soft summer breeze caressing your faces, his hands on your hips as he guided your body into his thrusts and the sound of your breathless moans and sighs – it was pure bliss. Night had almost fallen, with the sky being a deep blue, almost black by now. It was a perfect setting for a perfect night with your favorite person.

You gazed into his dilated pupils and the coil in your stomach tightened in the most delicious way possible. Now you recounted a myriad of dreams you’d seen him in. Not always, but occasionally he showed up in your dirtiest of dreams, with his gorgeous, addictive smile and strong arms. But now he was right there, in front of you – inside of you – and you apprehended how weak your boldest imaginations had been. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as you clenched around his cock. He moaned your name huskily and it only clouded your head further.

It was crazy how loving a person could magnify everything. Even with closed eyes, the mere idea of him fucking you, at night in a public pool, could beat every single other experience you’d ever had. You felt like you were blessed with the audience with a god. A god, who had manifested on earth only to scoop you up and show you the finest things in life. You definitely couldn’t think of a finer thing than his cock dragging through your walls, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, while he had you cased against the pool tiles. Moans and little whimpers fell from your lips, and you were glad there wasn’t a single soul close by who could have heard.

He was jaw-dropping. With the way he pounded into you hard, using the poolside wall as support on your back, you felt your head spin as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your skin seemed to prickle wherever he touched you and you pushed your chest against his. Just a little closer, you told yourself, even though you were running out of space already. It was body against body while he whispered naughty things into your ears, telling you how incredible you felt, how lucky he had gotten with you and how sexy he found you.

“You’re the fucking best I’ve ever had, baby,” he said. His teeth grazed your neck as he kissed your sensitive skin messily. You could have counted every single drop of water hanging from the strands of his hair and adorning his face. Could have taken notice of every single eyelash and even the tiniest speckles of color in his irises. But you could barely command your eyes to stay open.

“So- close,” you said. In your ecstasy, you clawed at his back as another wave of pleasure went through your entire body.

“Together, hm?” he said, lips brushing over your cheek with every thrust. You hummed and nodded, as he picked up his thrusts to a toe-curling speed. With every touch of your sweet spot, you felt reality slip away a little further, and you were doing nothing to fight it. You invited the feeling in, resting your forehead against his, breaths coming out in short puffs. And then it overcame you. Your orgasm jolted through you like electricity, and you clung to him as if you might have sunken otherwise. It made your shared moans high pitched, and he followed you, pulling you into his arms like it was alone you who was keeping him afloat.

The splashing of the water softened as he drew out your highs for as long as possible with slower thrusts. Eventually, he halted completely. He cradled your face in his hands and when you finally opened your tired eyes, he was watching you with full adoration. His charming smile caused an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. This was only the beginning of your time together, yet you could barely fathom your fortune. And as it seemed, this time fate was on your side.

[thebeebi]

your little games pt. 11

pairing: Jungkook x reader

warnings: fluff in later chapters, smut, non-con, mention of r*pe attempt, implied murder and many more! Read only if you are okay with these topics!

genre: historical AU, 18th century?

word count: 3k+ [part 11]

a/n: Hello! I hinted this and I am so excited to say that we are finally going to see what is Jungkook thinking (well to some extent). I hope you will like this chapter and are excited as much as me! ♥ Love you and enjooooy :)

taglist: @njrwifey​ @danietoww04​  @kaithezaftig​​ @she-is-dreaming​  [If you want to be added, just let me know :)]

You ran away from the man who tried to take an advantage of you. You stabbed him and escaped. Escaped to the arms of the handsome captain who was even worse than the man you just killed.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10

You quickly shook your head and got nervous because his hand on your cheek started burning your skin. You knew that feeling and softly pulled yourself away. He knows that he has this kind of effect on me, yet he does it anyway. You thought about how close he was. He knows how much his touch scares me, yet he... You closed your eyes, trying to calm down. He was everywhere, surrounding you. At first, you almost paid no attention to his thighs but the soft touch on your cheek reminded you how close he actually was. “This one,” Jungkook pointed at one of the sketches. You opened your eyes and looked over to the side, curious what kind of dresses he likes. “It will look good in the golden colour. My wife will look beautiful in it.” Then he looked over other sketches, putting one aside noting that it looked too cheap. He chose another five dress and rejected two of the designs Mrs Dubois strongly recommended.

You were watching him speechless. He picked everything you would have chosen and what he rejected, you would have also rejected. It was like he was reading your mind. Jungkook then stood up and walked around checking out different dresses. He picked a few more and then returned to Mrs Dubois, paying her for all of them. You were surprised by how many dresses he actually got you. It was way more than you expected. You would have never chosen that many, not even if you were rich enough to do that. It felt surreal that he was this generous after what he told you before. “Do you agree with all of the dress I chose for you, my dear?” He asked you smiling but you knew it would not matter if you agreed or not. He bought the dresses for his own satisfaction and entertainment, so he could see you in dresses he liked. But you agreed with all of them anyways, you liked them. How could you disagree when he picked out the most beautiful ones?

You nodded. “You are really generous.” Jungkook looked at you from above, having a clear sight on your showing bust because the dress you were wearing was too revealing. Before he would love to see you in them but now it was different. He wanted to touch you right there and then but he reminded himself of his warning and promise. He looked away, making his way to Mrs Dubois. “I need one more,” he sighed. “ A dress my wife could wear right away.” Mrs Dubois looked around the shop thinking. Out of nowhere she randomly gasped and smiled. “Oui, monsieur, I have the perfect one I finished yesterday!” With that, she disappeared behind the curtain and brought back the dress. “Something like this?” You could hear her voice before she appeared once again. She showed Jungkook the dress that was made of sky blue velvet material. “Yes, pack them up for us. Now we will go look for some accessories to compliment the dresses we bought. Mrs Dubois, we are leaving in a week so I expect you to have everything ready by then.” The dressmaker opened her mouth to protest. “But, sir, that is impossible! At least a month please!” Jungkook shook his head. “I am sorry but we are leaving in a week so I will bring my wife back here in three days for the last measurements. In a week, I want everything on my ship. If you will make it till then and the dresses will be in good quality, I will pay you double, if not, then it is your loss. Do you agree?” Mrs Dubois could not let such an offer go free, so she nodded and shook Jungkook’s hand in agreement. “Very well, Monsieur Jeon. We have an agreement.”

The shops were full of well-dressed ladies and elegantly dressed gentlemen, that were pushing through each other to get to the place they wanted. They reminded you of yourself when you used to go happily to these shops with your father as a little girl. Your mood got suddenly better since the thoughts of childhood were always nice. You talked to the shopkeepers smiling, trying on the different kinds of accessories, laughing at yourself in the mirror, seeing how funny you looked. You were walking from one side of the shop to the other, charming everyone with your personality. Jungkook did not say anything, just nodded at the sellers whenever you wore something he liked. Well, he bought basically everything you tried because he liked how it looked on you.

He did not say anything even when you touched him and pulled him to another shop. He did not protest, he just let you guide him wherever you wanted. You never asked him for anything though, you never expected him to buy you anything. You just felt happy enough to be able to try on different accessories and to look at everything. You were watching all those charming ladies walking in front of you and laughed at their not-so-fit husbands that were trying to follow them. The smile on your face was genuine, you really enjoyed it because you felt like there were no worries in the world at that moment. You turned around, looking at different props of the shop that were decorating the interior and your hair was flying behind you whenever you turned too quickly. The men in the shop, even though they were attending to their wives, could not take their eyes off you.

The sun almost set down, once you stood still in front of the window of the shop. You were silently looking at the wooden crib. You softly touched the glass, as if you wanted to feel the connection with the crib behind it. You bit your lower lip and turned to Jungkook. He walked closer to you and looked at the crib.  “I have a better one at home.” He told you. “It was mine but it is still in great condition. Mary always wanted me to have a child and use it as soon as possible.” You opened your mouth nodding then furrowed your eyebrows confused. “Mary?”

Jungkook smiled at the name. “Yeah, a woman who is taking care of my household.” He answered. “She had been working for our family even before I was born,” Jungkook turned to the main road and waved at the carriage. You walked closer to him and he continued. His voice was different than it was a few seconds ago. It was rough and you did not like the change one bit. “Mary was waiting for me to get married and become a father” He looked at you from the corner of his eye, head still looking ahead. “I am sure she will be happy once she sees you. When we come to my hometown, you will be pretty big.”  You pulled the cloak that was on your shoulders around your belly. “You were supposed to get married once you came back. I am sure Mary is going to hate me for this.”

“She will not.” The tone of his voice did not allow you to ask any more questions. He looked at the incoming carriage. You weren’t sure why she would not hate you for what they…and you did to Jungkook. Something felt off but you weren’t sure what. When the carriage stopped in front of you, Jungkook told the carter the name of the tavern you were staying at, he put into the carriage all the accessories he bought for you and then he helped you get on. You slowly sat down and it felt like all the exhaustion came crashing down on you. The shopping was tiring and now all you wanted was to get to bed and sleep. You closed your eyes once you saw that Jungkook sat next to you.

Jungkook was looking at your head that started leaning on his broad shoulder. He softly took your head and placed it on his chest. You were softly mumbling in your sleep and your hand was falling into his loin unknowingly. Jungkook held his breath. The colour of his face disappeared and was cursing himself, for letting you have this kind of effect on him. You were driving him crazy. He was feeling as he were a virgin, who is preparing to have his first experience with a woman. One second he was feeling hot and was sweating, then in the other the blood in his veins froze and he could not move. Jungkook was the type of man who could get any woman he wanted without any bigger effort. He used to have sex for his own entertainment so this kind of feeling he is feeling right now is something new for him. You were too inexperienced and he was barely holding himself back from pulling you to his embrace. Where are my sanity and self-control? Where are they? Have they jumped down the dwell when I threatened her that I will never treat her as a husband? Am I acting like this because I realised I cannot touch her and that is why she became so desirable? He asked himself yet he knew it was not the case. He wanted you even when you disappeared and he thought he would never see you again. What are you doing to me, Y/N? You are almost not old enough to carry my child, yet you are here. So close. Jungkook’s inner fight was strong. His thought and reasonings could not deny the fact that he wanted to touch you, that he wanted to make love to you. He wanted you right there and then, he did not want to control himself. How long am I going to last with you by my side? How long am I going to last while watching your naked body without actually touching it? He sighed and clenched his jaw. He could not do anything with you even though he wanted it. He could not simply forget his threats. He swore he would make you pay for everything you did to him. No one is going to blackmail me without punishment. The pride will not let me do that. She is just a woman and they are all the same. I will get my mind off her once I see someone else. I have never met someone I could not get out of my mind. He reasoned within himself. But Y/N is…different. It would be unfair to her to say that is is not. He thought about all kinds of women that he slept with. They were all willing and very passionate when it came to love. They knew what they were doing but you were different. You were innocent, pure and he took your virginity by force. He was well-aware that you knew nothing about the men and love. And now you are his wife and are expecting his child. Only that reason is enough to say you are different. How could I forget the fact you are my wife, little one? That reason alone is enough to say you are different than them. He said looking at your sleeping figure. He was about to caress your cheek but the carriage abruprtly stopped in front of the tavern.

“Y/N?” he whispered softly with his lips almost touching your hair. “Should I carry to the room?” You moved your head that was leaning onto his chest. “What?” You asked while still being half-asleep. “Should I carry you to the room?” You opened your eyes, still in a daze. “No,” You answered but you did not even attempt to stand up. Jungkook smiled and covered your hand with his. “If you want, little one, we can ride around the town for a little bit more.” With a squeak, you sit straight up and pulled your hand from his. When you saw his smirk, you blushed and would love to die right away without feeling so much embarrassment. You jumped up and passed him by to open the door of the carriage. You almost fell out but Jungkook quickly held your waist to save you. He pulled you in the carriage and sat you up on his lap. “Did you want to kill yourself?” He asked coldly. You covered your face screaming “I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU.” Jungkook’s expression changed to even colder one. “Oh, I am sure you do.” He said sarcastically. “After all, if you did not meet me, you would still be living with your wonderful aunt while being treated like a rug and hiding your nakedness underneath the dresses that were ten times bigger than you needed. You would be hiding in the hellhole as an old virgin and you would never get to experience what it feels like to be a mother. Yes, how cruel and hateful of me to take you away from that wonderful place. You were so happy there and I should be struck with a bolt of lightning to actually take you away from such a peaceful place.” He stayed silent for a bit just to continue even more harshly. “You do not even know how many times I regretted that I let you seduce me with your looks and did not find out you were just a kid. Now I will have you around for the rest of my life and just thinking about it makes me mad. Oh only if I castrated myself before meeting you, I would have lived my life in peace!” Your shoulder drooped down and you let the tears you were holding out.  You covered your eyes with the back of your arm and cried like a lost child. You never wanted to be a burden. You never wanted to be hated and unwanted.

When Jungkook saw how is your petite body shaking, the itch to hurt you disappeared. He frowned and the smirk from earlier disappeared. His chest felt heavy while looking for a handkerchief in his pockets. “Where did you put the handkerchief?” He sighed. “I cannot find it.” You shook your head while he was still holding you in the embrace. “I don’t know.” You replied in-between the sobs and panting for air. You wiped your tears into the hem of the dress while Jungkook was looking through your pockets. Meanwhile, the carter hopped down from his seat and walked to the open door. He looked inside asking unsurely. “Can I do something for madam?” He opened the door wider. “I heard the cry and it breaks my heart whenever I hear a woman cry.” Jungkook looked at him still frowning and kept looking for the handkerchief. “Thank you for the offer but my wife is upset that I will not let her mother live with us. When she will realise, that tears are not going to change my decision, she will stop.” The carter smirked at the remark. “In that case, I will leave it all up to you, sir. I should have been this straightforward when I got married too. I wouldn’t have been living with a witch now.” With that, he returned to the horses and Jungkook finally found the handkerchief that was hidden near your right breast. He pulled it out and wiped your tears, then let you blow your nose. “Are you feeling better?” He asked. “Can we go to the room, now?” When you nodded, Jungkook put the handkerchief back to the place he found it and let you stand up. Once you did so, he patted your butt and walked down the stairs of the carriage to help you down.

The tavern was loud, full of shouts of drunk sailors. Jungkook was pulling you through the tavern up the stairs to your room, hiding your red puffy face from the sight of the others. Jimin was sitting near the fireplace when he saw you and his captain, he jumped up and quickly followed you. When Jungkook opened the door to let you in, Jimin stood still in front of him listening to all of his commands. Jimin nodded and left to carry them out. With that Jungkook entered the room and closed to door behind himself, looking at you standing in front of the small sink, washing your face.

“Jimin went to grab food. I will not eat here today and I would like you to not go out of the room. I don’t think it would be safe without me. If you need anything, Jimin is going to be in front of the room. Ask him to do anything you want,” You looked at him over your shoulder whispering a soft: “Thank you.” Without any other words, Jungkook turned and left the room. You kept on looking at the closed door sadly.

The soft movement was like a swing of butterfly’s wings and it was so gentle, that is almost felt unreal. You were laying still underneath the blanket in the bed. You were worried that if you moved, the movement inside your belly would stop. You smiled once you felt it again but this time it was stronger. Your hand slid down to cup your belly and suddenly all your thoughts cleared up a little. Even though Jungkook was right, it was not easy. You would not get out of your aunt’s house to enjoy yourself. She would have watched you for the rest of your life if Jungkook did not take you away. You felt the movement again.

I will be a mother now and he will hate me for making me become that. But does it really have to be like that? It is hard to show him gratitude and affection when I know that he hates the ground I am walking on and the air that I breathe. He said he regretted meeting me. He would rather not be a man than to have me by his side. He was nice so far even though he hates me. I have to show him how grateful I am, I have to show him I am not a kid anymore but is not going to be easy. You were scared. Scared of him, his touch and things he is making you feel. But you wanted to try.

Chapter 12

a/n: The important question is: Did Y/N overreacted or nah? I am just curious about your opinion. Also, we are slowly but surely getting to the middle of the story! It is a long series I know! HAHHAA I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Love you all ♥ 

[ally-127]

Can I request study date with mingyu at the library but your skirt is a little to short for his liking and then... I’ll let you decide lmao

study date

pairing : mingyu x reader ( college!AU ) word count : 2.5k warnings : public sex; exhibitionism; teasing; degradation; fingering; orgasm denial; music : ‘flow’ by monsta x a/n : i added some fluffy, slice of life at the start because who would i be without that

it was sunny out that day, rays of golden sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains of your bedroom. lively birds chirped outside your window, accompanied by the hustle and bustle down the streets of seoul.

it was a nice day to have plans, which was how you quickly scrambled for your phone to text mingyu in order to make some in the first place.

study date at the library?

he replied you less than a minute later.

see you at 12 :)

shoving a thick block of a textbook for constitutional law into your tote bag along with your laptop and some loose sheets of lined paper, you set the bag down in front of your door before sorting through your dresser for something loose and light to wear.

to your surprise, you managed to find a dress in the small expanse of your drawers. it was made of black satin and had long, thin strings all over the place. as you put it on with a slight struggle, you realised that the dress had a slight cowl neckline in the front and backless, tied together by a ribbon just between your shoulder blades.

this resulted in you discarding your bra from underneath. it was a daring move, considering how thin the material is, but you were running out of time and couldn’t be bothered to find another outfit. besides, you also wanted to give mingyu a little tease just for the kicks.

after quickly lacing up your favourite pair of matching black low-cut converses, you were out the door in less than five minutes.

the walk to the library was not as pleasant as you had expected it to be. the weather was warmer than usual. it was a sign of spring transitioning into summer.

the midday, sizzling heat and the humid air drew perspiration from your skin.

by the time you’d reached the designated location, you were covered in light sheen of sweat and your hair was pulled up into a mess of a bun on the top of your head.

at least your mascara and eyeliner were waterproof.

the library was packed with people, mostly students. their heads were all bent, almost to ninety degrees, in focused silence. there were hushed murmurs here and there, but other than that the place was mostly quiet.

as it should be.

you pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, your eyes scanning the area to look for a particularly tall boy with particularly sharp canines and a particularly sweet smile.

“looking for me?” a low voice asked from behind you.

you jumped, startled.

mingyu stood in front of you, clad in a classic black t-shirt and light-washed, ripped jeans. his hair, the colour of milk chocolate, was swept away from his face. those strands looked incredibly soft you were one step away from asking what his shampoo and conditioner were.

the heat you were now feeling was clearly not from the weather as his eyes, akin to the colour of his hair, raked down your body.

you brushed away the momentary burn of exhilaration you felt from his stare, deciding to focus on the smile that tugged by his lips.

he gave you a light kiss on the lips as a form of greeting. you offered him a bright smile in return. no words were exchanged between you two then.

that was, until you began to receive weird looks from those who occupied the tables closest to the entrance for lingering there

“come on,” you took his arm. “let’s find a place to sit.”

you two found a spot by the panelled windows that overlooked the city ahead. cars, skyscrapers and pedestrians were splashed out before you like an urban art piece.

courtesy of the sun, shadows in the shape of the grids formed on the wooden desk. this tiny detail made the entire spot an even more pleasing sight to see.

“pretty, huh?” mingyu said under his breath.

you nodded.

a minute later, you had all your materials scattered across your workspace. your laptop sat the furthest away, the presentation slides from your lecture last week on full screen for reference and your bulky textbook right under your nose.

mingyu busied himself with reading a copy of jane austen’s pride and prejudice. his space, in comparison to yours, was looking rather desolate.

“aside from being a hopeless romantic,” you mused, eyeing the book in his hand. “do you ever, you know, study?”

“already did this morning,” he murmured without looking up. he sat further back from the desk, an ankle crossed over a knee. “finished most of the syllabus covered so far. even went the extra mile to skim through the next chapter.”

“productive,” you couldn’t help the sarcasm as averted your eyes back to your book and paper, uncapping the pen to begin writing.

as time went by, you realised that mingyu was here literally only to accompany you. he didn’t have anything to do aside from indulging himself in elizabeth bennet and mr. darcy. you grinned to yourself at the fact, your heart taking massive leap in your chest.

“what’re you smiling at?” he peered past your shoulder at what you were working on. “is constitutional law that fun?”

“it’s nothing,” you waved him off.

mingyu shifted his chair forward so he was closer to you. you felt strong arms wrap around your bare shoulders and his chin resting on your collarbone.

“it’s not nothing,” his book dangled from his hand as he clasped them by your neck.

“i’m just happy,” you put your pen down. “that you’re here with me.”

“i can say the same,” his chin moved on your shoulder as he spoke. “i missed you.”

“it’s been three days,” you murmured.

“yeah, well,” he said, trailing off into a daydream. “it’s three days too long.”

“patience is a virtue,” you gave him a swift glance from the side of your eye.

“i’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked at you and now you knew you probably have said the wrong thing.

sooner or later he’d use this against you.

you resumed writing, mingyu remaining in his position with his arms enveloped around you while he peeked at your notes and textbook.

“i’m not illiterate but i can’t seem to understand a single word you’re writing,” you saw him frown in confusion in your peripheral vision as he read the information you were jotting down on paper.

“i don’t blame you,” you murmured, a mild headache beginning to form in your temples.

you sighed as you noticed one of your points about the freedom of speech needed further elaboration.

you were sure this library contained some sort of reference in the legal section that you could use. so you tapped on mingyu’s arm, silently asking him to move so you could stand up and look for it.

“where are you going?” he looked up at you.

in this close proximity, mingyu could see the slight outline of your nipples through the thin material of your dress. the buds were hardened in response to the air conditioner being blasted in this library.

you weren’t wearing a bra today.

he bit his lip, feeling himself slowly grow rigid in his pants. he silently cursed himself for reacting like a preteen who had just seen tits for the first time.

“to the law section,” you replied.

mingyu kept his eyes on you. from a lower angle, he was able discern how awfully short the skirt of your dress was and from the way you walked so carelessly it seemed like you didn’t notice it at all. the shape of your ass was highlighted even more so now, the end of your dress teasing the top most part of your thighs.

if you had just lifted your leg slightly, whatever you were wearing underneath would be exposed to the naked eye. if you were even wearing any.

he inhaled sharply, unsure on what to do with his concupiscent thoughts. he watched you disappear as you wandered further down the hall of the library.

your footsteps were light on the ground as you browsed through the different shelves of law books, eyes scanning for the word ‘constitution’. you craned your neck up, finally spotting one and reached up to get it.

it was, however, way out of your reach. no matter how much you tiptoed and how far your arms extended, there was no way of getting it. you looked around the room for a stepping stool but sadly there were none in sight. in addition to that the entire section was empty, not a soul to be seen.

so you considered jumping, your shoes thumping mutedly against the wooden floor.

obviously, that didn’t work. it only drained your energy.

almost effortlessly a second later, an arm reached up to grab the exact book you had your eye on.

before you could turn to protest, you were met by the face of your boyfriend. mingyu leaned himself against the shelf, holding the book up almost teasingly.

like holding a piece of raw meat in front of a tiger.

“looking for this?”

now, you felt like the prey.

there was a newfound hunger in the way he stared at you. a flame, bright with excitement, burned behind his eyes and it could only mean one thing.

you weren’t unfamiliar with it. you were just confused as to what triggered him or more specifically,

what turned him on.

you already had something in mind, but you wanted to tease the answer out of him.

“do you know,” he slid the book back on the shelf with ease as he took more steps closer. “that what you’re wearing is far too short?”

so that was what it’s about.

“do i?” you glanced down, fingers toying with the hem of your dress.

you played along, with pleasure.

“don’t talk back,” the more steps forward he took, the more steps backward you took until you were up against the wall.

mingyu was right in front of you now, lips millimetres away.

“do you enjoy other men staring at your ass like that?” he held your jaw between his thumb and pointer finger. he could force your mouth open if he pressed any harder, but he didn’t. “answer me.”

“i didn’t know anyone was staring at me,” you said truthfully but a knowing smirk swept across your lips. “and i didn’t know it would have that much of an effect on you.”

“are you sure?” his eyes trailed down to your chest, where your nipples peeked through.

“maybe i wanted to tease you,” you laughed at how tense he was, already spotting a tent in his jeans as he snaked an arm around your waist. “but that was it.”

“is it funny how hard i am for you?” he closed the distance between your bodies so his crotch grounded against your pelvic bone.

“a little,” you said, voice turning breathy as mingyu shifted his hand from your jaw down to graze the skin on your inner thigh.

heat blossomed in your core, the urge to press your thighs together apparent as his hand travelled further up your dress. his hand disappeared under your skirt, the material hiking up his wrist. the tips of his fingers brushed the lace of your underwear, almost your clit but not there just yet.

“mingyu,” your hands sought purchase on his broad shoulders, head leaning against the wall.

“is it funny now?” his whispered into your ear, long fingers unfurling to cup your sex. he pushed his hand up into you. jolts of electricity soared up your spine, your body almost jerking upwards against his from the sudden pressure.

“n-not here,” at this rate, you began to whimper.

“why not?” mingyu’s voice had noticeably gone down a couple octaves, the baritone quaking through your core. his spread his fingers in your underwear so his middle finger rubbed directly on your slit. your back arched on the wall, pressing your chest harder on him in response. your hips undulated on his hand, urging him to fucking move.

“people w-will see.”

“they’ll see how much of a slut you are,” he nipped the lobe of your ear, breath hot and needy. he stroked your clit, slow and unrelenting. “just for me.”

his words, dirty and brimming with desire, were enough to intoxicate you in a haze of what he was feeling. his lips form a sardonic grin of your state, finally giving you a taste of your own medicine.

“you like that?” his hand from your waist moved up to your breast, squeezing it and shooting pleasure straight to your aching pussy. “you like letting the whole world see you take my cock right on this wall?”

you pressed your lips on his to hide the moan the slips from them as he rubbed your clothed-sex with full force. he gladly swallowed the wanton sound of your cry, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to grant his tongue access to the depths of your heated mouth. a multitude of groans rumbled in his chest, soft enough so only you could hear, while he nudged a thigh between your legs for support and elevate your leg slightly for him to reach deeper.

your hands carded through his hair, pulling on the roots as he continued his assault on your clit. your eyes were half-closed and fluttering from overwhelming pleasure. he pushed your panties to the side, slowly and allowing the elastic to snap against your now exposed folds. you jumped, the pain eliciting a new sensation.

mingyu took the opportunity to slip his ring finger into you, your juices providing more than enough lubrication for him to glide in. the wave of your hips—rolling against his hand—became more sharp in movement, more desperate to get all of him.

“you’re so wet already,” he mumbled into your ear, sinking his finger to the hilt. “and we’ve barely just gotten started.” he added another finger—his middle—into you. he pumped his digits slowly first to stretch you out, curling the tips to stroke your walls. you moaned into his neck, his fingers increasing in pace.

“you have to be quiet for me or we’ll be in huge trouble,” mingyu ran his free hand up your neck to your lips, swiping the spit off your lips and jutting a thumb between your soft appendages. “but i’m sure you’d like that, won’t you?”

you took a moment to quirk your lips up in a smirk, trapping his thumb between your teeth, silently telling him that oh yes you’d like that very much.

“dirty slut,” he growled in your ear. “always so tight,” his fingers formed a ‘v’ shape in your inner walls for a brief second before returning to thrusting in and out of you.

soon enough a release tugged at the base of your spine. your core clenched around his digits as a mild rush of euphoria began to approach. sensing it through the increased tightness around his fingers and the excess slick that ran down your inner thighs, mingyu retracted his fingers.

a quiet whine left your lips from the orgasm that had been ripped off from you. you rocked your hips upwards in hopes that he would do something about it until he tut, shaking his head.

“patience is a virtue, my love.”

[lost-in-the-80s]

You Don’t Want My Love - Chapter 7

Pairing: Duff McKagan x reader

Words: 3,899k

Summary: Guns n Roses hires a new tour assistant, but nobody thought that Duff would fall for her.

In this chapter:  Late night talks on the bus can sometimes be your best friend. The band goes to a Scottish pub, but what happens when you mix love with beer? 

A/N: The only thing I can say after finishing this chapter is that I want Duff McKagan in my life! Enjoy… (new chapters every Tuesday)

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda @teasid @metalheartofgold @ginny-rose-sixx @rumoured-whispers @vinylvintage @metalupyourash ​ add yourself to my tag list :)

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“Where’s my vodka?” Duff asked, searching inside the cabinets in the dressing room.

“Duff, don’t you think you’ve had enough for a day?” Y/N asked, concerned, he had drank a bottle already.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’ll be fine, I just want to ease my nerves....” He opened the last door, grinning widely. “Here it is!”

He placed the bottle on the top of the table, searching for a new plastic glass.

Y/N reached forward, grabbing the bottle just when Duff placed a glass beside it.

“Y/N, let go of the vodka, please.” He looked into her eyes, his tone was serious but his eyes had a glimpse that she couldn’t quite identify.

“No.” She took the bottle away from the table.

“Y/N…” He prolonged her name. “You don’t want me to go there and pick it, right?” He smirked, the glimpse in his eyes getting intensified, allowing her to identify it - mischief.

He started walking slowly towards her, while she started backing off.

“Y/N…” He said it again but she sprinted off the room, running through the corridors with him chasing her. 

At some points he almost got her, but there was always someone passing by that could be used as an obstacle. 

She grinned seeing the exit door at the end of the hallway. Pushing the door open, she met with bright sunshine. Looking back she couldn’t see Duff, she started moving backward slowly, facing the door trying to see any sight of the blonde.

Y/N abruptly stopped when her back hit against something, or better, someone. 

Turning around slowly she found Duff, he moved his arms and she closed her eyes by instinct, opening them when she felt him circling her waist and pulling her closer. 

He pressed his lips against hers, in a sweet and slow kiss. Forgetting completely about the bottle, she reached behind his neck with her arms, dropping the bottle beside her and pulling him even closer.

The crackling sound made him smile in the kiss, before he slowly pulled away from her.

“You good?” He looked down to see if she hadn’t cut herself.

---

A strong glow accompanied by a deafening crash woke Y/N. Looking out of the window she could see the rays covering the sky as heavy rain hit the road.

Great, we're under a storm. She thought to herself.

Hitting her head against the pillow, she grunted, running her hands over her face. Obviously it was a dream, Y/N.

She even tried to sleep, but she never liked storms, even when she was a child, they always made her scared and alert, two things that made it impossible for her to fall asleep.

Looking for her slippers on the floor, she got up, walking slowly to the common area of ​​the bus, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with both hands.

Opening the door, her eyes locked on Duff’s. He was sitting in one corner of the couch with an acoustic guitar on his lap, the radio was turned on at a low volume, playing some band that she had never heard before.

They stared at each other for a few seconds under the bad lighting generated by the red emergency lamps on the bus, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she recalled the dream she had just had, internally hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Can't you sleep?"

"I don't like storms very much." She headed for the small kitchen on the bus, turning on the lamp in the wall cabinet. "I came to make tea to see if it helps."

"It's been raining for a while, but the lightning started a little ago."

"Haven't you gone to sleep yet?" She looked at the clock on the bus, 4:10 am.

"I wasn’t sleepy, too many thoughts in my head."

"I know how it is." She murmured. "Do you want tea?"

"No, thank you."

Silence washed over the room, and she turned to face the electric kettle, waiting for the water to boil.

Focusing on the ambient sounds, the beat of the music enveloped her ears and she realized that Duff was playing the same song on the guitar, but on notes so soft they could hardly be heard in the rain.

"Which band is this?" She turned to him.

“Ramones. They are from New York. ” He stopped playing, looking into her eyes.

"It looks like a movie soundtrack ... of those that play before an adventure scene."

He smiled at her words. “It’s a tape I made, they are my favorite songs of theirs. This is I Wanna Be Sedated.”

"It's a good song." She turned, taking the boiling water to finish her tea.

"Now you can't say that you've never heard anything punk." He said remembering the conversation they had had at the record store a few months ago.

"Is that punk?" She opened her eyes wide. "I thought it would be something worth scaring little children." She laughed a little.

"No, it's not like that." He giggled. “They were the first band, you know? They arrived at the label with this tape with several 2-minute songs and ended up revolutionizing rock ”

She smiled when she saw the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke.

"Do You Wanna Dance?" He said calmly and she choked on the tea.

"What!?"

He laughed. "The music." He pointed to the radio, she hadn't even noticed that another song was playing. "This is the last one of the tape."

"Well, I don't know if I would listen to them willingly, but they are good!" She sat on the same couch as him, leaving some space between them.

"I figured you’d like it." He smiled putting the guitar on the floor.

"Yeah, but you're not always right."

"What you mean?"

"Those Dead Kennedys suck!" She said laughing.

"Oh no!" He touched his chest. "You’re hurting me, Y/N!"

“Like… Drug Me? What song is that!?”

"Yeah, maybe I gave you the wrong band." He laughed, leaning his head against the wooden panel that blocked the bus ladder.

The tape came to an end and the bus went silent again, only the noise of rain and wind being noticeable.

"What now?" She pointed with her thumb at the radio.

"I'll let you choose something."

Standing up and adjusting her knit shorts, she walked over to the radio, turning the station knob until she found a song she liked, playing at a local station.

"Scorpions?" He frowned.

"Is that their name?" She asked laughing, returning to sit next to him, this time closer.

He laughed as he shook his head. "I think I'm going to have to give you some rock lessons."

"Only if I give you some pop lessons!" Y/N smiled.

He pursed his lips. "That makes it difficult."

She laughed at his response, but then I Want To Know What Love Is started playing and she went silent with embarrassment, afraid that Duff would realize that the song represented exactly how she felt.

“So, where are you from?” She looked at him, trying desperately to initiate some conversation that could take her mind away from the song. 

“Seattle. Born and raised there.” He smiled.

“Just you or you have siblings?” 

“I have seven older siblings.”

“Wow! God bless your mom!” She widened her eyes.

“She’s a good woman. She would like you.” 

Y/N looked down, trying to cover the smile that formed on her lips.

“What about you? Any siblings?”

“I have one brother. He’s five years younger.” 

“The two of you get along well?” 

She yawned, the tea finally bringing sleep back to her. "Most of the time. He's a good boy. Started in college last year. ” A small smile formed on her lips.

“What’s his name?”

"Kevin." She placed the cup on the coffee table, resting her head against the back of the couch. "The nickname is Kenny." She closed her eyes, trying to fight sleep.

"I bet he’s very proud to be your brother." Duff said, looking at her closely and realizing that she was almost asleep.

"Yeah, maybe." She murmured.

After a few seconds of not moving, Duff called her name, but got no answer. She had slept.

He laughed softly, stretching his long legs on the coffee table, pulling Y/N to lie against his chest. She looked so small in that big sweater.

She moved a little while still sleeping, finding a comfortable position for her head right over his heart.

Duff wrapped his arms around her, gently kissing the top of her head. "Good night, Y/N."

And the sleep that had disappeared, finally came, if the cause of it was the sun coming up or the smell of her perfume? He couldn't say. But he closed his eyes, sighing deeply, allowing himself to sleep.

---

"Awn, look at them!" Steven said excitedly.

"Shut up, you're going to wake them up!" Axl replied.

"And isn't that the intention, idiot?" Slash asked, slapping the back of Axl's head.

Slowly, Duff started to open his eyes, all four were standing in front of him. Looking down, Duff saw her sleeping, she looked so peaceful, her hand was on his chest and her lips were slightly parted.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." Izzy said, smirking.

Looking at the watch, he saw that it was 9:30 in the morning.

"We stopped for breakfast." Axl said, throwing a leather jacket over his shoulder before getting off the bus, being accompanied by Izzy.

"You guys look so cute together!" Steven exclaimed and Y/N moved a little.

Slash started pushing Steven lightly by the shoulders off the bus, leaving Duff and Y/N there.

She started to open her eyes slowly and Duff removed some hair from her face.

"Hey, good morning." He said in a soft voice.

Hearing Duff's voice she got up quickly, sitting on the couch and looking around, finally realizing that she had slept with him, or on him.

"My goodness! I'm sorry, Duff! Wow, I fucked up big this time!” She ran her hands through her hair, trying to untangle it, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"It's alright."

She kept looking ahead, so he touched her chin, gently turning her face to him. "It's alright." He smiled gently.

Slowly, Y/N nodded.

"Axl said we stopped for breakfast."

"Oh my God, did he see me like that?" She covered her mouth with her hand.

"Everyone saw it, but relax, they don't care." He smiled trying to comfort her.

"You coming?" He asked getting up, ducking his head so he wouldn't hit the ceiling.

“I'm going to change first. I'll be there in a few minutes. ” She smiled slightly.

Duff nodded and left the bus.

"Oh. My. God." She said slowly. The thought of spending the night in Duff's arms made a smile come over her lips as she slowly walked over to her suitcase, still not believing what had happened.

Wearing the first jeans she found, she kept her sweater on, brushing her teeth quickly and heading toward the cafe.

Sitting next to Slash and Axl, she asked for coffee with pancakes, avoiding the look in the boys' eyes.

"So Duff, did you sleep well?" Axl asked, smirking, making Slash nudge him.

"Yes, I did." Duff tried to be casual, but there was no way to make the situation any less embarrassing.

"Y/N." Izzy's voice made her look at him, hoping it wasn't another joke. "The driver said that we’ll get to Edinburgh in the early afternoon, do we have anything to do today?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. "No, today is a free day."

Izzy nodded, turning his attention to the coffee.

"I want to go to a pub tonight." Slash announced.

"Hell yeah!" Duff agreed, high fiving the friend over the table.

"You know what, I'm going with you!" Axl announced, leaning against the chair.

“I think we could all use a night of fun. Izzy? Y/N? What do you say? ” Steven said, his eyes sparkling with the idea.

"Maybe." Izzy said without taking his eyes off the newspaper he was reading.

Steven looked at her hopefully.

"Why not?" She brought a piece of the pancake to her mouth.

"I think the night is going to be good!" Slash said smiling.

“8 o'clock, in the hotel lobby? What do you say?" Axl asked, receiving confirmation from each of them.

---

For the rest of the day she found a book in her suitcase, sitting near the bus window and listening to a tape of The Rolling Stones that Izzy had loaned her.

As much as her eyes were on the book, her mind wandered freely about the night before. Recalling how his skin glowed with the thin red light, how relaxed he looked and how soft his voice was when he spoke to her.

He had become the first good memory during a storm. And to be honest, she had even forgotten that it was raining when she was with him.

Around two in the afternoon they arrived in Edinburgh. Checking in and choosing a coat, she went out for lunch, meeting Slash in the hotel lobby, the two of them decided to have lunch together, walking quietly through the city streets.

“How was your night, Y/N? Sleep well?" Slash asked, smirking.

"Oh no! You too!?" She crossed her arms.

"Relax, I'm just bugging you." He laughed. "But you were so cute cuddling together this morning." He smiled, mocking her.

She pushed him lightly by the shoulder. "You will never let me forget this, will you?"

"Nope!" He smiled proudly and she rolled her eyes, not holding herself and giving a small smile.

After placing their orders, the two sat at a table by the window.

Looking at the gray sky and the cold wind that hit the streets, she sighed. "I wanted to go with a skirt tonight, but I think it's too cold for that."

“We are going to drink! You won't even know what's cold after the third beer.”

She pursed her lips, making them a thin line. "Yeah, that worries me too."

"Why?"

"Let's say I get drunk very quickly." She gave a nasal laugh as she remembered the last Christmas party, when she had a few glasses of punch she ended up sleeping in the middle of the party.

“Relax, we'll be with you. We take care of each other. ” He offered her a smile and then the two started eating, remaining in comfortable silence, except for some comments about the food here and there.

After returning to the hotel, Y/N found herself without much to do. She reorganized her bags, watched MTV and even danced when some music she liked was playing on television.

When the clock struck 7, she took a shower, drying her hair with the hotel dryer and applying light makeup. Searching among her clothes she chose a white and black skirt that she combined with a black long-sleeved blouse and long black boots. Wearing a long black coat and applying perfume, she left the room, heading for the lobby.

After a few minutes, everyone arrived and together they took two taxis towards a famous pub in the city.

Sitting at a table at the back of the establishment, “Beer Night” began, as Axl decided to call it.

The place was poorly lit, there were dark wooden tables matching chairs with red upholstery. The walls were exposed brick and there were some decorative pictures scattered around.

To her right, Y/N could see a tall counter, behind it were several craft beer machines, as well as a variety of other drinks like whiskey and liquor on shelves on the wall.

Choosing a round table in the corner of the establishment, Y/N sat down between Duff and Axl, widening his eyes when a big glass mug full of beer was placed in front of her.

"Am I supposed to drink all of this?" She pointed to the mug, looking at the boys.

"Relax, there's food to go with it." Axl told her, and then two servings of appetizers were placed in the center of the table.

When the second round of beer arrived, Y/N was already more than dizzy, she found everything funny, while the boys started talking louder and louder.

"Tell her how you broke your hand, Popcorn!" Duff said laughing, his arm was supported on the back of her chair.

"Oh no!" He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.

"Come on! I want to know!!" She prolonged the last word by making puppy eyes.

“Okay… It was just a few weeks before the tour started, I was leaving this bar and a guy and I got into a fistfight. As you can imagine, I was not very sober, I tried to punch the guy, ended up slipping and hitting my fist against a street lamp.”

Everyone at the table laughed at the incident, Axl even put his hand on his belly to try to relieve the pain that formed in his abdomen thanks to his laughter.

Two mugs and many excuses to go to the bathroom later, they decided to go to the hotel. To be fair they didn’t decide to go to the hotel, in fact, the owner of the pub expelled them saying that it was closing time.

It was funny to see the man getting mad, none of the six were used to the Scottish accent, understanding what he was saying became even more difficult with all the beer they had had.

The last thing Y/N heard was the man growling "Fucking cunts!" before slamming the door behind them.

To be fair, it took them 15 minutes to get out of there, drinking the rest of the beer from the mugs and laughing at his accent. So she understood why he was so angry.

Stumbling to get into a taxi with Duff and Izzy, Y/N found herself leaning against the blonde's side, who put his arm over her shoulders.

"Your hair is so beautiful." She laughed, touching his hair.

"You are beautiful." He replied smiling.

She laughed again, laying her head on his shoulder, rubbing her nose against the skin of the blonde's neck. "I love your smell." She whispered and it was the last thing she saw before everything became black.

"Y/N! ... Y/N, we're here!" She opened her eyes, realizing that the taxi had parked in front of the hotel, Izzy had already left and Duff was waiting for her.

"Hum? Are we here yet? ” Her voice was drunk, skidding on every word.

"Yes, love." He smiled, getting out of the car and waiting for her.

Stumbling on the sidewalk step, Duff caught her, laughing.

"Damn boots!" She murmured, breaking free of Duff's arms and sitting on the floor in the middle of the sidewalk.

"What is she doing?" Slash asked in a slurred voice.

"Taking off her boots." Duff said. The two looked at each other and started laughing.

Trying to get up, she realized that it was a more difficult task than she imagined, as she fell down sitting again.

"Ouch ... I can't get up." She complained.

Rolling his eyes, Axl pulled her by the hands, helping her to her feet.

Analyzing the situation from the outside, it was clear that Axl and Duff were the two most sober people there, as far as possible, of course.

"Where's Izzy?" Axl asked Duff.

"He's already in." He pointed to the hotel door.

"Okay, take the lady “I can't stand up” to her room while I take care of these two."

Duff nodded, putting an arm around her waist, guiding her into the hotel.

Standing in front of the elevators, Y/N looked at Steven, he was already looking at her.

"What?" She asked.

"What?" He frowned and they both started laughing again.

Duff's elevator opened the doors and he entered, taking the girl with him.

"Good night boys. I love you!" She said in her slurred voice, but the doors closed before she could receive an answer.

Stopping in front of her bedroom door, she took a few seconds to find the lock, turning around abruptly before opening the door, facing Duff.

One of his arms was propped against the doorframe, making him only inches away from her.

“Can’t you open it? ” He asked.

"I already opened it." She smiled victoriously, leaning her head against the door and tilting her chin to stare into his eyes.

"What is it then?" 

"I want you to kiss me." She whispered, moving her face close to his.

"Y/N." He prolonged her name in a warning tone.

"Please." She sighed, standing on her tiptoes.

Slowly, Duff leaned his head down and she closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss, but it never came.

Opening her eyes again, she found two brownish-green orbs staring at her.

"Not like this, you’re drunk." He said in a low voice. "Can you handle yourself or do you need help with anything else?" He pulled away from her, clearing his throat.

"I can handle it." She said looking down, unable to hide her disappointment. "Good night Duff." Entering the room she closed the door before he could respond to her words.

---

The next morning, Y/N woke up to a loud noise echoing in the room. Opening her eyes, it took her several seconds to realize it was the phone.

She frowned when a severe headache hit her as soon as she stepped out of bed.

"Hello?" Her voice was slurred with sleep.

"Good morning Y/N." It was Tom, he had traveled the week before. The initial plans were for him to accompany the band for at least three months, but an unforeseen event with a band in the United States made him rush back.

"Good morning, Tom." She rubbed her eyes, lying back on the bed.

"How is it going?"

“Everything is going ok. The boys are behaving, just the usual delays and problems” She said referring to drugs and drinking.

"Good to know, because I’ll need you to take care of everything for a few more weeks."

"What happened?"

“It is difficult to explain over the phone, many things have not gone as planned and they are about to lose their contract. I will have to stay longer. ”

"Ah, yes ... I understand."

"Call me if something serious happens, and if they start to get out of control let me know and I'll get someone to help you."

"Alright, and don’t worry, I’ll warn you if something happens. ”

"Right." She could hear the sound of something metallic falling on the floor. “Sorry, I have to go. Take care, Y/N. ”

"You too, Tom." She hung up the phone, realizing it was 11 am, the soundcheck would start in a few hours.

Closing her eyes, flashes from last night hit her, fast like lightning. A dark-haired man yelling at them, Duff waking her up in the taxi and her taking off her boots on the sidewalk.

She couldn't remember entering the hotel, much less arriving in her room. Looking around she saw her clothes from the night before scattered on the floor, all except the shirt she was wearing. Her hair smelled like a mixture of cigarettes, shampoo and beer and she noticed that she had broken a nail.

"What the hell happened last night?"

[insomniasymphony]

Phinks Magcub x Male Reader [Sunny days of a desert]

Constellation: Phinks Magcub x Male Reader Words I got: → Sun → Warning → Too Late Rating: General Audience

                       ►► And there will always be a moment for two                                       to find a way into problems                                       that nobody asked for,                                                       right? ◄◄

The sun in the sky shines scorching hot to the ground, further heating the sandy ground at your feet and driving the sweat from your temples down to your chin. Phinks has his jacket loosely tied around his hips, and though his figure seems to float baselessly in the wave of dust and hallucination, you are sure that the wetness of his shirt is already reaching down to his ass.

Whatever Chrollo hopes to gain in this desert of endless sand and scattered stones, forcing this job on someone else, because one supposedly has better things to do, elicits a strained sigh from you.

Your tongue sticks blandly to the roof of your mouth, your throat itches and for a moment you are overcome by the sad certainty that you will both die of thirst if there isn't a finishing line in sight soon. At the same time, there is hardly anything better than being able to spend this time with Phinks.

His heavy steps feather, though the ground seems to give way beneath him, perfectly natural as if he were doing nothing else all day. Beads of sweat slide along his arms as he walks, drawing your gaze to the strong muscles that sometimes twitch slightly. He is more than handsome, that much is certain.

“Are you planning to stare at me the whole way, huh?” A quick glance over his shoulder gives a clear view of his striking face. Even in these moments, he has something of a typical thug you'd imagine in a ruthless gang. One of a hundred reasons why you became interested in him in the first place. You were drawn to his face and however it happened between you, in the end, Phinks always calls you when he needs to do something on his own. You've been spending an astonishing amount of time together since you first met.

Because Phinks wants it that way. Although he actually prefers to turn to Feitan – his actual companion.

Another sigh escapes you as you shake your head and put on a small grin because the boredom is at least as great as the heat in this place.

“There's nothing else to see here,” you return nonchalantly, giving him a wink, for he truly won't kill you for it. After all, you're alone and if he buries you alive, he'll have only himself left in the vastness of nothing.

Without further ado, Phinks stops. Hands buried in his trouser pockets, he looks at you with raised brows. “Are you fucking with me? This job is important. Concentrate.”

“I'll concentrate as soon as there's a reason to. Until then, I prefer to stare.”

“One of the reasons I can't introduce you to the boss. You just don't take it seriously.” Disparagingly, he eyes you.

Boss. There aren't many things that really define Phinks, but if anything it's his consuming impatience and his loyalty to Chrollo. The latter is almost annoying and you can't help but roll your eyes and cross your arms in front of your chest. “It's enough if you do that.”

“Now move it.” Stiffly, Phinks starts walking again, simply overhearing your rude tone as if it doesn't bother him in the burning heat. “You've been falling behind for hours.”

“You're welcome to go ahead,” you suggest. “Maybe your boss will be happy to have you cross the desert for him and possibly not get lost in it for forty years straight, as our ancestors did.”

“Don't be like that. This job is important and I hate waiting, so just move the hell along.”

With a snort you start moving again, can feel the skin tingling and itching as sweat clings stickily to you. There seems to be a light breeze coming from somewhere and even if the freshness is quietly gratifying, it is still stuffy and hot.

Phinks doesn't notice any of this. His steps carry him forward and it is annoying that he never thinks of taking a break. Not that he has had to take fourteen breaks in the last three hours because of you, but if you didn't sometimes instinctively fall to the ground and stay there, he would have marched through the entire time. At least that's the impression he gives.

The heated breeze becomes more penetrating the further you get and you can't help but look around. To your right, there is only endless desert, on your left a rock, accompanied by even more desert. In front of you, the muscles of Phinks' back are working under his sweaty shirt and you can't help but gulp.

Then, for a split second, your gaze falls over your shoulder.

And you doubt your own sanity. Because it's easier than panicking.

A tornado of endless sand rears up behind you. A dust devil, chasing ominously with three more right in your direction.

“Phinks?”

“We're not taking a break. Now shut up and move the fuck on.”

“I'm with you on that one. But we might want to hurry up.”

“What?” Perplexed, he turns to you before he notices the nightmare too and all colour drains from his face. A moment later, he turns back around. “Run!”

Before you can say anything, he is already running and you can't help but follow him. But it isn't ten minutes before you feel like you are breathing in sandpaper and exhaling dust. Your heart is pounding in your chest and the heat has probably turned your head bright red. Your muscles ache and the rasping on your lips seems to ring in your ears as you see a small rock that is split into half, with enough space for at least three people to shelter.

You have to tell Phinks. But your voice is scratchy and the torment in your lungs is so great that you can't get out more than a “There!”.

In fact, Phinks' attention slides for a brief moment in the direction you tremulously indicate, but his enthusiasm is low. Instead of turning and heading for the protective rock, he just keeps running.

He probably wants to die. Stupid idiot.

Without you, though.

You let him go as you head for the rock and shortly afterwards you disappear into the shelter of the hollow. The sand tornados that sweep crushingly over the ground, bring so much sand with them that you can't see anything for a moment until you realise that they're faster than Phinks can run. And his limbs seem to go limp too as he slows down and keeps glancing over his shoulder.

The storm, carrying itself upwards in a circle, tugs at Phinks' clothes, ripping his top up far enough for you to muse at his abs under tender skin. Then your eyes wander down a little and the wish for the wind to shift its weight downwards pops up as a joke in the back of your mind until you realise that Phinks will die if you don't do something. No matter how strong he is, his strength will do him no good against a pillar of sand. So you jump up. Because, damn it, there are two of you in this situation.

Hastily you run in his direction, passing one of the tornados and feeling the small grains literally rubbing against your skin. Phinks is almost trapped, defenceless in the midst of the storm, and just as his legs lift off because any help seems too late, you reach out in his direction.

“Hey!” you yell to get his attention, and sure enough, you immediately feel Phinks' surprisingly soft, hot and sweaty hand in yours. At the same time, you clutch at a tiny stone anchored hard in the ground, trying to keep you both down.

Two of the whirlwinds move on while the third lingers nearby and you can't help but pull Phinks out of the maelstrom. With difficulty, you try to get away, dragging your companion's airborne body behind you, until it takes only a powerful pull to drag you both out of the heated wind battle. In the process, you stumble backwards over your own feet and crash to the ground, Phinks in tow.

He lands hard on top of you, slamming against your chest and making a choked sound somewhere in between as all the air is forced from your throat.

“Hah... I didn't realise you liked to take flying lessons,” you gasp a little later as Phinks slowly disengages from you. Arms right and left at your side, he thrusts his heavy body upwards before lingering above you a moment later. You have never been so close to him, never felt his heat to this extent, and at the same time, you wish nothing more than for something to fall on him so that he is once again fully on top of you.

“And I didn't realise you wanted to be smacked so badly,” he snaps back before he tries to sit up, but you instinctively grab his collar and pull him down to you.

“Boy, what are you doing?” he grumbles in annoyance before shaking his head and looking at you out of his jet black eyes. He's tempting and you're not ready to let go.

“There might be another storm coming or something. We should stay in a safe position for now,” you return as calmly as you can. But Phinks is not half as stupid as some might think. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a sitting position with him, before twisting the corners of his mouth and looking at you stiffly, before sighing and holding out his arms.

“What are you doing?” you inquire, at least as irritated as you are hopeful.

“We both know what this is about.”

“I don't, or I wouldn't be asking.”

“How can a guy be so stupid? I'll warn you just once: don't make me say it.”

“How can a guy act like a shy schoolgirl? Don't tell me you-” You don't get to the end before Phinks has leaned forward, wrapping you tightly in his arms. His heated skin presses against yours, sweat seems to stick you together, and for a moment you can detect Phinks' perfume alongside the pungent smell of two men. And although his embrace is far too tight and painful, you can't help but rest your head on his shoulder and enjoy the moment.

If that is the danger in the heat of the sun, then you are ready to walk through the desert every day.

[Picture is from a card collecting game] [Wanna love me on A03? Go here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31197974/chapters/77107394]

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Found

CW: Creepy whumper, noncon touch (nonsexual), ableist language, some violence at the end

TIMELINE: The summer before Chris begins attending college, shortly before Oliver Branch goes to trial for essentially accepting bribes for a Senate seat.

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

“You look familiar.”

The voice hasn’t changed at all in the past few years, maybe just gone a little deeper. The soft, slight southern drawl is still there, genteel rounded consonants, drawn out vowels. 

He still dreams about that voice. It still sends shivers down his spine, not all of them from fear.

“Is that who I think that is?”

Chris feels his heart start to pound under the fabric of his t-shirt, and he dips his head low, as though he hasn't heard, as though he won't be seen. 

It's been four years of therapy and building himself a whole new identity and learning to be a person again since the night he was rescued, but even still some traitorous impulse deep inside of Chris thrills at the sound of his Sir. 

He’d been scrolling through his phone, waiting for Jake to finish up inside the store. He’s just been out here reading about campus life, researching dorm room checklists, taking a deep breaths as they took step after step after step towards Chris being an independent adult and not a dependent rescue. 

He’d come out to soak up a little bit of the warm sunlight, feeling its heat soaking into his hair - strawberry blond at the roots, faded blue around the crown of his head, long enough to graze his shoulders with the deepest ocean teal only at the ends. He has it pulled back, caught just at the nape of his neck with a little clip to keep it out of his eyes.

He wishes, as he listens to the familiar sound of the same fine leather shoes stepping crisply along the pavement, that he’d left his hair loose so he could hide behind it now.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look up. Don’t don’t don’t don’t-

“Look at me, darlin’.”

Chris’s chin raises, his head turns. He’s not sure who makes the choice to do that - it doesn’t feel like he’s the one who controlled the movement. 

“There you are.” Sir’s face is just the same, he doesn’t even seem to have gained a new wrinkle, although four years and his slowly imploded political career might have put a bit more gray in the sandy hair. “It is you, isn’t it?” 

Chris texts something - he doesn’t even know what, he doesn’t dare look, only glances down long enough to make sure he’s sending his text to the right person before he slides the phone into his pocket. One hand moves to a bracelet he is always wearing on the other wrist, the cool metal hex nuts braided into thick black nylon, spinning them with his fingers in a nervous motion. 

He’s just fidgeting. It’s just fidgeting. Normal people fidget when they’re nervous, normal people do this, it’s normal to be nervous-

Nothing that happened to you is normal.

“Ah,” Sir says, in his thick oily voice, and reaches up to graze the backs of his knuckles down Chris’s cheek. Chris only stares at him, wide-eyed, feeling impossibly, horribly small. “Where is that voice I loved so much, darlin’? Did you finally learn how to keep your mouth shut?”

Chris jerks back and away from the touch, eyes narrowing. He wants to bite back, to say something, anything, in a strong voice but the words are stuck in his throat, his defiance is locked away.

It must be visible in his eyes, still, because something in Sir’s expression goes cold and his hand slides around to the back of Chris’s neck, a heavy warmth that presses there, like every time he’s ever used that same grip in the same place to push Chris down to his knees. “Careful,” Sir says, in a voice that exudes gentleness. “Careful what you think, beautiful boy.”

Chris’s stomach twists, lurches, flips with disgust. “Don’t-... don’t, don’t don’t-don’t call me that,” He says, and his voice is smaller than he wants it to be, as weak as he is and not as strong as he wants to be. 

“They haven’t fixed you at all,” Sir says, tsking, clicking tongue against the backs of his perfect white teeth. His thumb is rubbing up just where Chris’s hairline starts just behind his ear and he can’t stop shivering, can’t stop shaking at how awful it feels and how good. 

“I, I-I didn’t need… need fixed,” Chris manages, airy and trembling under Sir’s touch. His phone vibrates in his back pocket, but he doesn’t dare pick it up to check.

I’m going back I’m going back he’s going to take me back he’s going to take me way I’ll never see Jake again I’ll never see anyone ever again-

Chris’s eyes fill with tears and he has to sniff them back, only to hear Sir’s low, deep chuckle. He’s too close, he’s way too close, and Chris cringes back against the brick wall, letting Sir move into his space and Chris can’t remember any longer how to get him out of it.

“Of course you had to be fixed. Look at you, you’re an awful mess without me. Who let you get your ears pierced? Your new keeper?" Sir's touch moves to his earlobe, rubbing at the sensitive skin and the small black stud there with the rough pad of his thumb, and Chris knows he could - should - run, or fight, but all he can do is go still and stare straight ahead, sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot.

It’s a gorgeous day, and a terrible one.

Everything is wrong.

Two teenage girls shriek laughter as one chases the other towards a small brightly-colored green car. They have long legs, tanned skin and short denim shorts, tank tops that cling to narrow waists.

They’re beautiful and probably don’t know they’re beautiful. They’re living easy lives they don’t know are easy. They’ve probably never had to hide underneath someone’s desk listening to other people live lives they never get to touch, they haven’t had to be so silent and so still, perfect carved statue people.

What they want is not irrelevant.

What they want matters.

He wants to be running with them, wants to collapse into the seat of a car giggling and easy, wants to go back to feeling the sun warm his hair but instead - in this moment - all he feels is frozen.

"I did," Chris whispers, jealous of those girls and all the life they get to live that isn't silent, frozen fear of Sir. "I, I, I don't have a, a keeper now-"

"That's such an awful lie, darlin'." Sir steps closer. “You know how I feel about you lyin’ to me.” Chris wants to vomit all over his shoes, right here right now. The smell of Sir’s cologne is so thick it gets stuck in Chris's throat and steals his air.

Jake’s cologne is light and soft and barely-there, something he only smells when he’s up close or holding one of his shirts. Sir’s wafts through the air around him, steals it, poisons it. 

"It isn't." His lips barely move. “It… isn’t a lie… Sir.”

The words drip from his mouth. He thinks of a documentary he watched with Jake that talked about acid rain. Imagines the words that come slow and steady from his mouth wearing bark off of trees, leaving only the pale flesh like human skin underneath.

He imagines himself as a white birch tree, with Sir slowly stripping him bare, discarding the parts of himself he has built with sun and air and Jake and time. 

His bracelet isn’t helping. His fingers are frozen touching the metal bits, not spinning them, just stuck. His necklace, the lightweight silicone feather that he uses so often when he is happy, lays heavy and hateful somewhere near his sternum. He can’t think - every track is stalling, the trains have all derailed, the thoughts inside are lost in the fog and the debris. He can’t step away. There’s nowhere to run to.

He can’t move his hands. He can’t move his hands. He can’t move his hands. 

He can’t move.

Not until the game is over.

Not until he loses again.

"Oh, it is. We both know it’s a lie, darlin’. You’re simply too old to be of much use to me, now, but...” Sir breathes out through his nose and Chris flinches as the grip on his earlobe suddenly tightens and Sir pulls, like he’ll tear the stud out entirely, and Chris whines low in his throat at the flash, the spike of pain.

Sir stops immediately, but his oil-slick smile finds its way back to his face. 

A child is pushed out of the store behind them sitting in a shopping cart, crying, the little boy’s mother shushing him and telling him they’ll get chicken nuggets on the way home and Chris wonders if the shadowy half-formed mom who lives in his most painfully closed-off memories ever offered to get him a Happy Meal-

“-what you're made for. The question I'm asking is who are you made for now?"

“No one,” Chris whispers, lips barely moving. “I’m… not made… for anyone anymore.”

He hates having to speak like this again. He hates it. They tell him his words aren’t bad, at home, that’s fine to be who he is, to speak how he speaks, they tell him he’s fine and it’s okay, and he’s fine he’s fine he’s fine.

“Mmmn, not true.” Sir reaches up, undoes the clip at the nape of Chris’s neck, his hair falling free in a shining, soft curtain that can’t hide him, not here, not now. “Look at how long your hair is. How awful.”

Chris closes his eyes as Sir’s fingers graze his cheekbone, tuck a bit of the blue behind his ear, trail the shell of his ear and back down the side of his neck. Every touch is a lit match against his skin, every second burns inside and out.

“I like it like this,” Chris says, fucking pathetic attempt at defiance, at standing up for himself, but it’s all he can manage. 

“Oh, beautiful boy,” Sir says, affection thick and condescending clogging Chris’s ears and his thoughts, oil that buries him and burns in his lungs. “Who has ever cared one whit what you like?”

“I do,” Jake says from behind Sir, his voice strong and loud and everything Chris’s voice can’t be in the moment. Chris watches Sir’s eyes widen in surprise and feels his own heart leap. “I care a lot, actually, and you’re going to need to step the fuck away from him before I show you exactly how much I care.”

Sir’s hand drops, and Chris takes in a deep breath, gulps in air as quickly as he can, falling back against the store’s exterior behind him with one hand reaching up to grab onto the feather pendant, rubbing quickly at the ridges carved into the deep blue plastic, while his other hand reaches back to feel the rough texture of the brick wall, rubbing the pads of his fingers there, focusing on the sensation.

Breathe in. Tap. Breathe out. Tap. Rub feather. Breathe in. Tap. Breathe Out. Tap.

Breathe. Breathe. Move.

“The keeper, I presume,” Sir says, holding out his hand to shake with a sunny, smooth Made-for-TV smile. 

Jake’s eyes rake down to Sir’s hand and back up again, chips of cold blue narrowing as he slowly sets the shopping bags in his hands down. He seems taller than ever, now, in his simple sage-green t-shirt and jeans next to Sir’s fussy pastel polo shirt and slack. They’re two separate lives that Chris has lived under two different names, represented by two men staring each other down in perfect silence.

After a moment’s pause, Sir drops his hand.

“I’m not his keeper,” Jake says, keeping his voice even. “It doesn’t work that way, Governor.”

“Mmmn, not my title any longer,” Sir says, a touch regretfully. 

“Yeah, and good goddamn riddance. I hope the charges stick,” Jake says flatly. Chris has no idea what he’s talking about, but something in Sir’s face goes colder, thoughtful. Considering Jake, the way he used to consider Chris, like they are just boys under a microscope, seen on a cellular level by men like Sir, designed for nothing else. 

“For his sake, you had best hope they don’t,” Sir says, still smooth as silk, but the coldness lingers, trails around the edges. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

Sir only smiles. Chris isn’t sure what the game was, exactly, but he knows that Jake has just lost it. “Nothing, keeper. How much does my boy cost to feed these days, anyway? I see you’ve got quite the haul, there.” He gestures, a languid motion, towards the pile of plastic bags Jake set on the pavement in front of the store. 

“He’s not your boy,” Jake says, evenly. His eyes skip to Chris - there’s a question there but Chris can’t remember quite how to answer it. Or how to speak at all. He rubs his fingers over the feather, back and forth, pressing into the lines carved in there as hard as he can. The brick wall is rough, soothing as his fingers dance along it. 

Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. Finger-twist-tap-tap-tap. Finger-twist-tap-

“Don’t tell me you’ve picked that up again,” Sir says. He sounds disgusted. Chris can’t stop himself from glancing up to see the look of derision worn openly on his face. “You were so well trained, too.”

“Trained?” Jake’s voice is a ghost of sound, but something crackles in the whisper.

Chris’s face flushes bright red. He pulls his hand away from the wall and drops the feather, crossing his arms in front of himself, shoulders hunched nearly to his chin. He looks up, finding Jake watching him with a twist of pain showing on his own face. 

Chris has disappointed Jake, he thinks, by not being able to be stronger than this.

He closes his eyes against a rush of tears, tries to push them back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-

“You okay?” Jake asks, and there’s a hesitation, a word left unsaid. It occurs to Chris that Jake is trying not to say his name, while badly wanting to.

Chris just shakes his head, lips pressed together. If he tries to speak, he knows he’ll trip on all his words, and Sir will mock him for that, too. Instead he stays quiet, and still, and stares straight ahead. Just like he was trained to. Just like he used to.

Just like he did when Jake first met him. 

He’s not okay. He’s not, he’s not okay at all.

Help me.

His lips move to form the words but no sound comes out. Chris opens his eyes again to meet Jake’s, pleading with him. There aren’t any words, he can’t remember how to say them. There’s only the begging he can do without sound.

There’s only the way he can move his lips, all the fear catches the screaming and holds it inside the stillness.

Just like before.

Save me.

“That’s better,” Sir says, softy. “Now, beautiful boy, you just stay there being pretty while-”

“Oh, you can just go fuck yourself on like six rusty knives, you absolute son of a bitch-”

Jake throws the punch before either Chris or Sir can so much as react to the movement, and Chris flinches back with a cry when he sees Jake’s fist connect with Sir’s face, the look of open loathing he wears there as the man crumbles to the sidewalk.

Jake looks up, taking a deep breath. “Chris. Call Nat and tell her to bring the car. We need a fast ride home.”

Chris still can’t remember how to make the words happen out loud. There’s a static inside his head, too much it’s all too much, and he clutches onto the feather necklace at his chest, mouthing, why?

Jake knows the question he’s asking.

Jake gives him a half-cocked smile, closing his hand in a fist.

“Because I’m about to punch this asshole again.”

[theravenclawrevolutionary]

In one last celebration of Maxime's birthday here's a collection of three birthday scenes from my novel wip about him! This post is fairly long and certainly unpolished so read at your own risk.

Excerpt from Chapter One, featuring newborn Maxime

"Isn't he wonderful mon amour," Jacqueline asked her husband, tearing her eyes away from her son for the first time since he'd been placed in her arms. "Absolutely wonderful! And to think," she said pausing to look into François' eyes. "He was born out of love. Not everyone can say that for themselves."

"You're right," François muttered, thinking back to the day Jacqueline had told him that she was pregnant. She'd told him a month or so after they had done the very thing that caused it. He had been courting her on and off for a little more than a year and one night the two had let their emotions and desires get the better of them in the worst way possible.

The night Jacqueline told him, François had done two things. First he had gone out and drank for quite a considerable length of time. While he was out he had decided that he was going to marry Jacqueline. At the beginning of their still-new marriage, there were times when he wasn't sure whether he did it for his honor or the sake of Jacqueline and the child. Now, he realized, as he sat with his own little family, it didn't matter who he originally did it for. Either way, he'd made the right choice.

Yet even after they had promised to marry, the two were the talk of Arras. Everyone knew everyone there and all it seemed anyone could talk about was the brewer's daughter, her scandalous relationship with the well-known attorney, and the swiftly growing child that was the result. There had been numerous occasions several months before they were set to be married, and he'd been so terrified of what others would say and whether or not he was ready for such a commitment that he'd almost called off the entire thing. His own parents hadn't even attended the ceremony when it finally came around and Jacqueline's parents only went because witnesses were required. Yet here he was, four months married with a beautiful newborn son and a wife that he loved.

The child shifted his small arm slightly, inadvertently drawing his parents’ attention back to him. His tiny eyes opened slightly for a fraction of a second, revealing pale green irises that matched his mother's. Gently, trying her best not to disturb the child, his mother bent down to kiss him on the head. A few moments went by in comfortable silence. The three sat together, warm, and filled with love.

"He's going to be named after you, you know." François looked away from Maximilien's peaceful face, startled at his wife's words. She laughed slightly and laid her head on his shoulder.

"What?" Francois was completely taken aback.

“He's going to be named after you. Maximilien François; that's going to be his name." Jacqueline smiled up at her husband and shifted even closer against him, enjoying the slightly surprised expression on his face. Her husband was not usually an easily surprised man so she took great pride in the times she did manage to surprise him. "We've talked about this before, you know. It was the night I told you about him. I told you that after you came back to me." She refrained from adding, 'Not that you were sober enough to remember it.' As well as things had turned out, her husband’s fondness for alcohol did occasionally tend to cause problems when his emotions ran high enough. She could smell it faintly on his breath.

There had been no expectation of all-encompassing joy that night. It had been terrifying to say, like a criminal confessing his crime to a condemning judge. Her lips had trembled and her eyes had filled with tears as her lover approached their meeting place.

Francois had greeted her with a kiss to her hairline, his dark eyes taking in her pale face. He’d said some words as well, but Jacqueline didn’t hear them. Her own words spilled from her lips, burning as they left. Francois froze for a few moments like an animal caught in a trap. He made to move toward her and for a moment she thought that perhaps everything would be alright in the end. He fled. And then he’d returned.

Jacqueline could remember looking up at him from the place she had sat crying for hours. She could remember smelling the alcohol strong on his breath and clothes as he fumbled over his words. But she could also remember him kissing her cheek softly with one hand resting gently on her stomach and telling her that everything was going to be alright. And everything was. He’d gone out and bought a ring, and tried, really tried, to make things right. Jacqueline was so lost in her memories that she almost didn't hear the soft sound of her son fussing in her arms.

"Shhhh," she crooned sleepily, holding the child close to her chest. One hand reached out of his blankets for a moment and François tucked it back in as gently as he could manage. "Hush little Maxime. You will be alright. Nothing will happen as long as your father and I are here, and we always will be." Quietly comforting their son, Jacqueline and Francois sat together in peaceful darkness until the priest came to baptize him.

Excerpt from Chapter two, featuring six-year-old Maxime

“Come on little man. Let’s show you your gift shall we?” François headed for the door, making sure that Maximilien ducked his head before stepping outside. The street was mostly empty and the sky was still cloudy and grey, but the fresh smell of the recently finished rain filled their nostrils and the sound of their own laughter filled their ears. Jaqueline, walking slowly because of her pregnancy, and the other children with their little legs followed the pair out of the house. Maximilien gasped.

“Birds! You got me birds, Papa? Oh, thank you! Thank you, Papa!” A small wooden cage containing two gray doves chirping softly sat beside the door. Maximilien knelt down beside it and stuck his fingers through the slats, hoping that one of the birds would come land on his finger. He felt the water on the road soak into the knees of his breeches but ignored it. He was too entranced by the birds to care.

“You like them then,” Jacqueline asked smiling. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from her son.

“Oh yes! I love, love, love them! Do they have a name already? Or can I name them?”

“Go right ahead darling,” Jacqueline said, lifting Augustin into her arms. “They’re yours now. But you have to promise to take care of them, alright?” He nodded earnestly.

“I promise! Cross my heart and hope to cry! Wait… is it die? Hmmm… I dunno.” He paused to think for a few moments. “I’m going to name them um… Sunny and… and Tart!”

“They’re so cute,” Henriette squealed, pushing her way past her parents. “Can I pet one Maxime?” He made a face but nodded anyway.

“I guess so. But be nice. You gotta be gentle.” Maximilien took her little hand in his and slowly guided it towards the birds. They squawked a little and ruffled their feathers slightly but allowed the two to pet them.

“Wow,” she breathed. “Lottie look! See them?” Charlotte giggled and joined her siblings by the cage. François and Jacqueline smiled at each other in the setting sun.

It had taken a significant amount of time to get him to bed that night. He kept finding his way back to the cage which had been moved to his bedroom.

“Maximilien lay down!” He sighed and stormed over to his bed, stomping his feet and glaring at his mother as he went. “If you don’t behave, you’re going to have to be punished.” He flopped onto the bed.

“But Maman,” he protested. “I want to play with my birds!”

“If you don’t go to sleep you won’t be allowed to visit Grand-mère and Grand-père tomorrow. And I know you were so looking forward to it." Those words seemed to have the desired effect because Maximilien nearly fell out of bed as he scrambled under the bedsheets and pulled them up around his chin. “I thought you might see it that way darling,” Jacqueline said, smoothing her son’s hair and planting a kiss on his forehead.

Maximilien fell asleep easily that night with a smile on his face and the sound of his birds chirping quietly in the corner.

Excerpt from Chapter 25, featuring thirty-one-year-old Maxime

May 6th proved to be an interesting birthday. Most of the day was spent in the palace assembly hall that housed all the meetings of the Estates-General, listening to the bickering of hundreds of men. It was also discovered that, though the representation of delegates from the Third Estate had been doubled, the entirety of the men gathered still shared one vote. Outraged at the holdover from the outdated 1614 meeting, several men voiced their opinions on the largest class receiving the same number of votes as the minuscule portion of society represented in the First and Second Estates, none too quietly either. For Maximilien, a large portion of the assembly was spent gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the pounding headache forming behind his eyes.

Camille, who Maximilien hadn’t known to be around Versailles, found where he was staying and gifted him a surprise visit that night.

Maximilien had been sitting at the rickety desk in the half-light of the setting sun, scribbling down a few lines of poetry into his journal, when the knock came.

“Um… hel- hello,” a muffled, but familiar, voice asked from the other side. “Is this where Maxime, I mean Monsieur de Robespierre is staying? I’d heard that it is.”Maximilien sprang to his feet, removing his glasses and setting them beside the journal before running his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb it into some semblance of order.

“Camille? Is that you? What are you doing in Versailles?!”

“Yes. It’s me. Let me in and I’ll tell you.” Maximilien opened the door and Camille, with his curls dancing wildly about his head, bounded into the room. He embraced Maximilien with a grin and kicked the door closed behind him. “Oh! Right. Happy birthday by the way. That is the whole reason I stopped by after all.” Maximilien gestured to the delicate desk chair he had just been sitting at.

“Ah. Thank you. Would you… would you like to sit down? I feel as if you’ll be staying for quite some time.” Camille complied and sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, holding his breath a little as he did so, clearly hoping it wouldn’t break under his slight frame. “I’d offer you refreshments, but I feel that it’s painfully obvious that I have none.”

“That’s alright. I realized about halfway here that I should have brought you a gift of some sort.”

“I’m sure the tales of what you’ve done since we last spoke will be a gift on its own.” Camille laughed, the warm sound filling the dark cramped room and bringing back fondly bittersweet memories from their years at Louis le Grand. “So please, enlighten me as to what’s delivered you to the same place as I. And any other stories you find worthy of mentioning.”

“I haven’t been elected to the Estates-General as you well know,,” he began. “I wanted to so incredibly badly, but the men back in Guise aren’t nearly as fond of me as you are. I failed, almost certainly because of their distaste, but living in Paris for so long before with nothing but occasional visits home certainly didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry.” Camille dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.

“No matter. I’ve been enjoying myself to some degree. My law practice sputters out now and again, but it always comes back around. I write for newspapers on occasion too.”

“How’s Martin,” Maximilien asked, fearing the answer. He had little hope that their relationship had lasted the extent of nine years. “Are you two still together.” Camille let out a barking laugh still tinged with sadness, even after many years.

“No. I apparently was a ‘flight of schoolboy fancy” who was being used for cheap entertainment and all that. He was crying when he told me though. I think it was a lie. His father found out about us. But Martin doesn’t matter. I’m courting a girl now. Lucille Duplessis. She’s very, very pretty, extremely sweet, intelligent for her age, and, unlike Martin, she’s deemed proper by society. I’ve fallen head over heels for her and she seems to feel the same way unless she’s a fucking fantastic actress! Contrary to what her father has to say, I think we’re a good match.”

“Oh… That’s nice. I’ll have to meet her someday. I am sorry about how everything ended with Martin though.”

“‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Is that all you can say Maxime? You need to relax a little. Tell me, what have you been up to recently?”

“Life in Arras has been good to me since graduation. Not only has my law practice been mildly successful but I’ve also been elected to the Royal Academy of Arras and I spend a lot of time writing poetry. Living with Charlotte was not disagreeable either. We live in a small house we’ve been renting on the Rue du Saumon. It’s only a short walk to my office and an even shorter one to the parish church where my grandparents and mother are buried. In this time I have also realized a… a specific vein of fondness not only for ladies but a few gentlemen as well.”

“Maxime!” Camille’s tone was incredulous and a bit proud. “You’ve turned yourself into a right little rake, haven’t you!” Maximilien sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as his eyebrows knit.

“Not fondness in the physical way for either of them, like you, Camille,” he said hurriedly, trying to make himself clear. “I know these feelings to be of a solely romantic fashion. Additionally, no feelings have resulted in anything, hindered by my inability to flirt and to detect when someone else is flirting with me in return.”

“Poor Maxime,” Camille said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm and his hazel eyes shining. He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing out the curls. “Whatever shall you do?”

“Devote my time to helping others. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. You know that.”

“And I expect that’s why you wanted to be here, isn’t it. You wanted to be around when the revolution starts.” Maximilien raised an eyebrow. Camille cocked his head. “We’ve been discussing the inevitability of one for years. The Americans did it. They were fed up and they did something about it. We all know it’s only a matter of time before it happens. Danton, a friend of mine back in Paris, you really ought to meet him someday, believes it will happen soon as well.” Maximilien sighed and nodded. Camille was right, a fact he usually hated to admit. Even Arras and its surrounding small towns were rife with talk of forcing change on the country. Even at school, many years ago, the general consensus had been that reforms, real, meaningful reforms were due any year.

“You’re right, of course,” agreed Maximilien. “What better way to help people than to play an active part in achieving their will. I do hope that our ‘revolution’, as you are so fond of calling it, is more civil than the American’s though. What good can come to the people if we must wage war against ourselves?”

“Someday when the two of us are famous and well known from all the good we’ve done for France people will print little books, like those books with bible verses in them or short prayers, but instead they’ll be filled with quotes by you. You’ll have to start saying things like that all the time and hope that I don’t start selling a separate one with all your naughty quotes from Louis le Grand in it.”

“Unlike you Camille, I see no fame or fortune in my future in relation to politics.”

“If you say so Maxime. But I’m not sure how you’re going to help all of France if that’s the case."

[ezrasimp]

alone together

pairing: ezra x f!reader

tags: stranded together, sharing a bed, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, bit of fluff, huddling for warmth, pwp, healthy communication, explicit

18+

• summary: ezra and reader are prospect partners and they crash land on a planet, they find a shack where they have to spend the night, cuddling for warmth on a plank of wood they found... one thing leads to another.

a/n: i don’t usually post my own stuff but i had a wave of confidence, and i’m rather proud of this one. So if you wanna read, here you go! I posted this on ao3 but i’ve never posted a fic on tumblr before so i thought i’d put it here too. Also!! if you have any pedro character ideas for fanfics, please feel free to send them to me so i can have a go at writing them; God knows i need the practise. 

(not my gif)

It was no use; you and Ezra were hurdling to your deaths. All the comms were broken, the pod was unresponsive - you were sure this was the end.

It was just you and Ezra, no one else knew about this mission. You had wanted to do some research on The Green but never had the right crew. Ezra had selflessly volunteered to come and help you with the mission, considering he had quite a lot of experience on The Green.

"You don't have to do this, you know," you had said, whilst helping him pack up some supplies, "this is a dangerous mission."

"No worries, flower, I don't mind helping."

Now here you are with him, plummeting to your death. I bet he minds helping me now, you thought to yourself.

Ezra grabbed your hand abruptly. You looked at your connected hands and then up to his worried face. He didn't look back. His eyes were closed tight, a pained look encompassing his face. You gripped his hand back, tightly.

***

Light streamed across your face as you opened your eyes drearily.

"H- Huh?" You moan. An ache formed in your back as you attempted to lift yourself up.

"Thank Kevva! I truly thought you would never wake up, flower." Ezra was knelt over you, with his elbow on his knee, looking at you with a concerned look.

You were lying in the grass, with the sun's heat beaming down on both of you and the pod that was once your transport burning up. You sighed and stretched but quickly stopped when you realised a large cut on your calf.

"Oh, don't move, flower, you have a rather serious injury. One of the panels fell on your leg during the crash. In order to ensure our safety, I had to get us out as quickly as possible."

The thought of you being in Ezra's arms made you feel a warmth in the pit of your stomach-

He's your colleague, stop it, you thought. But as those eyes looked down on you lovingly, you couldn't help but look back in the same manner.

Ezra picked up on your body language, and shifted slightly, smiling.

"We must find a place to stay for the night, it's getting rather dark. I would suggest we stay in the pod but, well, "he chuckled to himself, "I don't think that will be acceptable."

You both look back at the burning pod. A snort escapes your nose, followed by a slight groan, as the snort led to an involuntarily jolt of your leg.

"Are you okay to walk?"

"Erm, maybe, not far though, I don't think."

"Here, let me help." Ezra put his arm around your shoulders and held your arm as you lifted yourself up, squinting and panting in the process. The pain was strong but somewhat bearable - at least for a while.

"Come on, lean on me as much as your require, flower."

***

You and Ezra had been walking for what felt like an hour or so before you found shelter.  Within the forest stood a large, derelict shack, with moss and leaves as a roof and a hatch as a door. It looked abandoned, yet cozy to both you and Ezra, who were both growing more tired with every passing minute.

As you ducked your head to enter, you found a small room with a large bed-like structure, some blankets and a chair.

"Well, if anyone does live here," Ezra stated, realising this place was likely not abandoned, "I'm sure they won't mind us staying for one night."

Worriedness crept up from the pit of your stomach, but your exhaustion over took it and you collapsed in the chair, gripping your leg, which was now throbbing intensely.

"I'll have a look at that now, flower. You've done so well to get here in one piece." Ezra said, kneeling down and getting supplies out of his emergency backpack. He took out a lamp, which he promptly lit and placed on the floor next to him, along with a medkit and some rations.

Opening the medkit, Ezra looked up at you as you gripped your leg, wincing at the throbbing.

"I'm sorry, flower, I would've carried you if I realised you were in such pain."

You had to stop yourself from moaning at the thought of you being conscious as he carried you in his big strong arms.

"No, Ezra, it's fine. Walking all that way with the full weight of a human would've been too much." You look down at him with a small smile.

He returned a smile, and then started to care for your wound.

"I would not have minded, flower."

You winced again as he placed a bandage on your leg after cleaning it. You gripped his shoulder for support.

"My apologies, flower, but I'm almost done."

He finished wrapping your leg and then stood up.

"There, now, I shall help you onto the- the-" he gestured toward the stack of wood with a pillow, and let out a little laugh, "...bed? You must rest after such a tumultuous journey."

You sighed and attempted to get up from the chair, "Okay, where are you going to rest?"

"Oh, well, I shall sleep in that there chair." He holds your arm to help you over to the bed, but he let's go when you look up at him startled.

"You can't sleep in a chair, for Kevva's sake," you laughed - half out of shock of his suggestion and the other half shock at your own thought, "the bed's big enough for us both; plus it's going to get cold alone without a fire."

You had said all of this with your back turned to him and when you finally reached the edge of the bed and sat down, you hesitantly looked up to his face.

He had the cutest smile on his face, which was being emphasised by the dim light lying on the floor.

He sighed and chuckled, "If you insist."

He took a few blankets and laid them over you, making sure not the apply too much pressure to your wound, and then laid next to you on the bed, getting under the blankets.

You immediately felt warmer by his presence - both physically and metaphorically.

His scent of cinnamon and oranges overpowered your senses and you felt a familiar warmth between your legs.

Don't do anything, as much as you want to, don't, you thought-

"I'm sorry, regarding what happened before." He was staring at the ceiling with a blank expression.

"Huh?"

"In the pod." He looked over to you, with tears brimming in his eyes,

"I thought- I thought that was it- That we would die, it's a miracle we survived that crash."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you listened to him; Ezra had never been this open with you - or anyone - like this before. You felt lucky to be next to him.

He turned over, facing you.

"I feel very safe in your presence, and so I thought if I held your hand, a miracle would occur. Which I suppose it did." He smiled.

You turned to face him too, placing your hand on his cheek and wiping a tear that had escaped the brim.

"I wouldn't've let go in a million years." You replied, with a caring smile.

He quickly looked down to your lips and looked up again, "I apologise if this is too forward but- m- may I kiss you?"

You didn't verbally reply, but the fact that you kissed him passionately answered his question for him. You never thought this day would come, so you were going to make the most of it.

Screw professionalism.

You pulled away for a second to catch your breath. You looked at his face - happily surprised - and his hair - slightly disheveled - and his lips - aching to be connected to yours again.

"You're a good kisser." You laugh an awkward laugh, "Would you l-"

You stop.

"What is it, flower?" He asked, placing his hand under your chin.

"Would you like to go further?" You ask timidly, worried about his reaction.

His genuine, large smile made you feel at ease.

"Only if you want to, flower." He smiled.

"I definitely do." You laughed, and crashed your lips into his again, with more force this time, sliding your fingers through his luscious hair. He raised his hand to your cheek, and caressed it tenderly as he relaxed into the kiss.

You roll on top of him, positioning your legs over his hips and continue the kiss. He moves his hands up and down your back and starts taking off your shirt. Your bra quickly follows and you are left on top of him half naked.

"Is your leg okay?" Ezra asked, pulling away for a second but still remaining close to your face,

"Yeah, I'm fine - I'm more than fine." You pressed down on his lips once again, this time reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head. You moved down his neck, biting every part of it, and down his chest, planting kisses in spots you found especially beautiful. He ran his fingers through your hair as you did this, enjoying the feel of you loving him.

"May I?" You gestured to his trousers, which were secured with a belt he had to wear under his suit.

"Go ahead, flower." Ezra smirked, still messing with your hair.

You unbuckled his belt slowly and pulled down his trousers, exposing a bulge in his pants.

A large grin emerges from your face as you pull down his pants, tantalisingly. You look up to Ezra; he hitched his breath, practically begging you to suck him off.

"Please." He breathed lazily. You obeyed his wishes and started pleasuring him intensely.

Orgasmic groans came from his throat as you bobbed your head up and down, pleasuring the rest of him that couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand. You continued for a while, varying in technique until you went as deep as you could.

"Oh my, flower, I'm- I'm gonna-"

You quickly pulled yourself away.

"Wh- Why did you stop?" He purred,

"You're not cumming until you're inside me." You tease with a smirk.

He smiles, and nods his head in agreement:

"Okay, that seems fair enough."

He swiftly pulled you up to his face and rolled you onto your back, carefully making sure not to damage your leg any further. He pecked your neck and rubbed your breasts tenderly, making you moan unconsciously.

He worked his way down your body, kissing your nipples and then your stomach and then your inner thighs.

"Oh Ezra." You bit your lip and looked down; he was looking up at you, his eyes hungry to eat you out.

You played with his hair whilst he lay between your legs.

"May I?" He gestured towards your pussy, placing his fingers near your entrance.

You lifted your waist up slightly, so that it reached his lips and whispered: "Do your worst."

He smiled against your lips as he ate you out, slipping his tongue in and out, making your breathing fluctuate intensely.

You arched your back slightly when he hit a sweet spot, making him push deeper into your dripping lips.

His rough stubble added to the friction and pleasure he was giving you, making you moan and shudder.

He started rubbing your clit with his thumb but you quickly pulled away, knowing you were close to climaxing.

"Sorry," you chuckled.

"Don't apologise, flower, come here." He pulled you close with one hand on the small of your back and kissed you again, while he lined up with your entrance.

"You ready?" He whispered, pulling away from the kiss but still grazing your nose.

You nodded slowly, looking into his eyes.

"Definitely."

He entered you slowly, engulfing every feeling it gave.

You parted your lips and closed your eyes as he did, and Ezra took this opportunity to bring his hands up to your mouth, placing the two fingers which were previously inside your pussy into your mouth. You tasted yourself as he thrust harder and harder, picking up speed quickly.

With the overstimulation of all the foreplay, you were already close to cumming. You pulled Ezra to your chest, kissing his head, as he hitched his breath.

"I'm so close, Ezra- k- keep going." You whispered into his ear. This was the trigger. Ezra moaned and came inside you, quickly followed by your own orgasm. Your pulsating walls gripped his cock comfortably as he stayed there, lamenting in the feeling.

When he finally pulled out, he did it slowly and quickly went to taste himself from your pussy. He looked up at you as he did, eyes hungry.

You breathing slowed as you came down from your high and you placed your head on the bed, eyes closed.

You could feel Ezra finish 'cleaning' you up and then slowly crawl up your body and lay  next to you.

"Well..." He eventually said turning towards you, "that was fun."

You open your eyes slowly and look over at him. He was sweating and still breathing rather heavily. His blond streak was a little more visible in the soft light. You smiled at him and snuggled up to his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and kissed the top of your head.

"Maybe I should hurt myself more often." You laugh, he joins in, and then you both fall asleep in each others' arms.

[tokimihyachi]

Christmas Boy

Happiest Birthday to Clover Kingdom’s very own, William Vangeance! to celebrate his birthday, here’s a drawing— a rushed one, and another special one shot to commemorate such lovely day.

Pairing: William Vangeance x OC

Warnings: None.

24th December. Other than this day being Christmas, it was not much of a special date to one eccentric man in Clover Kingdom. William Vangeance, bare-faced, stood up from the silk sheets of his bed and rubbed his eyes to welcome the day before him, light from his balcony (he has one here, so shush.) casting light upon his face.

Stretching as he stood up, he neatly folded the used quilts and placed the pillows to where they were situated before he slept on them last night, before walking towards the windowsill and opening it, as a flock of various kinds of birds swarmed him like the Snow White that he is.

The sounds of the birds chirping was music to his ears, but to someone else, it was rather a nuiscance.

‘You’ve been doing that for years, William. Grow up will you?’ Patri sneered. The elf did not dislike birds, actually, he’s used to seeing and hearing them chirp every morning since before, he liked to hide in the shade of the tree where many birds live, but to be accustomed with William’s company is another thing.

‘Is that how you should greet me today, Patri?’ the boy with eyes as gold as the sun scoffed.

'I’m sorry. Happy birthday, my friend.’ Vangeance smiled at his friend’s acknowledgement. Carefully placing the newborn bird back in its nest using his World Tree Magic to extend the branched of the tree, he bids his other friends a good day before heading towards the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast.

— — — — — —

Despite reminding them countless of times, members of the Golden Dawn continued to pursue their plans to surprise their captain and greet him a happy birthday. William smiled at them as Letoile lit the birthday cake’s candles up and Alecdora took it from her hands, bringing it closer to his captain.

Hearing them sing the melodous song one chants during birthday celebrations was more than enough to the masked man as his day of birth has never been celebrated before. Considered to be a cursed child, her parents, particularly his Mother, considered December 24th as an ill-fated day he was given to them.

Unlike kids his age, he never received a cake that was decorated with sweet frosting. Never been greeted— locked even most of the time, and never had a friend who would voluntarily give him a present.

He was given a gift once by the kids he used to play with, but when he opened it, it was filled with powder that catapulted to his face.

“You should keep that powder on your face. That way it’ll hide that hideous scare of yours!”

"Why were you even born into this world, you monster!”

“He’s probably the reason why his own father died. Cursed being.”

For years those memories alone haunted him, which is why Julius and Yami had a hard time trying to find a perfect gift to him. In the end though, they treated him to dinner and sometimes agreed to do whatever activity he wanted to for the day.

Yami didn’t like his choices. They were total opposites that got along after all, but William rarely opens up much about his own self so he begrudgingly obliged, as long as there was free food at the end of the day.

‘Truly, I am blessed.’ The purple-eyed man thought as he blew the candles on his cake and the Golden Dawn clapped in cheer. Seconds later, they formed a line while bringing out their individual gifts for him. He warned them several times before that it would only be a hassle if they bought him gifts as there was still a party during the afternoon, but the stubborn girl one of them is, she pushed through with every festivity yearly.

Speaking of, where is she? William’s eyes wander the room, trying to search for the a pair of eyes redder than any rose he’s seen before, but alas he could not find her. ‘Has she, perhaps… forgotten my birthday?’ A pang of an unknown feeling went through his chest like a spear directly piercing his heart as the thought was processed by his mind.

Alecdora notices the unease of his beloved captain’s presence, so he opted to speak up, “Captain Vangeance. If I may, Lady Artemis is still sleeping…” he trailed off, failing to stitch more words together as William stood up from his chair to excuse himself, claiming that he must fetch and reprimand the sleeping woman.

The Golden Dawn shared knowing looks at one another, chuckling lightly afterwards as they were observant enough to know what was about to happen. William cautiously knocked at the door for a good couple of minutes before deciding to walk inside, scared that she might actually be in danger as he could not sense her mana at all.

“Artemis?” he called out. His voice laced in fear anxiousness more than he could ever imagine.

He expected two things or scenarios to play out when he turned the know of her door. One, she was either peacefully in deep slumber, the kind of sleep where her mana almost feels like it disappears completely or Two, she would be there on the floor, struggling for her life. But upon entering the room he stopped, seeing both of the imaginative situations he made were not in front of him.

Instead, there stood Artemis who clearly smelled like she took a bath, with both of her arms open and awaiting him to come forth as if she anticipated that he would walk through the door. The masked man gave her a confused look making the woman sigh and bring her hands down.

“What are you doing, Artemis?” William asked that further vexed the green-haired mage.

“Well,” she began, walking towards her captain slowly, giving the masked man a chance to see how alluring she looked under the touch of the sun early in the morning— her eyes burning brighter than any fire, her skin more supple and radiant than any sky, and her lips… tempting and soft, its presence even more so overwhelming than the usual.

“My gift isn’t exactly finished yet so I’m giving the next best thing.” as their eyes finally locked, Artemis’ gaze landing on his ear that were decorated in a light shade of pink making William cough to divert her attention, “And that is?” he inquired.

The woman rolls her eyes opening both of her arms again, “A hug! Now, come here you big baby!” chuckling at her little patience, probably because she waited longer than he thought, William gladly mirrors her gesture and wraps his arms around her figure.

In the darkness of his life, her cuddles feel like a little touch of heaven, warm, together, cozy. William could only wish that he could extend or perhaps stop time just so he could stay close to her longer, safe in her embrace. Artemis’ arms wrapped right around him brought a peace he’d never known before, calming of the storms in his heart.

The hug was a simple enough gesture - affection, perhaps the fragile beginnings of love. The arms that held him were soft, yet strong. The feel of her body so close to his soothed him more than he had expected. But within seconds she pulled away, his mind swam not with the heady excitement of a new relationship but with thoughts of why his heart was thumping loudly against his chest.

Her presence, more ominous than the usual. Was it because of the war nearing them? He could only guess. ‘You mean you can only deny?’ Dismissing the thoughts of his friend, Artemis took her captain’s wrist and pulled him outside her room, locking it afterwards and giving him a smile.

“There’s still a party ongoing below right? Not to mention one tonight with the captains so let’s go, Willy!” she yelled as they ran through the corridors. The masked man’s eyes dart on her hands holding his wrist and he had to bite his inner lip to prevent himself from making any noise. ‘What is it with this feeling?’

How he wanted to just grab her hand and intertwine her dainty fingers like that of a porcelain doll with his own, but he was not selfish and shamless. Artemis is a fine woman with class and exuding much elegance. She’s kind, selfless, thoughtful, exceedingly beautiful, and above all else, she’s smart. ‘and dense. Don’t forget clumsy as well.’

He could not risk such ripe and fruitful future ahead of her if he consticted her in any relationship with him other than being good friends that relied and trusted one another even if their lives depended on the situation, but he’s considered it— many times, and wondered what if he had the courage to speak his mind.

Alas he told himself not to. Both of them were healthy, given that, they still had plenty of years in front of them. So the possible lifetime they might share can wait, if it means he can treasure her longer and build up the willpower to face whatever consequence confessing might bring.

‘Wait, does this mean… I like her? Romantically?’ he shook his head. After years of denying was he about to accept and let these feelings consume him? Perhaps this was enough for now as he had other priorities to face. Yet in a few days these very thoughts would betray him, but how wrong he was to have not grabbed such golden oppurtune while it was still within his reach.

Complacency was never a good thing. And William Vangenace would soon know of this.

[thornsandtulips]

(Desert Nightmare) x reader

( it’s not really an x reader per say, it’s just having you guys get into the plot of the game. That being said, some shit is about to go down. Also okay so I’ve noticed no fanfics or artwork for this man, like at all. It’s honestly kinda disappointing but eh. This takes place from beginning to end of the game, so I warn you SPOILERS AHEAD. Also, I haven’t written anything in about 2 years. So please , bear with me. That’s it.)

Though the sun blared onto the tinted window, it still left an aching warmth onto your lap as the car drifted down the empty highway. It was such a boring sight when looking out the window, the view only being filled with sand for what looked like miles with no end. The only thing keeping you some sort of comfort was the music blaring into your ears during the long ride.

“ y/n “ a muffled voice could be heard, barely recognizable of your own name. You turn tiredly, a bit annoyed you were thrown into this situation as you made eye contact with Sandra. She’s smile awkwardly, trying to hide her annoyance at you putting your ear buds in rather than complaining with her about missing the biggest party of the summer. You’d raise an eyebrow, seemingly missing a conversation between her and her parents, mostly coming to this observation due to the fact that all three people seemed to be awaiting your response. This wasn’t the first time you’d be a deal breaker in an argument between Sandra and her parents, though that didn’t mean you liked being involved in their family drama at all.

“ uh- I’m sorry, I had my ear buds in. What’s happening?” You’d look at the front of the car as you’d mutter that out the most polite way possible. Audible sighs could be heard from the front, one beside you as Sandra now showed how annoyed she was in the situation. Seeing how you showed that you were now present in this small argument, there wasn’t really any chance of listening to music and zoning out again.

“ I was trying to tell them that I have to stop somewhere to use the bathroom! I’ve been holding it in for hours” the teen whined, letting a small pout show at the parents looked aggravated towards their upset child. You’d smile a bit, not out of humor of the situation, but more out of nervousness, especially when a gas station was seen in the distance past the heatwave.

Instead of having the argument start up again, you’d lean in a bit ,” I sorta have to go too, I’m sorry.” You’d lie, knowing that since you were their child’s friend and not their own, they wouldn’t be inclined to be mad or yell at you. You also didn’t go earlier to be fair as well. You could see the station pull up closer , seeing the father grow tired of his daughter’s complaining the entire ride finally show on his expression. As the car stopped, it didn’t take a second for Sandra to unbuckle and bolt out the car to stretch. You’d sigh, doing the same at a less eager pace. The sun seemed to shine much stronger on your back than it did on your lap in car, most likely due to the tint on the backseat windows. It wasn’t until you finished stretching did you hear the conversation ahead of you.

“ Do you have to stop at every other gas station?” A gruff voice asked, quickly identifying it as Sandra’s father. Though his face wasn’t seen, you could tell he was utterly exhausted from the ride and the treatment his daughter gave him. He’d continue “ I want to reach the next city before it’s dark.” You’d stand awkwardly next to Sandra, who’d seem to take his comment rather negatively.

“ Uncle Rupert will survive if we’re one day late!” You wince a bit at Sandra’s tone, knowing how this conversation would soon go south. “ I don’t know why I came at all! I’m missing the best part of the summer!” She continued.You’d smile awkwardly , trying to diffuse the situation at hand “ Sandra-“ only to be cut off.

“ Life isn’t all about parties, it’s time for you to realize that!” Her mother argued , her tone cutting at the tension more. The only thing to do in the situation was not to be involved, who would be dumb enough to jump into your friend’s family feuds. Slowly gripping your bag, you decide to walk to the gas station, noticing the bathroom wasn’t connected to the station rather it was beside it. With a quick pull, the arguing voices were cut off with the door echoing shut.

You’d sigh, the heat was uncomfortable, especially during the summer. Walking to the sink, you turned the faucet in hopes cold water would steam out. much to your luck, hot water burned at your fingertips when trying to test the water temperature,” shit-“ you’d hiss. The sound of the door opening and slamming quickly caught your attention as an annoyed Sandra came walking in ,” they threatened me- they said I can walk there!-“ you’d tense for a minute.

“ they wouldn’t… you know-“ you’d gulp at the idea of walking miles in the burning heat,” make us walk to the next city right? “ Sandra would scoff at the idea, going to the stall as she’d complain. “ As if, they wouldn’t actually leave us in the middle of no where over a disagreement. That would be messed up! Plus they’d be the ones explaining to your parents about it if you did have to walk with me.” She’d try to joke, trying to uplift your worry as she finished her business.

The must of the bathroom was unbearable as you did your best to wash your hands throughly. It wasn’t long as the bathroom stall creaked open to see Sandra walk out, her expression still a bit upset as she now too went to wash her hands ,” you know, it means a lot you came with me. No one else wanted to miss the biggest party of the summer” she’d joke.

A small smile would twitch up on your face ,” of course, you’re my friend you know? A party is nice but I’d rather be here with you than drinking with some idiots who won’t remember basic human boundaries or morals.” She’d smile a bit, seemingly soothed by your words. It wasn’t long before she was ready to head out.

“ ready?” She’d ask, grabbing her bag as she’d tuck her black hair back behind her ear. Sandra was always the type to be too stubborn to work with others or admit when she’s wrong, but was overall always there for the people she trusted at the end of the day. It was definitely something to grow accustomed to, but you had years of friendship with her to be use to it by now. She was more of an annoying little sister at times, family none the less.

“ yeah, just try to be a bit more bearable to your folks though okay? I know they’re exhausted from all that driving, especially in the heat.” You’d warn, opening the door and looking back at Sandra to try and keep your attention towards her. Though your thoughts shifted at the change of expression on her face. Your back was still faced to where the car would be, ‘did they turn off the car?’ You’d think, not needing to look to notice the lack of motor from the overheating car. Sandra seemed shocked and disgusted as she’d move past you, now you could turn and confirm you and Sandra’s fears.

They were gone.

Oh

No…

As the adrenaline rush kicked in for you, it doubled in Sandra as she’d freak out at the sight of the rustic green van missing. “ what the fuck-“ Sandra was quick to say, going to grab her phone to call her mom only to freak out more. Out of curiosity, you looked at your phone as well. Oh? You were not having any reception on your phone either. A small tremble would form as you’d get a bit antsy, looking down the dusty road to see that no one was there, no car, nothing. So it definitely wasn’t a trick. As you’d slowly make a step towards the road to check your surroundings, Sandra was quick to check the gas station.

The sun blared into your shoulder as you tried to shield your eyes with your hand, trying to look out at your surrounding without getting primarily blinded by the blistering sun. A hand grabbed your shoulder, making you jump a bit as you turned to see a distraught Sandra. “ What’s wrong?” You’d ask calmly, “ Sandra?”

Sandra seemed a bit worried as she’d quickly make her way down the road ,” we have to go to the next city!- they’re probably waiting there for us to prove some dumb lesson!” You’d raise an eyebrow, speed walking to meet up with her. Her pace seemed forced a bit faster than usually, her face written with nervousness.

“ what’s wrong? Why can’t we wait at the gas station for your parents- Sandra come on!” You’d be cut off by Sandra giving you a small glare, obviously frustrated. “ Y/n, I went in there, the station-“ she’d huff before continuing “ it was empty, it looked like it wasn’t occupied in years. Waiting there just screams danger, especially when you don’t know who will stop there!-“

“ okay okay- “ you’d reason, just trying to keep to Sandra’s pace as she’d try to make it to the next city before the sun set. The walk was overall silent, the sound of sneakers hitting the concrete pavement as your eyes quickly focused on a road sign. ‘Dusty Creek - 1 mile ’ “ that town, Dusty Creek? It’ll be less than a mile at this rate” you’d reason. The walk grew more into a race on getting to that Dusty Creek before sun set.

As if it were luck, you both made it to the big wooden sign with the letters ‘ Dusty Creek’ on it. The course of running a mile left you both breathless, though Sandra’s breath seemed to be taken more at the sight of her blue book bag leaning against a wall. She’d be quick to grab it while you’d look around. “ my back pack- y/n how did it get here?!” She’d ask, shocked.

You’d smile , shrugging as you’d grip your own bag ,” I don’t know San, but I’ll go check in this Inn to see if your parents checked in okay? You go look around for their car!-“ She’d go through the bag and nod, not seeming to mind that arrangement. With a swift step, you’d walk into the inn. The room instantly hit a strong smell of pine as you’d step in. Your eyes would meet with papers littered all over a desk behind the counter, the counter itself being neat with a big book open for signing in. Your gaze would then meet towards a girl a bit older than yourself, her eyes cold as she’d let her messy brown hair out of her face so you could get the full glare.

“ um. Hi-“ you’d begin, not use to this kind of hostility,” I’m looking for my friend’s parents, did a married couple with the last name Richmont check in at all? “ you continued, trying to be polite even though the glare of this girl was biting away at you “ nope. “ she’d say bluntly.

Huh?

You’d feel your lip twitch slightly into a small smile, confused now. If Sandra’s parents weren’t actually here , then why was Sandra’s bag against the wall of the inn earlier? “ have you at least seen a green car to drive by here recently?” You’d try to reason before she hit you with a “ no I haven’t.” It was obvious she wasn’t in the mood to talk.

As the tension grew, Sandra came in with a tired expression, quickly catching up as you were given a chance to collect your thoughts. This town was strange for sure, the people didn’t help Change that observation either. It wasn’t until you saw Sandra take out her wallet and pay the chick before getting your attention. You’d be quick to follow her up the stairs, each step creaking softly as you’d whisper to her ,” okay so, any ideas of where your parents could be?” Sandra would look over her shoulder to you before walking to the hotel room ,” they said my parents could be in a pension at the end of the city, knowing them they’re probably going to spend the night. So, I decided to room here for tonight. We’ll share a bed okay? It was cheaper.”

A small sigh would leave your lips, realizing that spacing out earlier caused you to not gather this information first hand. Your attention was cut short as she’d open the door, a small creak cutting the silent air before you both walked in. Putting your bag down, you stretched ,” we can look around a bit to help ease your anxiety “ you’d offer, noticing how tense Sandra was. She’d smile at the offer ,” I do want to check this place out. It’s kind of scary though.”

A small chuckle left your lips gently as you headed to the door ,” oh? You chicken?” You’d tease, knowing how stubborn she can be ,” oh hush! Fine one walk around won’t hurt!” She’d huff, not bother fighting back at all.

With a step, you grabbed her hand and headed out the door.

With that, the journey began…

[cvldbones]

a hundred arms, a hundred years

or, the reincarnation AU no one asked for

Read on AO3.

i.

It began with blood.

Clarke knew, as she filled the bucket at the lake, that it was too heavy. It would be difficult to drag it back to the house at this weight, but it was equally undesirable to trek back to the lake for another, especially with night approaching rapidly. She was still getting accustomed to this new life in the countryside, still frustrated that her parents had uprooted her life in London to drag her out into the middle of nowhere. “We want a fresh start,” her father had said gently.

“From what?” she’d asked, bewildered. “What could we possibly need to get away from?” Even now, seven months later, they wouldn’t tell her.

As she heaved the bucket up and down, sweat beading at her brow, she could hear her mother’s voice in her head: Don’t be so stubborn, Clarke. The anger burned so hot in her veins she sat the bucket down too harshly, spilling some of the water over the side.

“Damn,” she murmured. She paused to catch her breath, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Inhaling deeply, Clarke tried to steady herself, to let the fire dissipate in her bones.

She thought, helplessly, of her father. This new life as a farming man suited him, gave him the chance to meet new people and travel to new places he’d never been before. Right then, he was in a neighboring town to sell the produce and buy more livestock, and every minute he was gone made her chest ache terribly.

As she let her eyes flutter shut for just a moment of reprieve, mentally counting the days since he’d left, a man’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Do you need some help?”

Her eyes flew open, glaring into the harsh sunset diminishing over the horizon. The man was nothing but a shadow ahead of her, but as he moved closer, Clarke could make out the curves of his arms, the wide halo of curly hair sitting like a mop on his head. She shielded her eyes with her hand, and her heart hesitated a beat when she didn’t recognize the person approaching her.

“No,” she stated firmly as he came to stand in front of her, “I don’t.”

“That looks pretty full,” the man said, nodding to the bucket abandoned by her feet. His eyes roved over her slowly. She took a step back, uncomfortable not by his gaze but about what he was hoping to find.

“It’s getting late, and I didn’t want to make a second trip,” she defended. His eyes glanced behind him, as though to confirm it would in fact be dark soon.

“Still.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Let me help you take it back to your home. It’ll take me far less time than it would for you to do it yourself.”

Clarke bristled again, frustrated both by her perceived helplessness and by the fact that he was right. She lifted her chin and retorted, “Like I said, I can do it myself. My house is just over the hill there.” His eyes followed her own, and he smirked again. She felt herself blush, which only reignited her irritation.

He moved forward, and for one heart-stopping moment, Clarke thought he was reaching for her. But he merely reached for the bucket, laughing as he said, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit stubborn?”

And it was that word, spoken from this strange man’s mouth but heard in her mother’s voice, which set her off.

“I said,” she grunted, lunging forward to grab the bucket’s handle, “I can do it.” They began to wrestle over it, and Clarke absently wondered how absurd they must have looked, this tall handsome stranger and Abby Griffin’s tiny daughter, battling over a bucket of warming lake water as the sun dipped below the hill.

“Hey, hey what the –”

“I told you to –”

“Would you just –”

She heard, rather than saw, the bucket connect with his face.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dropping the bucket. He collapsed to the ground and flung his hand to his face. Clarke gasped as blood began to seep between his fingers, slow and red, and she moved towards him in an instant.

“Let me see it,” she said softly, grabbing at his face with gentle hands as she kneeled in the grass.

“Shit this hurts – no, you don’t need to –”

“Please, just let me take a look –”

“What the hell can you do?” he near-screamed. The look he gave her contained so much terror it would have been comical if he didn’t have a wound gushing down his face.

“My mother is the doctor in town. She’s been teaching me.”

His dark eyes searched her face. “Wo-women… aren’t doctors,” he stammered, uncertain, and the almost apologetic glint in his expression dented her surge of anger.

“Well, we are,” she said curtly. She lifted her hands to his face again, peeling his fingers back from the gash as his shock gave way to complacent exhaustion. Clarke sucked in a breath when she saw the wide cut above his left eyebrow. She could feel his eyes on her, not only watching her, but also seeing her in a way a complete stranger shouldn’t be able to do.

“Okay,” she breathed, “the good news is that it isn’t very deep. We can stitch this up in no time. Let me just…” She looked around, searching for something to wrap around his head to contain the bleeding. Glancing down at her grass-stained dress, she nodded decisively to herself and ripped a section from her hem.

“What are you –”

“We need to keep pressure on it,” she explained quickly, wrapping the pale green fabric around his forehead to create a sort of crown circling his head. “This way you don’t have to try and focus on that while we walk. You may be a bit dizzy from the injury.”

Clarke’s eyes met his again, and she noticed for the first time just how deep and warm they were – iris melting into pupil, glowing gold in the fading sun. He nodded dumbly at her, fixing her with a look that she might have characterized as awe if she dwelled on it.

“Okay,” she repeated, “do you think you can stand?” He nodded again, and she stood quickly to help him up. His hands were large and calloused when they enveloped her own, and she swallowed thickly as he staggered to unsteady feet. The bucket of water lay abandoned to their left, and she silently scolded herself when she realized that only about a quarter of the water remained. With one hand gripping the bucket and the other fixed around the man’s waist, she began to guide them to her home.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” she said quickly, and her newfound friend let out a throaty laugh.

“Listen, I get it. My younger sister would’ve reacted the same way.”

Clarke smiled to herself and caught his own grin when she glanced his way. “My mother always calls me stubborn,” she sighed, “and it’s a bit of a sensitive word for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said around a laugh. “This world needs a few more strong-willed women.”

She could feel her cheeks turning red again. She fixed her eyes on the house slowly appearing above the hill, trying to still the staccato of her heart that she was certain the stranger could feel as she tightened her arm around his waist.

When they reached the house, Clarke left the bucket out front and pushed the door ajar, stumbling slightly as she pulled the man through. “Mother,” she called. Her eyes strained in the darkened room. “Mother!”

Abby emerged from the kitchen. “Clarke? You’ve been gone ages. I was about to send out a search party. Lord, it’s dark in here isn’t it? Did you –”

As she lit a candle, her mother’s face moved quickly from confusion to shock to outright horror. Clarke glanced down at her dress, torn and stained, and then at the man’s face, where blood was seeping through the hastily applied bandage, and realized it must look far worse than she predicted.

“We’re fine, everything’s fine,” Clarke said hurriedly, moving the man inside and seating him in the rocking chair by the hearth. “I was trying to bring the bucket back and it had too much water, and he offered to help me and the bucket hit him in the face.”

The moment she assured her mother they were both fine, Abby set to work immediately, kneeling in front of the man’s face and gingerly peeling back the scrap of Clarke’s dress. She was always mystified watching her mother transition from woman into healer.  She hummed to herself for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen, returning with several vials and bandages.

“What have I told you about filling that bucket too full?” her mother admonished quietly, and Clarke felt her throat seize up.

“She could’ve handled it herself,” the man piped up, “I was just trying to be gentlemanly. My mother would kill me if she knew I saw a woman carrying a bucket alone, no matter how empty the bucket or how sturdy the girl.” He met Clarke’s eyes over her mother’s head, and she gave him a small smile.

“Well, I am still sorry to have to treat you – although this will heal in no time,” Abby assured.

While her mother worked, Clarke made some tea with honey and lemon, waiting for it to cool slightly before passing it to the stranger. Her mother put the finishing touches on the bandages and nodded. “Just be careful with this for a few days,” she instructed. “Change the bandage once a day, and make sure it stays clean. You can come back here if you have any trouble.”

The man nodded again but averted his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, and Abby smiled softly before she moved back to the kitchen.

He and Clarke sat in silence for a few beats while he sipped his tea. “I’m sorry, again,” she rushed out. Her fingers played with the rim of the mug. She wasn’t sure where this sudden nervousness had come from, nor why she seemed to be dreading the moment the man ultimately departed. Her brow furrowed when she realized she still didn’t know his name. “I’m Clarke, by the way.”

That smile was back, and her heart pounded in her chest. He slowly extended out his hand, placing it around hers again – it was meant to be a handshake, yet they just sat with their hands clasped together for several beats. “Bellamy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Bellamy,” she said quietly. His grin only widened.

“Likewise.”

He held her gaze for several seconds before clearing his throat and gently placing the mug on the table in front of him. “I should probably get going,” he rushed out, rising to his feet. Clarke stood as well with a nod. She stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, when he turned around.

“May we meet again,” he said quietly, giving her a slight salute. She laughed, despite herself.

“May we meet again,” she repeated.

When Clarke awoke the next morning, the forgotten bucket was filled to the brim right outside the front door.

ii.

The second time, the world was on fire.

Bellamy’s ears hadn’t stopped ringing for days, it felt like, as he sprinted through the forest. He gripped his gun closer to his chest, eyes darting around as he tried to find the others in his unit. It was impossible with all of the smoke and debris clouding the air, the shouting and bombs collapsing into a singular dull noise. There was no one else in sight, but he had no way of telling who was friend and who was foe anyway – the screams all sounded the same.

He found a large tree and collapsed behind its trunk. His breathing was labored, and he could feel his heartbeat nearly bursting out of his chest, the fear and adrenaline keeping him alert even though every inch of his body ached with exhaustion. Closing his eyes, he thought of his sister: her face collapsing when his number had been called, her desperate and fervent request that he bring his ass home. Bellamy choked down a sob, shaking his head to clear it of the images. He didn’t have time for that right now.

His radio suddenly crackled at his hip, and he kept one hand on his gun as he fumbled for it. Miller’s voice came through distorted. “Blake, do you copy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I copy. Where the hell is everyone?” He could hear the telltale whirring of bullets flying through the air, and the smoke was growing thicker. Bellamy’s eyes roved across the lush landscape, and it made his heart ache for his grandmother’s village in the Philippines. He could see Octavia, toddling on the beaches while his mother nervously hovered behind her, ready to catch her if she fell; he could smell his grandmother’s cooking wafting through her house, her soft smile when he begged her to let him stir.

He wished this place felt a bit less like home.

Miller’s voice brought him back to reality. “No clue, man, but we got a soldier down over here and I need your help, we’re over by –” A bomb erupted, far too close for comfort, drowning out Miller’s voice. Bellamy fought the urge to cover his ears and gritted his teeth, scanning the land in front of him futilely.

“Repeat that, man, it’s too fucking loud, I can’t –”

“Everything looks the goddamn same anyway, I’m sending up a flare, hold on.”

Bellamy shifted to his knees, fixing his eyes above the treetops where the flare would erupt. He heard it before he saw it, but then the arc of red was cresting in the sky, cutting through the hazy gray smoke. “I see you. I’m on my way,” he yelled into the radio, holstering it and then climbing to his feet. He set off in a sprint, keeping his head down and ignoring the waves of shouts and screams. Following the fading tendrils of red, he skidded to a halt when he saw Miller crouched over someone in a small enclave of bushes.

“Hey,” Bellamy breathed as he approached, and Miller whirled around with his gun pointed. He sighed shakily when he saw Bellamy, returning his attention to the soldier on the ground.

“I found her over here like ten minutes ago, but I wasn’t sure –”

“Her?” Bellamy interrupted. He had never understood the women who had volunteered themselves for this war. He could still feel the dread pooling in his stomach when the draft was announced, when he sat with Octavia by his side, when number after number was called out across the eerily silent bar.

“Yeah. Griffin, she said.”

“C-Clarke,” the soldier suddenly bit out. “G-Griffin’s my l-last name.”

Bellamy moved his gaze from Miller to the wounded person in front of him, and he was first struck by the vibrancy of her eyes. Her face was caked in blood and mud, leaves stuck to her sweat-sodden shirt, but her eyes were crystal clear and as blue as the water on those beaches his sister had once walked.

“Blake. Bellamy Blake,” he responded, giving her a curt nod. His eyes pored over her shaking body, trying to find the source of the injury, and he stilled when he saw the imperfect tourniquet fashioned around her right leg. “What happened?” he asked without looking up at either soldier.

“We were running to the rendezvous spot when…” Miller hesitated. Bellamy looked up and found his friend’s eyes trained on Clarke, who was clenching her jaw.

“There w-was a kid, and he… he was t-trapped in the m-middle of all of this… shit,” she grit out, her fists shaking by her sides. “So I-I tried to get h-him out, he s-said his village was j-just over the hill back t-there, and M-Miller warned me…” Her eyes fluttered shut, and when she opened them again, Bellamy was struck by the honest vulnerability there, the unfettered pain she just allowed to sit in her face so openly.

“We h-hit a landmine,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “The k-kid stepped on it… and sh-shrapnel hit m-my leg.”

Bellamy swallowed thickly. He remembered his own first civilian casualty, a young mother screaming for him to find her daughter – he had begged her to stay calm, to not run off the way she had, because he knew what was coming, knew as soon as her foot stepped onto the ground that the bomb would go off.

He knew because he’d put it there.

“It’s not your fault,” Bellamy said quietly. “You tried to help him.”

“Yeah, l-look how well t-that turned out,” Clarke spat. Those blue, blue eyes met his, and he was once again blown away by how much emotion she was capable of holding in them: anguish and anger and heartbreak. He felt each wash over him, one at a time, and he didn’t think twice when he reached out to unfurl her fist and tangle his fingers with her own.

“We’ve all been there,” Bellamy murmured. “None of us are proud of it. Who… who we are, and who we need to be to survive… those are different things.”

Clarke’s body stilled for the first time, her eyes searching his face for God only knew what – hope, truth, maybe forgiveness. He tried to wear his emotions the way she did, wanted her to hear him as he silently implored, If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. You’re forgiven.

She gave him the tiniest of smiles, her teeth a blazing white against the dark muck covering her face, and he knew she’d found it.

“Alright, not to kill the vibe,” Miller said with a slight smirk, “but we really need to get the hell out of here.”

Bellamy looked up at him, clearing his throat. “Right. Murphy said we’d rendezvous on the beach. It’s gotta be close to here.”

“She can’t walk,” Miller pointed out, nodding at Clarke.

“Y-yes I can,” she said firmly, removing her hand from Bellamy’s grip to push herself off of the ground. He stretched his hand, ignoring the strange feeling of electricity coursing through his fingers. Clarke began to lift herself up, but as soon as she tried putting weight on her injured leg, she collapsed to the ground with a small cry. Bellamy steadied her as she fell, eyeing the wound warily.

“Yeah, that went well,” he deadpanned. He looked at Miller. “I’ll carry her. You cover me. If we move quickly, we might be okay.”

“N-no, I can d-do it,” Clarke said firmly, frustration coloring her voice.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of stubborn?”

She lifted her chin pointedly and flashed him a grin. “Every d-damn day.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, tough shit. You can’t walk, and we need to get outta here.” His gaze shifted to Miller again, who was watching the pair strangely. “Let’s do this.”

Miller nodded, cocking his gun. Bellamy slid his own gun to his back, shifting to a crouch and sliding one arm beneath Clarke’s legs and one behind her back. She was muttering a string of profanities under her breath that made him smirk, but they dissipated into a soft groan of pain when he lifted her off the ground. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Alright, let’s move!” Miller shouted, breaking into a sprint.

Bellamy followed behind him quickly, arms tightening around Clarke to keep from irritating her injury. The trio flew through the trees, branches snapping against their arms, lungs burning from the smoke. The shouts were fading the farther they ran, and Bellamy could hear Murphy’s voice in his radio, but he didn’t have time to stop. Miller swept his gun side-to-side, bullets flying into nothing or into someone, they would never know. “There!” Miller shouted suddenly, nodding his head towards the small shoreline appearing at the end of the grass.

He could hear Clarke choke on a sob, and Bellamy couldn’t help but wonder if she was glad to be alive or just shocked they had made it. Murphy looked up when they approached, gun poised to shoot, but his face crumpled in relief when he realized who it was. “Thank fuck,” he said, grin tugging crookedly at his mouth. “Thought you’d both gone and gotten yourselves killed.”

“Thanks for believing in us,” Miller retorted, clapping him on the back. Murphy returned his attention to a young Asian kid on the ground – Monty, Bellamy thought his name was – his face creased with pain, and Miller moved to his other side to help Murphy treat him.

“Here you go,” Bellamy said quietly as he lowered Clarke to the ground. She winced when he removed his grip on her leg, but then she gave him a grateful smile that made something in his chest twinge painfully.

“T-thank you,” she whispered. Her hand reached for his to reconnect their palms, and she looked like she might say something else when Murphy bounded over.

“Helicopter’s almost here. There’s a medic waiting for us. Kid’s got a bullet in his ribcage we can’t get out ourselves,” he said curtly, nodding over to Monty. His eyes moved down to Clarke and Bellamy’s joined hands, then to the makeshift tourniquet on her leg. “We’ll get yours taken care of too, Griffin.” Clarke nodded. Murphy’s eyes met Bellamy’s only briefly, but there was a humored smirk on his lips before he circled to another group who had just arrived, carrying three wounded men between them.

The pair sat in silence, listening to the echoes of bombs, the aching grunts of the injured around them. “I know what you’re w-wondering,” Clarke said suddenly, eyes fixated on a dusty watch on her wrist. “You’re wondering w-hat the hell I’m doing h-here.”

“Well, I’d assume you’re here fighting a war,” Bellamy retorted, trying to make her smile. Her lips only twitched slightly.

After a pause, she murmured, “My dad d-died. H-he… he volunteered e-early, wanted to… to h-help the country, or s-some other patriotic b-bullshit.” Her voice broke and she rolled her eyes, a softness overtaking her face. “And I w-wanted to honor him, y-you know? It was j-just me, he d-didn’t have any b-boys, and… and I wanted t-to make sure h-he didn’t die for n-nothing.” Bellamy stared at the tear tracks cutting clear lines through the mess on her face, and he felt that constriction in his chest again. He thought, wrenchingly, of Octavia.

“S-seems pretty stupid n-now, huh?” she asked, her eyes watery when they met his own.

He shook his head. “Not stupid,” he assured. “Pretty damn brave, if you ask me.” She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. His entire heart swelled, and Bellamy searched her face, trying to pinpoint what it was about this girl – whom he’d met all of forty minutes ago – that was breaking bits of his soul.

His thoughts were interrupted when the helicopter whirred into view, and he gathered Clarke up again, helping her stand on her good leg. They watched the helicopter land together as Murphy helped move the wounded in first, and Bellamy climbed in after he eased Clarke up. Her hand was clutching his with a ferocity he didn’t think was possible for someone so small, and he crouched beside her as the doors shut and the helicopter took off.

They looked out the window as they rose above the decimated landscape. A bomb detonated below and the helicopter shook, sending Bellamy to his knees. He heard Miller curse behind him, felt Clarke’s nails dig into his palm. He stared in horror as flames swallowed the trees whole.

iii.

On their third meeting, there was a shot.

“Clarke, I swear to God, if you don’t hurry up –”

“I’m coming, Jesus –”

“Name’s Raven, actually –”

“Ha. You’re hysterical.”

With a grunt of irritation, Clarke pulled the velvety blouse over her head, grimacing at her reflection. She fiddled with the thin straps and bit her lip as she surveyed the person in front of her. She looked like a stranger to herself: eyes puffy and almost bruised as a result of her months of insomnia, skin pallid. She tried to smile, to force some sort of life back into her features, but it just made her feel even more hollowed out.

Raven opened the door and leaned against the frame, crossing her arms across her chest. Her eyes looked over Clarke lazily, and she lifted an eyebrow before asking, “Ah, so you’re going to wear leggings with that, are you?”

Clarke fingered the hem of the blouse. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Clarke said quietly. She met Raven’s eyes in the mirror, and the warmth she found there comforted her. Her friend sighed and pushed off from the door, coming to stand behind her and place her hands on Clarke’s thin shoulders.

“I know this has been hard for you,” Raven murmured, “but he also wouldn’t want you to be living like this.”

Clarke sucked in a breath and blinked quickly to stop the tears that were already gathering in her eyes. “He’s only been dead nine months, Raven.”

“I know,” she said gently, fixing Clarke with a meaningful look. “He was your best friend. You don’t have to move on from that right away, or at all. But you’ve been cooping yourself up in this apartment since we moved in, binging that stupid shitty teenage soap opera I’ve now memorized the theme song of, and I’m a bit worried about your health.” Clarke let out a breathy laugh and Raven bumped her shoulder. “One drink, Clarke. We’ll go out for one drink, see the city, and we’ll be home before you know it. Plus, it’s New Year’s Eve. We can’t stay home tonight.”

Clarke closed her eyes and inhaled shakily. Wells’ face was papered against the backs of her lids: that boyish grin that he never quite grew out of, his booming laugh that echoed in her dorm room. She remembered when she’d told him that she’d been accepted into the Masters program at the University of Sydney, the next step for her to curate her own museum. He’d lifted her up into the air and spun her around, telling her over and over how proud he was of her.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” he’d said with all the confidence in the world.

She’d never believed it from anyone else from him.

Opening her eyes, she sighed. “One drink,” she repeated. Raven fist-pumped behind her, grinning wildly, and Clarke fought a smile on her own face.

Thirty minutes later, as they were squeezing into the overcrowded bar, Clarke began to regret the decision. They pushed through the throngs of people, all decked out in glitter and gold and wearing ridiculous headbands with 2030 emblazoned on them. She and Wells’ lives had been so intertwined, they felt like one and the same, and she had been dreading this day since his death: the very first year she’d have to spend without him. The first of many, she realized. Her chest ached.

“One drink, Raven!” she shouted over the music, giving her friend a stern look. Raven merely rolled her eyes, beckoning Clarke forward towards the bar. She ordered two vodka sodas, passing one to Clarke. Sipping the drink slowly, her eyes roved over the sea of unfamiliar faces.

“Let’s find a quieter spot!” Raven said and pointed towards a secluded corner. Clarke nodded quickly, following her across the bar until they reached the tiny booth.

“Thank fuck.” Raven sat on one side, crossing one leg over the other and looking out into the mass of dancing, sweating people. “This isn’t so bad, right?” she asked, and Clarke could sense the nervousness in her voice.

“No, it’s not that bad,” she confirmed. She reached over to squeeze Raven’s hand. She knew how hard these last few months had been on Raven, too, as she watched Clarke slowly disintegrate before her very eyes. It was Raven who had been there when Clarke got the call, who had held her as she choked up every last sob her body could muster. Deep in her bones, Clarke knew her friend was just looking out for her.

Raven squeezed her hand back, clearing her throat before taking another sip of her drink. “So, see anyone interesting?” she asked brightly. Clarke laughed, rolling her eyes.

“C’mon, we’re not here to meet people tonight,” she chastised. “Plus, getting with someone on New Year’s is such a cliché.”

“Maybe, but also, it’s fun,” Raven countered with a wink.

Clarke laughed again. She couldn’t remember feeling this carefree since Wells had died, couldn’t remember the last time she had just sat in a bar and laughed with her friends. The rest of their friends had left town for the holiday, and even though they had asked she and Raven to come, Clarke she wasn’t up for it. She had told Raven to go – “You don’t need to be around mopey me all the time,” she’d begged – but Raven had shaken her off.

“They’re just going to the coast. Plus, I have to work anyway,” she’d said with a shrug.

But Clarke had heard her on the phone. “I can’t leave her alone for that long,” Raven had whispered. “We’ll just stay here.”

Gratitude and longing collided in her chest.

She shook her head to center herself. When she looked up, she caught Raven staring at something with a small smile toying with her lips. Following her gaze to a tall man with a buzz cut, Clarke grinned widely. “Are you going to go talk to him?” she asked cheekily, wiggling her eyebrows.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Clarke, please,” she said, exasperated, “I promised you one drink.”

“Raven,” Clarke said softly, “I’m fine. I’m having fun, even! Go talk to the cute boy.”

Raven’s eyes searched her face and she tried to look as upbeat as possible. Biting her lip, her friend glanced back at the man, before sighing. “Okay. But you tell me as soon as you’re ready to leave, deal?” She stuck out her pinky.

Clarke wrapped her own pinky around Raven’s extended one. “Deal. Now go.”

Giving her a wink, she watched as Raven saddled up to the stranger, their faces close as they tried to hear each other over the music. The stranger took Raven’s hand and began to move her to the dance floor, and Raven sent her a nervous smile over her shoulder.

She laughed to herself, shifting her focus back to her drink. Suddenly, another body slouched into the empty booth seat across from her.

“Did your drink say something funny?” a husky voice asked.

Clarke’s eyes shot up to see a strange man, hair tousled and hanging a bit long around his shoulders, freckles cresting his nose right above a scruffy beard. She leaned back in her seat, astounded by his audacity, but even more shocked at how unafraid she was of the stranger.

“Hm, I’m not quite that drunk yet,” she responded easily, sliding her finger around the rim of the plastic cup. “A couple more and maybe I’ll find that pick-up line charming.”

The man grinned widely. Without missing a beat, he reached a hand out across the table. “I’m Bellamy,” he said.

She took his hand in her own, shaking once. “Clarke,” she replied.

“Well, Clarke, it’s wonderful to meet you. Can I get you a drink? Just to speed along this process of finding me charming.” Clarke could feel herself smiling, and she was almost angry with herself for falling so easily for his obvious game. She glanced over her shoulder, searching the crowd for Raven and her own strange man, but came up short.

“Does this usually work for you?” she asked. She could hear herself flirting, could feel the flush in her cheeks, and she hadn’t felt this human in so many months.

Bellamy laughed, and it was a loud, hearty thing, warming Clarke’s chest. “Well,” he said, tossing back the rest of his beer, and pausing as if in thought. “Usually, yeah.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“As a token of your appreciation, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Clarke’s eyes roved over him for a moment, sizing him up. Her competitive streak set in, igniting in her gut. “You can buy me a drink,” she acquiesced, “but you should know I’m not looking for anything tonight.”

A grin broke across his face again. “You’re a little stubborn, anyone ever tell you that?”

She thought of Wells.

“Maybe once or twice,” she said wistfully. She could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her, and she somehow knew – deep in her bones – that he understood.

“Let’s get that drink then, huh?” His voice was soft, and she was immensely grateful that he didn’t press her, didn’t force her to talk about it, even as Wells’ name choked the back of her throat.

Forcing brightness into her tone, she cocked her head and asked, “How about a shot, instead?”

“I like the way you think, Clarke.”

As they stood up from the booth, Bellamy offered her his hand. She hesitated for a breath before intertwining her fingers with his own, following him through the crowd of people towards the bar. He leaned over the counter to order two kamikaze shots, gesturing for Clarke to join him. His arm fell easily around her body, holding her steady as people jostled behind her.

The bartender placed the shots in front of them, nodding in gratitude when Bellamy passed him a wad of cash. “Alright, Clarke,” he said with a smile, “here’s to 2030, huh?”

“To 2030,” she agreed, clinking her cup against his before downing the cold liquid. She shook her head as the liquor hit her throat, groaning slightly.

“Been a minute since I’ve had one of those, Jesus,” he coughed, and Clarke laughed.

“Same. I haven’t been out in months, and I don’t think my body even remembers what alcohol is like.”

Bellamy leaned against the bar, removing his hand from around her back. She immediately missed his warmth, and tried not to wonder too deeply about that. “Don’t tell me you’re a homebody,” he teased.

And she wasn’t sure if it was him – the easiness of his smile, the complete openness of his eyes – or if the alcohol was just hitting her system far faster than she was prepared for, but she blurted, “My best friend died in March.”

She waited for him to stumble over his words, to make quick excuses to get away from her. But instead, his eyes just softened, and something close to understanding crested across his features. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he near-whispered, and Clarke felt certain he meant it. “My mom died last year. It was hell. Especially on New Year’s.”

Clarke nodded, leaning closer to him. “I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

This time, his smile was small and gentle. “I appreciate it.”

Before she could think about it too much or talk herself out of it, she said, “As a token of your appreciation, why don’t you come dance with me?”

His eyes bore into her own, and she left her gaze open, unabashed. Nodding, he grabbed her hand again, guiding her out into the mosh of people, holding her body close.

When the clock struck midnight, she placed her hands on either side of his face, dragging his lips to her own. She would swear he tasted like hope.

iv.

It was at the dropship door that they met a fourth time.

Bellamy still remembered the way she’d looked at him that day, eyes as blue as the base of a flame, confident and unyielding as she burst through the crowd of rowdy teenagers. There was something very near hatred, then, but something else too: a hesitant sense of trust.

Sun setting over the horizon, he looked out over his people – their people – reconnecting and comforting each other. Clarke was quiet beside him, her mother’s death fresh, her heart-wrenching plea echoing in his ears. Tell me it was worth it.

Soon, he would follow Octavia and Gabriel and Hell would be amongst them again. But in that moment, relieved in the very fact of their aliveness, his mind traveled back to that dropship door. So much time had passed, so much space crossed, since that fateful day. He wondered if he would even recognize the boy he’d been then.

“Clarke,” he said quietly, waiting for her to lift her head and meet his gaze. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

She smiled softly, surprising him, as she often did. She paused for only the briefest of moments.

Then, laughing, she asked, “Which time?”

[border-spam]

Leech Lord : Appetite

(Ty and Sei under the cut)

Troy

The first time Sei had seen him eat had been on the second day of being awake on her ship after his fever had broke and his twin had taken the opportunity to rest. If she didn't already have a million red flags screaming for her attention, this one would have floored her.

Troy swiped all of the food on the plate into the center, messily carved through it with his knife, then just shoveled it into his mouth. He didn't actually look like he was chewing it, not even finishing choking down a heaping spoonful of mismatched food before moving to scoop up another.

Seifa had chuckled as he reached for a third serving and he'd frozen... staring at her guiltily from under his hair while shaking like a kicked Skag-pup. Her laugh had caught in her throat. It hadn’t been funny.

He learned very quickly in the first couple of months that he didn't need to do that anymore. They'd never discussed it and never really do, but the manner in which Troy ate had developed from many, many years of being expected to feed himself and Typhon. There was never enough. He'd wolf down whatever he could get his hand on as quickly as possible before anyone else could notice and point out he should be sharing.

Some horrible mix of guilt and desperate hunger had shaped it, and it took him months to be able to relax while eating. He'd never really learned how to use cutlery either. Leda had died too early and left them with a parent who figured all you needed was a good knife, never noticing how much their one armed child struggled to prepare his own plate without ending up mixing bite sized pieces into a mound he could eat as quickly as possible.

Troy's obsession with "Fitting In" and learning social graces means he stopped doing this in public very quickly, but when he's very relaxed? If he's around people he doesn't feel on edge with?

All the food goes into a pile in the center of his plate, and he laughs at any looks of disgust aimed at him.

It tastes better this way, he swears. You get ALL the flavors at once!

When it comes to his body, If Troy did absolutely nothing extra on top of his normal life routine, he'd retain his lithe wiry physique with no effort. That's who he is, it's his default build.

Sadly, he is also God King Calypso, and Calypso has sculpted abs, lats you could grate with, and needs enough definition at all times for the camera to pick up... so Troy has to work. 

Hard.

The problem is, Gods don't need to put in effort to look good, they are flawless, above human, so Troy's routines are something he keeps completely private.

He struggles to maintain weight even on a healthy day and tends to substitute a lot of daily calories with shakes, tasteless protein slabs ; anything he can hork down in a couple of minutes at the start or end of his day without eating too much time.

He's hyper aware of his appearance always, to a very unhealthy level. Will deny spending hours on sleepless nights poring over comments about his physique on media, would be offended at the implication but.. it's Troy. Of course he does.

He relies on the calisthenics of carrying the massive prosthetic for a lot of his general definition, but has a simple setup in his project room in sanctum for his morning routine. Pull-up bar for shoulder/back, hanging crunches for his stomach, and he runs.

He loves running.

It's almost as relaxing as climbing out in Pandora's craggy hills at night for him. He'll run on the high end treadmill in the corner of that room untill he pukes, and often does.

He knows he's not really going anywhere, but when he closes his eyes and focuses on the burn of his shaky lungs and the fire in his chest as sweat drips down the crease of his spine, he's not Troy anymore. Not Calypso at least. Maybe DeLeon, chasing down the Manta his snare injured.

He's not here, he's not on Pandora for those 30 minutes, he's free in a body pulsing with pain and life. He’s somewhere else. Someone else.

Then he showers, drapes the God King's bloodied skin back over himself, fixes the mask in place... and steps out of his Sanctum.

Tyreen

Ty very rarely eats at all, but when she finds something she can actually taste like an extremely sour kind of citrus or highly spiced and smoked meat, she really takes her time enjoying it. She eats very slowly and will chew what’s in her mouth till there is barely anything left to swallow just to pull as much flavor out of it as she can.

She far more often enjoys smelling food than eating it, and will usually have a plate full in front of her at any celebration or feast to enjoy the aroma even if she won't be able to taste any.

She loves watching other people eat and not in a remotely sinister way. If she's surrounded by people eating and you pay enough attention go the God Queen, you'll catch the genuine smile as she flicks her eyes around the table and enjoys the satisfaction and happiness surrounding her.

Very often asks Troy to describe how things taste to her when they are out of the public eye. He knows how to describe using the right smells and memories for her to be able to imagine the sense she's missing.

Snotty little shit when it comes to smoking though, is convinced she's got an amazing palette for the tastes and mouthfeel of different blends. Doesn't, Troy just lies about what he rolled for her 90% of the time and hides the smirk.

Ty's never noticed any changes in her body regardless of how much energy she gluts on, so doesn't really put any actual effort into maintaining it. She's always... the same.

Even during periods of having very little of substance to feed on while growing up, she never got thinner. Just hungrier. The Leech seems to be highly tuned to making sure its host does actually get everything she needs to be healthy, though she's not sure if that's really a good thing. She'd rather have that control herself.

Ty is active enough in her day to day to retain a fit look, but she swims a LOT and is pretty sure it's to thank for her tone. She doesn't do it to stay looking tight though, that's just a nice bonus. 

There's a private room sized pool along the balcony of the twin's upper cloister that overlooks the plains Pandora's main sun sets across, and letting herself sink under that cool fresh water has always felt like it's wiping away the day's sin. When she's left with just the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears and the pressure of the water silencing everything else, she's herself - slipping through the crisp waters of the lake they lived by on Nekro.

Troy's a poor swimmer and avoids doing so in general, this is all hers and hers alone. Something she's great at and he's always struggled with. It's nice to be reminded as the water laps at her skin, that she's good at some things that are normal.

Seifa

Is a trash can and was shocked to find out that's not actually the norm.

The migrant colony she grew up in under Boss was NOT picky about food, couldn't be. With a constant flow of new faces from different cultures and planets as well as not having a sure flow of supplies, you ate what you got and where happy for it.

None of them ever went hungry, but you'd not question what you were given and half of the time you'd never even find out what it was. She's got a highly varied palette but no idea what a lot of the things she's eaten in the past actually were, so only tends to realise she's eaten something before when she's handed it again as an adult.

Puts a huge amount of seasoning in everything, too much for some people, but that's part of her past too. Food wasn't always fresh, spices hide spoilage.

Likes to cook and tries to do so for friends often enough, it's one of her newly created family-esque rituals she isn't aware she's doing within the HC. Getting people to her ship for evenings to eat and sit, talk about the week, unwind, and gently bully Troy as he turns red and stammers to remind everyone he's a fucking God and they should watch their mouths, all while trying not to let how happy he is to be included show.

She has a massive sweet tooth and really enjoys fruits.

Sei is a vain little shit and puts a lot of energy into maintaining her appearance which includes her preferred weight and strength.

Years of lifting and pulling heavy machinery and parts have given her a decent enough core for her size and that's not something she needs to put a huge amount of thought into as it's still involved in her day to day job, and she doesn't actively exorcise in general, but she's the kind of person who weighs herself every morning and night and plans her meals ahead to match fluctuations.

She'll skip breakfasts, feed friends and not plate food for herself sometimes. She devotes more brain power to managing her own stats than a lot of other people would, but like all of her weirdness with numbers and control - she thinks it's totally normal.

She's not super fit, toned, or strong, but she's at a happy point with each for where she wants to be and likes the look of. There aren't enough hours in her day to be lifting weights or sweating on cross trainers. She's found other ways to manage that don't involve actively working out.

Asks are Open!

[rosethesongbird]

Lady of the Lake Chapter I

Geralt felt Jaskier’s breath hot at the back of his neck. The smaller man let out a small noise, like the whine of a hurt dog. His forehead touched Geralt’s hair and he could feel the beads of sweat pouring off his face. 

“Do we need to stop?” Geralt tried to let his voice be tender, less cold than his usual growl. Jaskier only groaned in response. 

“Hm.” 

Roach was running as fast as she could with two riders, but it was jostling both of them pretty intensely—and his bard’s condition needed stillness, calm, care, not a rough horseback ride. However, they had no choice. When his friend was taken ill, they were in the middle of nowhere, barely finishing a kill. He had not noticed the ailment until Jaskier had collapsed while walking next to Roach. He felt some sort of odd sensation in his stomach—must be guilt. He had ignored the bard’s usual complaining. He was like a needy puppy—always asking for attention—so he had assumed it was merely that desire since he was preoccupied with a hunt. 

Of course, the one time he decided to not pay any attention to the complaints was the one time they were serious. He had fallen to the ground, completely unconscious, and burning up in fever. Upon waking he had immediately vomited, and quickly grew less and less coherent. Originally, Geralt had intended to wait the illness out for a day or so, then make the travel to the next town. However, when a day went by and Jaskier was still very sick—worse, even—he had decided they needed to haul ass to whoever might be able to help. He could only hope that the day lost in seeking treatment would not prove fatal. 

Jaskier suddenly sputtered to life—coughing, retching, moaning—and Geralt immediately pulled Roach to a stop and dismounted. He was still burning up, but impossibly pale—lips blue, skin grey, eyes glassy. He coughed and retched for a moment unproductively as Geralt gently rested one hand on his shoulder to keep him from collapsing. Jaskier hadn’t eaten or drank anything in a day, so there was nothing to throw up. He breathed a shuddering, hitching breath. 

“Geralt,” he moaned. 

“I’m right here, what do you need?” he felt like the other man’s blue eyes could burn a hole in his skin. There was an air of vulnerability to this that the nearly untouchable Witcher was very uncomfortable with. 

“Don’t leave m’here.” his words were slurred and far from his usual quick wit.

“I would never, bard. Come on, let’s go. We need to get you some help.” 

Jaskier sobbed. “Hurts…” 

“I know it does. We need to get moving, the sooner we get to this town, the sooner we can rid you of your pain.” 

The bard moaned and went limp in Geralt’s arms. He picked him up and set him back on Roach. Jaskier had always been smaller than him, but now he was impossibly light and frail. His doublet hung lightly out of the pocket on Roach’s back and the linen shirt he wore was filthy, soaked in sweat and vomit. There was nothing else they had for him to wear. 

—

They finally reached a small, but bustling town, just as the sun was setting. It appeared that the local food market was closing down. Geralt dismounted Roach and led her, with Jaskier now shivering atop the saddle, into town. 

“Is there a doctor here?” his voice came out threatening, desperate. Different than he had heard it ever before.

A small, older man looked up at the bard, still moaning, then back down to Geralt. “You’ll need magic to fix that one,” he said. “Due east from here there is a lake, can’t miss it. Ring the bell at the dock. There is a woman who lives on the island in the lake. She can fix anyone.”

“How long will it take me to get there?” 

“Only about fifteen minutes, if your horse’s fast. Her name is Epione. She’s the best in the business.” 

Geralt grunted and pulled Jaskier back to a seated position. He managed a “thank you” as he got back on to Roach, and took off. 

Seven minutes of worrying silence went by on Roach’s back, pierced only by Jaskier’s labored breathing. Labored breathing became moaning, and moaning became wailing. Every jostle on Roach’s back was suddenly like agony, and Geralt decided to dismount and carry the bard in his arms, Roach following dutifully. They were swiftly running out of time, and the woods were dark. He wanted to bolt, to run, to sprint, but he could not do much more than a brisk walk without the dark-haired man screaming in pain. 

Jaskier moaned his companion’s name. “Please,” 

“Please, what? What do you need?” 

“Help, G’ralt, please,” he said, wheezing. A wet cough escaped his lips. 

“We’re almost there, I promise,” Geralt tried to comfort his traveling musician. He wasn’t sure his promise was true, but Jaskier was so delirious, he probably wouldn’t remember this if—when—he recovered. He didn’t want to think about what he would do if his friend did not become himself again. “You should try to drink something,” 

“Can’t…I’ll be sick,” he looked up at Geralt with blue eyes, diluted with fever. “Already wanna be sick.” His breathing quickened, wheezing. 

“Hm.” Geralt sped up his pace as much as possible without causing undue pain. Well, more undue pain. 

—

They emerged from the forest onto a beach. A rocky beach, with a lake, the lake with an island, the island with a cottage. There was a small dock going out onto the water, and a bell attached to a pole on the dock. There was a sign near the bell, written in English, and in runes. It simply read “Epione’s Home. Ring for crossing.” There was a pole for horses, and a small trough on the beach. Geralt quickly tied up Roach, and walked over to the bell, reluctantly ringing it. Jaskier moaned and buried his head into Geralt’s shirt at the sound. 

A woman suddenly appeared from the forest behind them. “Can I help you?” she said. Geralt spun around, surprised that his heightened senses didn’t notice her earlier. He was a little preoccupied. 

“I’m Epione, the keeper of this place,” she said, cautiously walking closer. She was small, but had strong arms, concealed under a long sleeved shirt and linen overdress. Her long hair was in a braid, coiled at the back of her head into a bun. “I heard screaming, and I thought you may be coming to seek treatment. Please, come, and untie your horse. I have a safe place for her on the island.” She gestured toward the water and a wooden bridge appeared, rising from the still waters of the lake. She was calm, measured. Despite her young appearance, she seemed accustomed to situations such as these. 

“You must be Geralt of Rivia, the witcher,” her footsteps were near silent on the bridge. “I’ve heard the stories about you. What’s going on with your friend here?”

“Are you an elf? A mage? How are you doing this?” Geralt was on high alert. He stepped cautiously on to the wooden bridge, and Roach dutifully followed. She seemed human, but not mage, and definitely not an elf. 

Epione shrugged. “Well, that’s not an answer to my question, but, I guess I’m a mage of sorts. The kind of magic I use is ancient—older than elves. It has been in my family for generations, and I have resolved to use it for good, not for violence.” 

Geralt was silent, staring straight ahead. That seemed like a fair answer. He could not sense dishonesty. 

“So, now that you know my life story, what’s his? His name? What’s going on?” 

“This is Jaskier, my… traveling companion. Two days ago he collapsed after a hunt, and he has been like this since.” 

“Hm. What kind of symptoms?” The light of the moon revealed her ginger hair and freckled skin. 

Jaskier moaned before Geralt could respond. He coughed before muttering “D-don’ leave me, Geralt, pl-please,” 

“I won’t, Jaskier. This girl can help you,” Geralt said, as reassuringly as he could. “Can you tell her what’s been going on?”

Jaskier was silent. 

Epione came nearer to the man. “I’ll get you fixed up soon, I promise,” she said, smiling softly. He met eyes with her, nodded slowly, and with a long, shuddering breath went back to resting his head on Geralt’s chest. 

—

As they stepped foot onto the island, the wooden bridge disappeared. The cottage on the island brightened with candlelight. Epione led them inside and gestured to a bed in the front of the room. There was a small cabinet nearby, covered with herbs, poultices, bottles of elixirs and full of who knows what else. A fire in the stone fireplace grew, seemingly from a smolder. Geralt laid Jaskier on the bed, and the dark-haired man grasped weakly at Geralt’s shirt. 

“No, Geralt, no, nonono no no,” he started getting agitated, breathing faster. 

Geralt was about to step in when the small girl crouched by the bed. “Shh, it’s alright, songbird,” she said, gently turning his head to look at her. “You’re safe here.” He immediately began to calm as soon as he met eyes with her. His breathing was labored, and he winced in pain, but he was silent. 

“Do you know where you are?” she was cupping his cheek in one hand, stroking his temple with her thumb. Her other hand was deftly unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Mmh, no… who are you?” He went into a fit of coughing, and her hand started gently rubbing circles into his now bare chest. “My name is Epione, I’m the healer here, and keeper of the pool.” She turned her head, hands still working on Jaskier’s clammy skin. “Geralt, would you mind filling this with some fresh water from the lake? We need to start working on getting that fever down, and quick,” she handed Geralt a small wooden bucket, with some rags inside. Geralt nodded silently and did as he was asked. 

Upon returning inside, Epione smiled at him and whispered her thanks. As she began placing the rags strategically, wiping the days-old sweat off his body, Geralt felt another pang of guilt. Jaskier’s stomach was red, bruised, swollen, angry-looking, and he had no idea. He didn’t even look, and this stranger immediately knew what to do. He was snapped out of his own thoughts by a soft whimper from Jaskier when Epione placed a cloth over his forehead and eyes. 

They were silent for a few seconds while Epione placed a hand gently on his stomach.  “Has he been vomiting?” she said, eyes trained on her patient. 

“Yes,”

“How much?” 

Geralt thought for a moment. “Basically every time he eats or drinks something.”

“Hm. He is pretty dehydrated. Any tenderness in the abdominal area?” 

“I think so. He got to where he couldn’t tolerate riding the horse.” 

Epione sighed. “I’ll be right back, hold on for just a minute,” she said softly to Jaskier. She stood up and gestured for Geralt to come outside. He lingered inside for a moment, eyes trained on the heaving rise and fall of the bard’s chest.

“So, I don’t want to frighten you, not that I think you are frightened by many things, Witcher,” Epione said, softly. “But I think I know what may be wrong with him, and the treatment is, well, complicated.” 

“Hmm,” Geralt growled. Just what he was worried about. 

“I think this is an infection of an internal organ, one we don’t know the purpose of. However, removal of this organ does not appear to be harmful, but it is complicated by what I think is a rupture of that organ.” She sighed. “Basically, what I’m saying is, I’m going to have to cut him open and find out.”

“When?” 

“Sooner rather than later. The longer we wait the more the infection spreads.” 

“Hm. If it must be done then it must be done. He’s in a bad way.” 

Epione nodded. “Thankfully, I can numb the area with magic, and we’ll do our best to keep him calm. I’m sure I’ll need your help, if you don’t mind,” she said, smiling. “He seems pretty attached to you. You must have been friends for a long time.” 

Geralt allowed a hint of a smile to cross his face. 

—

“Jaskier, wake up,” Geralt said, quietly. 

“Mmh, no, want to sleep,” moaned Jaskier. 

“I want you to wake up at least for a minute. We need to talk about what we can do to treat you,” 

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. Geralt was crouched by the bed. Epione was standing behind him, wearing a stark white apron over her dress, her hands and nails so clean they near sparkled. She pulled up a chair next to Geralt, smiling softly. She brought a small glass to Jaskier’s lips. “You need to drink something, sweetheart,” she said. He took a cautious sip. “It won’t kill you, I promise. It’s just for pain and to calm your nerves.” He took another sip as she began gently stroking his lower belly. Her hands began to glow, as if they were lit from inside. 

“Look at me, bard,” Geralt said, firmly. Jaskier slowly turned toward his friend. “I like you,” he said. Geralt shook his head. “You must have finished your tea,” he said. A stifled laugh bubbled up from Epione. 

“How are you feeling, songbird?” she said, calmly. Geralt noticed a small, sharp knife being cleaned in her hands. 

Jaskier frowned. “My tummy feels funny,” 

Epione looked at Geralt. “I’m going to do something that’s gonna make you feel so much better, sweetheart,” she said, turning back to her patient. “But I need you to keep looking at Geralt, okay? You’re probably going to feel some pulling, and your legs will probably fall asleep, but there shouldn’t be any pain at all, alright?” 

Jaskier nodded, his head lolling. “My head feels…h-hot…and my legs feel cold,” he said, to no one in particular. His breathing was still labored, but he was clearly not concerned about anything that was happening. Epione glanced toward Geralt and met his eyes. Geralt placed his hand on the bard’s cheek, brushing his hair out of his eyes. It was his job to make sure Jaskier didn’t look at what Epione was doing. Both of them agreed that it would be too panic-inducing for him to know what was happening. After the fact is different, but during… him keeping still was the most important thing. 

“Hey, Jaskier,” said Epione, after about 30 seconds of quiet. She had silently made her first cut, deftly, like a dance. “Why don’t you sing a song for us?” Geralt could hear the sounds of her rummaging around in Jaskier’s stomach. Smart, he thought. “I’d love to hear some straight from the source, not from the copycats we have here in town,” she said, her eyes smiling, preoccupied with both hands inside of the incision. 

“See, Geralt, sssssomebody appreciates my t-talents,” he slurred. Geralt only scoffed in response. “Fair lady, of…of…of course I’ll ssssing for y-you.” The irony of Jaskier, flirting with a woman who actively was rummaging around in his guts, was not lost on Geralt. 

He began to sing, breathy and shaky, but his voice all the same. 

The fairer sex, they often call it 

Epione sliced something inside of Jaskier’s body and tossed it, bloody, into a dish on the floor. 

But her love’s as unfair as a crook 

She looked around inside, scraping, slicing, sprinkling with a small vial of water. 

It steals all my reason

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face paling considerably despite the relatively small amount of blood lost. 

Commits every treason

Jaskier grimaced and flinched, breathing quickly and heavily now, but didn’t stop singing. 

Of logic, with naught but a look

Geralt felt him press against his hand, desperately trying to turn and look at the woman working. He shook his head and mouthed “No,” to the smaller man. 

A storm breaking on the horizon

Jaskier started to trail off as Epione began to stitch up the three-inch wound. “Come on, sweetheart, stay with me,” she said. “I’m almost done, finish your song,” 

Of longing and heartache and lust

Geralt gently tapped Jaskier’s cheek as he moaned. “Wake up, Jaskier, keep singing. This may be the only time you hear me say that, so take advantage of it,” 

She’s always bad news 

Stitching, 

It’s always lose, lose

and pulling, 

So tell me love, tell me love

“You’re doing great, songbird, almost done,” said Epione.

How is that just? 

Epione joined in quietly in the chorus, in an effort to keep his focus away from her work. 

But the story is this—

She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss

Her sweet kiss

She wiped off the incision area and applied a bandage. 

But the story is this

She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss

“All done, Jaskier,” she said, after covering his lower body with the blanket. Geralt moved his hand and sighed. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath. She took a clean rag and wiped the sweat from his face. He grimaced and arched his back. “You were so brave, sweetheart.” 

“Did-did you like my song?” he said, breathless, chest thick with sickness, still burning with fever. 

“Yes, darling, it was lovely,” she said, smiling. She tenderly stroked his face. “You’ll be a little sore tomorrow, but you can rest now.” 

He was already asleep. 

Chapter 2 here

[iluvsexyvoltageguys]

Undeniably Addicted

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor x Reader

Note: Victor’s Birthday Bash 🎂

Warning: NSFW

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Victor breathes a sigh of relief. After a long afternoon spent cooped up in meetings, with nothing to stare at but stuffy clients and four white walls, he pauses before the rapidly setting sun and takes a moment to relish his newfound freedom.

Freedom to head home.

To you.

His decision to walk gives him time to reflect upon all the experiences you’ve shared. Each has pointed you both to this place, to this day, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Through it all you’ve pushed away and come back to each other every time. And that’s really the most important part, you always come back, but an unspoken pact was agreed at the moment those words left your lips. ‘I just want you’ And he just wants you, too. Any way you’re willing to give yourself, anything you’re willing to share.

He wants every part of you. Every smile, every tear shed, every good and bad moment. His life is better with you in it and he likes to think that you feel the same. The final piece of his heart has settled in place, his future laid out before him, free for the taking. And he's taking it, grabbing on with both hands and never letting you go. His sinfully sexy lover, loyal partner, sweet fiancée. You are his everything.

The sound of a horn blaring shakes him out of his daydream and he looks up to see the façade of his building. He stops short realizing he walked the entire way home on autopilot, his mind filled with thoughts of you. Not totally surprising as he's usually easily distracted by thoughts of you, but he is home now, and once he walks through the door he can let you thoroughly drag him out of this world and into yours.

He moves quietly though the doorway, listening for any sounds of your presence. Turning away from the entryway table where he's dropped his keys, he takes in the relative darkness of the loft. One table lamp is lit in the living room and a small flicker comes from the direction of the kitchen, catching his eye. Rounding the corner, he finds the source.

A single candle burns on the breakfast bar. Next to it, he sees your long, slender fingers stroking the stem of a wine glass. You lift it to your lips to take a sip of the deep red liquid, your eyes watching him over the rim, burning his skin with the intensity of your gaze.

He stops dead in his tracks, shell-shocked as he realizes exactly what he is seeing. Dropping his eyes to your feet and traveling slowly up your body, they widen with every delicious inch that he takes in.

You sit on a bar stool, both feet encased in black leather stilettos that are perched on the footrest, causing your knees to fall open, your left forearm resting on your thigh, fingers dangling toward the floor. Your endless legs are bare, skin smooth and calling for his wandering touch. One of his button up shirts hangs from your shoulders, unbuttoned completely, teasing him with a hint of black hugging your torso.

"Victor,”

Your deep, quiet voice jolts him out of his stunned state and he shakes his head slightly as a shiver shoots down his back, drawing all his blood south. The strong fist of awe and arousal clenches at the base of his spine.

He stalks toward you. There is no other word for the way he moves across the room, his eyes darkening with every step he takes in your direction. He lets his gaze lock with yours, watches you lick your lips in anticipation, and his mouth waters at the phantom taste of yours on his tongue.

When he reaches you, it takes every ounce of restraint to not just grab hold and kiss you senseless. To take you against the countertop. Instead, he slowly reaches forward, letting you think he's going to touch you. You breathe in, your perfect lips spreading as you wait for contact, and, at the last second, he redirects, taking the wine from your fingers.

He swirls the glass and lifts it to his mouth. Taking a sip, his eyes close in pleasure; you’ve picked your favorite, the kind that makes you feel all…

Lost in the flavor, he startles at the feeling of your hand wrapping around his neck. You surge off the stool and crash your lips to his, your tongue pushing into his mouth, licking the remnants of wine from him. Setting the glass back on the countertop, he slips the fingers of one hand into your tousled hair, the other landing on the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing under your eye. But not willing to get ahead of himself he gently calms you with his kiss, pulling away slightly to look in your eyes.

They are dark with arousal and lust, black with the need he knows is burning in your veins.

"Dummy," he whispers, breaking the silence of the room.

You shudder, eyes closing as his warm breath washes over your face, lips lifting to share your gorgeous smile.

"You're stunning, _____. Beyond stunning."

Your heart rate picks up the closer he gets. You can almost feel his fingers ghosting over your body, digging into the skin stretched over your hips, and the phantom sensation causes your blood to boil.

His eyes are dark, pupils blown as he takes in the outfit you’d chosen especially to draw out this reaction from him. Waking up today, you were desperate for his touch, but the bed was cold; he'd already left for his meetings. You have been burning for him ever since, choosing to wait instead of taking care of it yourself. All day you’ve been finding anything and everything to distract you. A day away from work is really no good unless your fiancé is around to help you pass the time.

But now all that waiting is about to pay off. He's nearly to you, his hand reaching out and you suck in a deep breath, your body beginning to quake in anticipation of his touch. Your vision goes slightly hazy right before he makes contact, except then he doesn't. He takes your glass without touching you at all.

You watch him sip the blood red liquid, watching his throat bob as he swallows, and your heart slams against your chest in response. That infuriating man. If you had enough higher brain function available you might be embarrassed about how desperately you need him, but he's so close, his scent intoxicating, the stretch of skin at his open collar too thoroughly distracting, and you can't take it anymore. Reaching for him, you slip your fingers into the soft hairs at the base of his neck and take what you need from his mouth. You’re drowning in your lust for him and this is the first breath of fresh air you’d had in hours.

He's finally reaching for you, settling his lithe, knowing fingers on your skin – fuck, yes – and you almost finish right then and there, his mouth and his touch branding you as his own.

And you are his.

This dominant, maddening, perfect specimen of man has completely ruined you for the rest of your life.

But then he's slowing you down and pulling away. Your eyes shoot open, mouth ready to demand why when you see your own internal blaze reflected in his expression. And damn if that doesn't do it for you, too.

He speaks – something about being stunned – his rough voice scraping along your already too sensitive nerves, and you can barely breathe, let alone comprehend exactly what he is saying.

His rumbling groan cuts through the air as he pushes you away, your back hitting the seat. He runs his index finger, that single digit, down the side of your neck and across your collarbone, until it catches on your shirt, pushing it to the side.

Settling his hand high against your ribs, his thumb brushes the bottom curve of your breast, as his other hand, still tangled in your hair, tugs gently to arch your neck. He leans in close, resting his mouth on your cheekbone and breathes a choked "_____" across you skin. "Where did this come from?"

Your lips lift at the corners in response to his question. You had been out shopping last week and picked this up to surprise him the first chance you got. Today turned out to be that day.

The bodysuit is simple; thin black straps wrap over your shoulders connecting with the lacy fabric stretched over your breasts and down your torso, ending around your hips. A delicate silk ribbon crisscrosses down the front, beginning between your breasts and ending just above your navel, tightening the lace against your curves.

Nuzzling your nose against his cheek, you let him feel your grin as you speak. "New surprise for you. Like it?"

"Like it? Jesus, dummy." He leaves his forehead against your cheek but tilts his gaze down to look at you. You take in a deep breath as he trails his fingers over your nipple, instantly causing the pink peak to tighten, before he continues down your body. Dragging his thumb up the crease at your thigh, he reaches around to pull your hips closer to his while cupping the soft skin of your ass. "You're killing me."

"Mmm. Not my intention." His surprised laugh shoots a wave of sensation across your chest and your heart skips a beat. "Victor, what are you waiting for?"

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me."

Growling in response to your command, he comes for you, possessively taking control of your body and soul. His mouth covers yours so quickly you don’t even have a chance to breathe in, but, no matter, for he is the only air you ever need. Fisting your hands in his black button down, you arch your back, pushing your breasts against him, desperate for the feel of his body and the heat of his skin.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back, your lips making a quiet pop as the connection is severed, and you whimper when he makes contact with the thin skin of your neck. Licking and nipping his way across, he stops to pay homage at your pulse point, no doubt feeling the profound effect that he has on you.

You hold your breath as he travels to the junction between your collarbones, dipping his tongue into the shadowy valley, thoroughly distracting you while he slips his white shirt from your shoulders, his fingertips trailing down the back of your arms, leaving a line of fire in their wake.

Wrapping one hand around your back, he pushes against your spine, causing you to bow – opening yourself completely to him. His fingertips trip over the criss-crossed ribbon between your breasts. The tenderness, the warmth and love shining in his gaze is almost too much, and his name floats off your tongue when he tugs the thin piece of silk loose.

You cry out, your voice rough with lust when his warm breath ghosts over your already hardened nipple followed closely by a gentle nipping. He soothes the sharp pain with his tongue, tracing circles across your flushed skin. Your pulse skyrockets.

He has you naked in seconds, you’re not even sure how it happened but when you gather enough awareness to open your eyes you see him slipping the miniscule black garment over your shoes, tossing it gently to the side.

His dark gaze burns your skin as it travels up your body, lingering over all of his favorite places, before he locks eyes with you. You can see it all in his face, the love he feels, the surprise at finding you like this, the need flowing through his veins and everything slows down. External sound dissipates and it's just him and you here, together.

Kissing his way up the inside of your calf, his fingers trailing softly behind, he stops at your knee, nipping at the sensitive skin, before continuing up your thigh, his mouth never leaving your skin. You can't help but writhe in your seat, desperate and impatient for his touch at your most sensitive, sacred place.

No one has ever touched you the way he does, looked at you the way he does, and the thought makes you seek out his gaze, seek that connection that runs so much deeper than the lust pulsating in your veins. His eyes are as dark as the evening ocean, spilling over with his passion and love.

"Relax," he breathes against the soft skin just below your belly button, shooting an arrow of liquid desire straight through you. Licking a trail of fire up your stomach, he stops to nibble on the curves of your breasts, and then suddenly he's kissing you, stealing a moan straight from your lips, swallowing it down before you even have a chance to fully release it.

He lifts you off the stool, his mouth disconnecting from yours as he turns your pliant body and pushes you down to the counter. The contrasting sensations of the cold edge of marble digging into your front and the heat of his body at your back drags a low growl out as his open mouth lands on the sensitive tendons in your neck.

"Tell me what you want." He breathes it into your ear, your every sense consumed by his presence and you can only whimper in response.

Trailing his fingers down your stomach, across the hard ridge of your hip, he skips right past where you’re aching for him, his hand gripping your thigh instead. Your head arches back against his shoulder, lolling from side to side, your trembling body begging for him in a way that your words can't.

"Tell me."

"Victor,” You force his name out, your hips bucking against the counter, causing a jolt of pain that will surely leave a bruise tomorrow.

"Is this what you want?" He whispers. Your skin tingles when he removes his hand and you almost sob at the loss until he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading you in the most perfect way as he collects the evidence of your desire.

Opening your eyes at the heady scent floating in front of your nose, you see his glistening fingers drop to circle around your hardened nipple.

“Is this for me? So wet just for me.” You feel his smile against your neck, so proud that he’s able to elicit such a response in you and you’d knock that cocky grin right off his face if you felt any embarrassment about it at all, but the truth is, it is for him. It’s always been for him. Even before you were together his words would do this to you, reduce you into a quivering, incoherent mess whenever you needed it. You would coax your release out by remembering his harsh words, picturing his gorgeous face, pretending it was his fingers between your legs, and then you would cum, biting back the urge to say his name, unwilling to give voice to your, then, secret desires.

"Victor, it's all for you. I need you."

"Tell me what you need, ____. Let me hear you say it."

He pinches your nipple in punishment when you hesitate, too overwhelmed by him to get a complete sentence out, but the pain is enough for a moment of clarity. "Fuck, Victor. I want you." You gasp when you feel him dip two fingers inside you, curling them against you. "Touch me, make me cum. Make me scream your name."

"Mmm, like this?" He asks the question as his thumb lands directly on your swollen bundle of nerves, stroking you straight into oblivion.

It happens embarrassingly fast. One minute you’re grinding against him, drowning in the sensation, and the next your walls begin to flutter, contracting as they violently grip his fingers. After that it's a string of Oh, fuck, Yes!, and Victor! as your body gives into him completely.

He can feel the moment you start to come back to yourself. Your knees straighten, shaky legs taking back your weight as you reach your hand up around his neck, your fingers raking through his hair. He drops his nose into the curve of your neck, placing a kiss against your jumping pulse, when he feels your ass drive into him. A groan tumbles past his lips, and he can't help but push back, letting you feel how hard he is for you, and then you spin in his arms, coiling one lithe leg over his hip, dragging him forward as you continue to grind against him.

Your heat and arousal soaks through his slacks, and he has to breathe deeply to steady himself, to keep from finishing this before it even really begins.

"Mmm, Victor. You like that?" You ask as you nibble your way across his neck, touching your tongue to his overheated skin.

His burst of laughter is pained as your hands travel over every plane of his body, constantly moving, keeping him on edge just because you can, because you know exactly how you’re affecting him, what your touch does to him.

He sucks in a ragged breath as your nimble fingers make quick work of his buttons, pushing his shirt off his shoulders before your warm palms land on his chest. Your hips do this tight little circular movement and the sensation almost makes his knees buckle, almost making him fall to the floor before you.

"You're not playing fair." Growling the words in your ear, he bites down on the tender flesh while reaching around to squeeze the cheeks of your ass, kneading the strong muscle, allowing him to slam his hips against you in retaliation.

Your head tilts back on a sharp hiss, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted, your chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm, echoing the galloping beat of his heart. Never able to resist the siren song of your open mouth, he dips his lips to yours and delves into your shadowy depths, sipping from the warmth of your tongue, lost in the intoxicating flavor of you.

Continuing to bump softly against you, the barrier of his slacks and boxers keeps him on the razor edge of pleasure. He kisses you with everything he has, uses his tongue to make his declarations of love and forever, until he is lost in you, in your subtle but exhilarating scent, the soft mewling sounds of your voice, and the burning sensation of your touch as it dips to his belt.

The agonizing pressure of his clothing is eased as you release the buckle, ripping it from his belt loops and dropping it to the floor, before slipping his pant's button free, undoing his zipper tooth by tooth. Closing his eyes as you brush your hand over his growing bulge, he stops breathing, using every ounce of control to keep himself still as you push down his pants, letting them tangle around his feet, before wrapping your wicked fingers around him, stroking gently.

He forces his eyes open to find you watching him, studying him in that quiet way that makes him feel completely exposed and vulnerable. Your eyes are wide, dark pools of desire and your teeth nibble on your bottom lip. He wants to pull that lip into his mouth, soothe it with his tongue, but then you do this surprise twist with your hand over his glistening tip, causing a sloppy jerk of his hips, and he completely forgets everything except the feeling of being joined with you.

And he wants it.

Wants to feel you clamp down around him, writhing in ecstasy as he brings you to the brink and then pushes you straight over the edge.

He wants it so badly he can taste it.

Watching his face contract, lips stretched thin, eyes pinched but open, you smile as you revel in the warm, heavy weight of him in your hand. He's trying to hold himself still, keeping himself under control, but you don’t want him still and controlled. You want him wild, loud – completely out of control – so you flick your wrist, circling your fingers against his sensitive underside and watch as it has the effect you were going for.

Startling in response, his eyes widen as he groans a deep, rumbling, sinful sound, and then he's on you. It's a mass of wild fingers, sloppy kisses, and rough touches as he grips the backs of your thighs, lifting you to the counter's edge, spreading your legs wide so he can finally – finally – slide home.

The intrusion of his body into yours is so welcome after this day of delayed gratification that you can't help but release a sigh against his lips. He pauses, breathing deeply and evenly, so you clench your inner muscles around him.

"Victor, I can't take it anymore. Please."

You’re not above begging to get him moving. Just the anticipation of him sliding out and then sliding back in causes a wave of arousal to burst from you, soaking you both where you are joined together.

"Fuck, _____”

He must feel it because he doesn't hesitate to slip completely from you before sinking back in one fluid thrust of his hips. Drawing your lip between your teeth, you use the sharp pain to distract yourself from the tension you can feel rising under his steady, but unrelenting, movements. He plays your body like a finely tuned instrument, note after note designed specifically to drive you to wild abandon and it's not long before you’re falling into ecstasy around him, pleasure exploding along every nerve ending, flooding your senses until you scream a litany of curses, chanting his name every time an aftershock races through you.

Following right behind, he ducks his face into your neck, biting on the sensitive skin over your pulse point as he buries himself to the hilt. You can feel the strain in his muscles, the shaking in his arms as he spills inside of you, your name like a prayer on his tongue.

One by one his fingers release their grip on your thighs and he softly trails them up your spine, dipping between each vertebrae, until he can comb through your mussed hair. Cradling the back of your head he kisses his way along your chin before lightly pressing his lips against yours.

Shivering in his embrace, you coil your body around him, ankles hooked at his back, chest pressed against his, and arms wrapped around his neck. You’ll never tire of the feeling of being so completely surrounded by him, by his touch and his love.

“You’re amazing.”

You both laugh, your quiet moment broken as you breathe the words at the same time. And, as he sinks to the floor, you tuck your head under his chin, just holding him, reveling in being held by him.

This is exactly what you’ve been craving all day – a level of intimacy that you’ll spend the rest of your life nurturing, for you are wholly and undeniably addicted to him.

MLQC Masterlist