#vaguely aware of cool hands on heated skin

[wri0thesley]

luocha aphrodisiacs. luocha somnophilia. luocha drugging. if u even care

[viking-raider]

Moon Crazed *Mature*

Summary: Henry seems especially crazed on his birthday, and you don't understand why, until you check the calendar again.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warning: M - Fluff, Angst, Banter, Pet Names, Language, Gray Hair Appreciation, Cuddles, Supportive Spouse SMUT - Birthday Sex, Oral (F receiving), Fingering (F Receiving), Unprotected Sex (Wrap it!), Possible Voyeurism, Sneak Attacks, Doggy Style, Hickeys, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Super light Anal, Rutting, Hinted Breeding Kink, Light Spanking, Body Fluids, Biting

Inspiration: Henry's 40th Birthday being on a literal Full Moon!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

You hummed softly, standing at the refrigerator as you filled your water bottle with ice from the dispenser. Unaware of the predator stalking up behind you. Until strong hands grabbed a hold of your hips, causing you to let out a startled scream and drop your bottle, the ice chips rattling in the black plastic as it struck the hardwood floor.

“Henry!” You yelped as he spun you around to face him, but smiled, nonetheless. “What are-” You started, but he captured your lips in a hungry, heated kiss, that had you breathless before you could finish your question.

There were black spots in your eyes, when the kiss finally broke and you were dizzy, only vaguely aware of a coolness from your waist down, then Henry's hands were back on your hips and he was lifting you onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. You hissed, feeling the cold butcher block on your bare skin, Henry having stripped you of your pants and underwear.

“Whoa, Cavill!” You huffed, pressing your knees together and planting your palms to his collarbone. “The fuck has you so crazed?” You asked, seeing how bright, clear and wild his blue eyes were, his pupils blown out from his mounting arousal.

“This.” He purred, his voice rumbling, as his fingers swiped at your exposed folds.

“Oh, holy Jesus!” You gasped, off guard, wiggling on the counter. “Right, Okay.” You panted, softly. “Birthday boy is in a mood.”

“Birthday boy is hungry.” He growled, dropping to his knees and yanking you to the edge of the island, your legs draped over his broad shoulders, while his mouth showed no mercy at attacking your womanhood.

Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his curls. “What is it? A full moon!” You cried out, eyes crossing and rolling back, feeling Henry's tongue swirl against your swelling clit. “Hen-Ry.” You moaned, hands slipping from his hair as you fell back across the counter, the muscles of your thighs twitching under his onslaught.

“Such nice red velvet.” He cooed, his breath hot against your wet folds, as he licked your icing off his lips.

“You're crazy.” You wheezed back, your head lulling side to side, while you gazed up at the vaulted ceiling.

Smirking, Henry pressed his lips to your humming pearl, drawing a breathy moan from deep in your throat, with the gentle suckles that only grew with intensity. His tongue flicking out to tease, torture and collect your sweet nectar, but never yet permitting the mounting rapture that balanced on a knife's edge. You tried rolling your hips against his mouth, antsy to feel that sweet relief at the mercy of his skilled mouth. But Henry's hands gripped them, pinning you to the counter with a near bruising strength.

“It's my birthday.” Henry huffed between your thighs, glaring up the length of your heaving body, feeling the throb of his clothed girth at the sight of the mounds of your breasts, nipples hard through the fabric of your shirt. “Behave.” He growled, slipping a hand into your shirt to pinch and tease one of your peaks, while his mouth left a dark purple mark on the inside of your trembling thigh.

You shivered at the contact, whimpering, but laid as still as you could. Henry chuckled, loving the madness he was driving you into. He laid an open mouth kiss to your pearl and took a deep breath, filling his senses with your heady scent, that only seemed to drag him deeper into his own psychosis. You hiccuped at the feel of his teeth nipping at your dripping petals, lifting your head and letting out a shocked huff at Henry, whose eyes only regarded you mischievously, not willing to stop and lift his head.

His tongue finally split you open, licking and snaking down your tunnel, chuckling at the hums and pants you were making at the attention. He removed his hand from your hip, his thumb easily finding your clit and applied just the right amount of pressure as his tongue found your spot.

Starting to hiccup, with surprise at the rushing of the orgasm that hit you, your back curving off the counter, before it caught in your throat, face twisting in ecstasy. “Henry!” You cried out, breaking through the surprise, “Oh god, Hen!” You mewled, falling limp as it wore off.

Henry stood up, a heavenly and satisfied look on his face. “Mmm.” He moaned, smirking at you. “You taste so damn good, baby girl.” He chuckled, wiping at the droplets on his lips and chin, before tugging down his sweatpants.

“Shit!” You cried out, nails clawing at the butcher block underneath you as Henry eased his weeping cock into you. “Warn a girl!” You barked, hooking your shaking legs around his thighs.

“That was your warning, babe.” Henry laughed, gripping one of your hips and planting his other hand on the counter, as leverage.

You looked up at Henry and saw a familiar glint in his blue eyes, but it seemed a bit more than usual. “Christ alive.” You sighed, gripping the wrist he had at your hip.

“You're all strapped in, honey?” He chuckled, rubbing your hip with his thumb.

“I know you, Cavill!” You answered, clenching around him.

Moaning, Henry bit his bottom lip and pushed his hips forward into you with as much strength as he could, rocking you further up the counter. With his pace set, Henry didn't relent, not even when your nails broke the skin of his wrist.

“Filling you up never gets old, babe.” Henry panted, recovering from his climax. “Unlike somethings.”

“The hell does that mean?” You wheezed, gulping thickly.

“Nothing.” He sighed, pulling you up and kissing you sweetly on the lips. “Just rambling. Come take a shower with me?” He asked, smiling at you.

“Of course.” You nodded, sliding off the island and following upstairs to the master bathroom.

Later that afternoon, you stood in the laundry room tossing things from a hamper into the washing machine, when you looked up and saw Henry's reflection in the window that was behind the machine.

“Hey there, handsome.” You cooed at him, leaning into the hamper to grab the last handful of dirty clothes. “Did you have a good workout?” You asked, tossing them in and closing the lid.

“Mmhm.” He replied, resting his shoulder against the door frame to watch you.

“Good.” You smiled, pushing up on your toes to reach the controls and started the machine, just as Henry pushed off the door towards you, trapping you against the vibrating appliance. “What—Oh, this again?” You purred, feeling his hand slip around you and into the band of your leggings and panties. “You are in a randy mood today, Puppy.” You said, in a sultry voice.

“Just today?” He husked back, gently rubbing your still, slightly, sore delicates.

You chuckled softly, unsure how to answer that or if it was rhetorical. “You always make me feel good, Henry.” You moaned, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “Above other things.” You smirked, kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Mmm.” Henry moaned back at you, working his fingers a little more vigorously against your privates. “What other things?” He asked, pushing your shirt up and cupping one of your breasts in his paw.

“I think you're currently do-doing a goo-good job.” You gulped, pressing your back harder against his chiseled chest.

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, pressing his lips to the top of your head, as a finger crooked into your entrance, teasing. “You like when I finger you?”

“Like is an inadequate word.” You whimpered, toes curling against the tiles of the laundry room floor. “Love it. Get off on the mere thought of. Have a yearning for most hours of the day.” You confessed, bracing a hand on the edge of the washer to help keep yourself up.

Henry smiled into your hair and allowed you to give in, feeling your wet warmth wash over his hand. “I love pleasuring you, more than almost everything else.” He cooed, turning you around to cup your face in his sticky hand, kissing you deeply.

“More laundry.” You giggled, after breaking the kiss, taking off your leggings and soiled panties, opening the washer machine to toss them in, yelping as Henry's hand connected to your bum.

“If I had it my way, you'd only be naked at home.” He grinned, biting the corner of his lip at the mere thought of getting to see your naked body at all hours in the privacy of your home.

“Oh, of that I am sure, my love.” You snorted, nodding your head. “And the feeling is mutual.” You added, tugging on the front of his shirt.

“I can fix that.” Henry laughed, blue eyes glittering.

Laying on your bed, arms folded beneath you, exhausted from the events of the day, you were again unaware of Henry coming for you, until you heard the floor creak.

“Christ alive!” You spooked, looking at him, before busting out into a smile, finding he was stark naked. “What has gotten into you, Henry?” You asked, rolling onto your back to look at him. “Twice already today we've had shenanigans throughout the house.” You said, running your eyes along his godly body. “Not counting our regular morning meeting.”

“Is it so hard to believe I can't get enough of you.” Henry asked, cocking a brow in your direction.

“No, not in the slightest, husband.” You purred at him, feeling his waves of need coming off of him, even from the gap between you. “It's just strange. You haven't been this needy in quite a while.”

“I've been on a mission to correct that.” He confessed, closing that gap. “Get undressed.” He ordered you, standing at the edge of the bed.

Smirking at him, you pulled your shirt off over your head, breasts bouncing as you did, much to Henry's delight and increased arousal. But when it came to your shorts, thumbs hooking in the waistband of them and your panties, you pushed them down painfully slow, your eyes dead on Henry's. You watched his throat bob and his fingers flex, as he pulled out every ounce of willpower not to launch forwards and rip the article of clothing off of you, himself.

His willpower finally broke and he snatched your pants off the rest of the way, tossing them carelessly aside, then climbing into bed with you, rolling you back onto your belly.

“Oh, we're just being a ball of fun today!” You giggled, as he used his knees to push your legs apart, one thick arm wrapping around your waist and hoisted your hips and bum up, while rutting his hard cock against the valley of your cheeks, grunting in your ear.

“I'll show you fun.” He growled, biting the side of your neck, while grasping himself at the base.

You let out a breath, feeling his tip run down between your cheeks, making the space slick with glossy droplets. He paused to tease your special hole, causing you to gasp and clench in surprise, a rumble of a chuckle bubbling out of Henry as he carried on, rubbing your pleasantly weeping entrance.

“Do you like it when I play with you?” He rasped, pressing his forehead against your temple, his eyes dark, like a storm over an ocean. “When I fill you up.”

“Hm.” You hummed, pushing back against him, eager and impatient to feel him fill you again. “I love it.” You whispered, breathily. “It makes me feel good, Henry.”

Smirking, Henry slowly eased himself inside of you, wanting to feel every little bit as he did. A shiver ran down both your backs as the last inch of his manhood came to rest in your sensitive canal, flexing and molding around him. With quick snaps of his hips, Henry drove himself into you without giving away any ground.

You moaned, hands twisting up in the duvet beneath you as Henry rocked harder into you. Arching your back more, adjusting him and causing you to let out a sweet, almost deafening, cry. Henry grasped the underside of your jaw, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder and closing his mouth against your throat, timing his sucks and bites with his thrusts.

Leaving behind yet another mark of his passion for you.

“Henry, please.” You moaned, brows creasing. “Touch me.” You gulped, licking your lips.

He moaned against your neck, removing his hand from your face to slip it beneath you, finding your swollen bud, drenched in your combined fluids. Henry was torturous at rubbing clit, but did nothing to rush the pace of his hips. You whined, kicking your feet a little bit and shifting your knees to try and get more leverage, but Henry used his own body to keep you in place.

“You devil.” You sighed at him, yanking your neck away from his mouth.

“Mmhm.” Henry hummed back, not missing a beat, but smirked at you devilishly, before pulling away from you, standing up on his knees to watch himself slide in and out of you. “What a beautiful sight this is.” He purred, rubbing his palm up and down your glistening back, squeezing your neck for a moment.

“Pity you can't see it yourself.”

“Feels amazing as is, big boy.” You answered, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Henry popped you on the ass, applying more pressure to your clit and increased his thrusts, rocking the headboard against the wall. You gripped the duvet for leverage and rocked in tune with him, feeling the hot build of your climax, soft whimpers leaving your parted lips and tears blurring your vision as it finally boiled over, surging around Henry's shaft, the hot pulse intensifying as his own orgasm mounted.

“Henry!” You cried, the sensation of him pumping searing ribbons of his seed into you just as maddening compared to your own.

Pulling out of you, Henry dropped to his side beside you, flushed, sweaty and panting. You rolled onto your side, unfazed by the massive wet spot on the blanket the two of you made, and looked at your husband, smirking. Reaching out for him and gently brushing the damp curls off his forehead, your eyes softening at the sight of the grays you saw in them. Especially at his temple. They drew a smile across your lips.

“What are you smiling about?” Henry asked lazily, cracking an eye at you.

You giggled at him, wiggling in closer. “Just noticing all the new grays you have.” You cooed, resting your head on his bicep and twisting the graying curl around the tip of your index finger, fondly, only to have Henry turn his head out of your grasp.

“Old man.” He huffed, a frustrated crease between his brows.

“Hardly!” You laughed, amused, pressing a kiss on his sternum. “Just because you turned forty today, doesn't make you an old man, Cavill.”

“I damn well feel like one.” Henry growled, fixing his blue eyes on you. “Never this winded after making love to you.”

You sucked your bottom lip in, biting down on it, as you regarded him with understanding and loving eyes. “Is this what everything's been about today?” You finally asked, cupping his bearded cheek. “You sneak attacking me everywhere in the house.” You smirked, your body tingling at just recalling them, but your smile faded seeing the look in his eyes and face.

“Do you think you can't--” You struggled for a moment, a lump in your throat.

“Satisfy you.” He finished for you. “Yes. I've been worried that hitting forty meant that I would lose the ability to keep satisfying you. Seeing the gray hairs in the morning, when I get up to shower, has only increased that anxiety.” He confessed, looking away from you.

“Henry.” You mewled, heartbroken at your husband's words. “You have never lacked there, or anywhere. Today is a fine example of that.” You tried to get him to understand. “We were intimate four times throughout the day, on top of the festivities for your birthday. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

Henry looked back up at you, a look of relief in his cerulean orbs. “You don't think I look silly with them?”

You huffed and clicked your tongue at him, rolling your eyes. “Henry Cavill, I've known and seen you with a great many looks over the last eight years, because of your occupation, and I've never known you to look silly.” You told him, honestly. “Even when you thought you would with the Kingstache.” You giggled, grinning at that memory.

“Lord, that was an identity crisis.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“But,” You looked him squarely in the eyes. “You with gray hair is rather dashing, in my opinion, and I can't wait to see a few more.”

“Oh, that's how it is!” He said, wrapping his arms around you and rolling onto his back, so you straddled his waist. “You like being married to this gray fox!” He laughed, pawing at your butt.

“What is this! A full moon!” You whooped, wiggling out of his grasp to grab your phone and pulled up what phase it was. “Sure as hell!” You laughed, looking over at him. “Your birthday is a full moon!” You smirked, setting your phone back on the nightstand and crawled back into bed with him.

“So, my gray fox is Moon Crazed!”

“Crazed by something.” Henry purred, pulling you in for a kiss.

[jinwoosungs]

{ 016 }

- how they take care of you when you're sick -

featuring: megumi, nanami, gojo

[ megumi 🌡️ ]

this boy is a total mama hen. the day prior to you truly getting sick, he could already detect the raspiness of your voice and was well aware of your lack of appetite throughout the day...

because of your sudden fever, you were forced to stay back within your dorm, missing your classes for the day as you felt the life seeping out of you.

okay, perhaps you were being a bit dramatic, since it was just a simple fever. however, you hated how hot you felt all the time, turning your mind hazy as a sense of nausea was felt settled in the pit of your stomach. all you had the strength to do was lay in bed with your eyes clenched shut, unable to do much but fall into a restless slumber.

in your fevered haze, you felt yourself going in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of someone entering your room. you heard a soft voice letting out a string of curses coupled along with a rustling of a plastic bag.

you heard the shuffling of feet across the hardwood floors of your dorm before a cool, damp cloth was placed on your forehead. opening your bleary eyes, you came face to face with megumi's scowl, blue eyes shining with concern for you as he adjusted the handkerchief on your head.

"'gumi? didn't you have a mission...today?"

"i let itadori and kugisaki take over for me." was his simple answer, and despite how his gaze remains expressionless, his actions gave his intentions away. the touch of his hand against your fevered cheeks was a clear indication that he was worried about you.

"have you done anything to help with your fever?"

"just... took some tylenol / ibuprofen, that's it."

your boyfriend simply replies back with a huff, standing back to his full height to bring the bag closer to him.

your throat felt dry, yet megumi seemed to know what you needed before you even got a chance to voice it out loud. placing a hand behind your body, megumi lifts you up so that you were in a seated position. grabbing a bottle of water from his bag, his unscrews the lid before placing it against your chapped lips, coaxing you to take a drink.

feeling tears well up within your gaze at his kindness, you remain silent, even as megumi brought out a container filled with what you assumed to be his homemade rice porridge. your heart felt full of warmth, allowing megumi to take care of you as he fed you the rice porridge.

even when you knew megumi to be a man of few words, one who seldom ever spoke of his feelings for you, you knew that in this exact moment that he cared-

that he loved you so much, he wanted to spend his day helping you feel better. and you honestly couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend.

[ nanami 🌡️ ]

total husband material. the moment you tell him how unwell you felt, he does all of the work for you. when morning came, he was the first to call your workplace and alert your coworkers about your incoming absence before spending the entire day caring for you (a feat that he never once minded).

your breathing comes out as hot puffs, with you staying in bed since the morning you woke up with a fever. after getting off the phone with your workplace, nanami enters your shared bedroom while brushing back your strands of hair.

"what would my darling wish to eat? rice porridge? or chicken noodle soup?"

"mmm, noodle...soup..."

he manages to hear your whispered voice, letting out a gentle coo of your name before brushing his lips against your heated skin. "my poor darling, don't worry, your husband is here to take all of your discomfort away."

you manage to give him a weak smile, relishing in the way he presses a kiss against your hair before heading off into the kitchen.

your medications were finally taking effect, putting you in a drowsy trance as you fell in and out of slumber. what ultimately wakes you up was the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen, making your senses heighten almost immediately.

miraculously, the scent of nanami's cooking was enough to break you out of your trance. you sit up in bed, eyes practically shining with anticipation when your husband reappeared with a large bowl of soup in hand.

completely focused on your needs, he settles himself in bed with you, holding the soup within his large hand while blowing on the broth. he then proceeds to feed you spoonfuls of his delicious soup, and with each bite, you swore you could feel the strength slowly returning to you.

within what seemed like mere minutes, you finish the entirety of the bowl, clinging to your beloved husband with a purr. nanami lets out a rich chuckle of your name while folding his arms around you in a steady embrace.

"was it good, my love?"

"it was sooo good..." you moan while hiding your face within his broad chest, your yawns becoming muffled as you cling to the front of his shirt. being immensely attentive to your needs, nanami lies back down in bed with you, stroking at your damp hair while beckoning you to sleep.

"rest, my dear... and i'll be here when you wake up."

[ gojo 🌡️ ]

the world's strongest only showed weakness when it came to you and you alone. he was none the wiser when morning came, trying to coax you out of bed with some coffee. yet when you refused to move from your spot in bed, gojo knew that something was amiss.

"fuck, you're burning up!"

you groan, not opening your eyes because all you wanted to do was sleep your fever away. you try to tell your boyfriend that you were okay, that all you need was to spend the whole day (or two) just sleeping.

whenever you got sick like this, both your appetite and strength was nonexistent. you tended to remain in a soft cocoon, practically closed off from the world as you focused on truly resting your tired body.

gojo continues to whine and talk your ear off, yet when you remained unresponsive was when he finally backs off. his footsteps were heard all across your shared apartment before the slamming of the door was heard.

a part of you felt hurt that he had actually left you, not even bothering to at least stay in bed and cuddle you as you rested. his absence was what made your sleep less peaceful, becoming restless within seconds as you tossed and turned in bed.

you had no idea how much time had passed, but you were dimly aware of the sounds of the door opening and some movement, but you were too weak and tired to say anything. instead, you continue to remain silent with your eyes closed.

the familiar scent of gojo's cologne was what makes you stir in your sleep, with you managing to smile in your sleep.

"...toru..." you whisper his name, feeling your boyfriend get into bed with you, holding you within his arms while he calls out your name.

"come on, baby, you need to wake up and try to take this medicine. come on, open your eyes."

another groan was felt escaping from your parted lips, and you could not find the strength to open your eyes. you hear him let out a huff before adjusting you in his embrace.

"what 'm i gonna do with you?"

you hear the sounds of fabrics shifting for a few minutes before feeling gojo press his lips against yours. the kiss was sudden; being so unexpected that you couldn't help but let out a gasp in response. the moment you opened your lips to him, a rush of something cold was felt going down your throat coupled along with two tablets.

you open your eyes, with a few water droplets escaping from the side of your lips. you watch as gojo looks down at you with a loving expression seen beneath his dark sunglasses. his aquamarine eyes were shining with absolute love and adoration for you, placing the bottle of water and medicine off to the side as he lays back down in bed with you.

"my poor baby, feeling so sick. let your man take care of you..."

finding immense comfort in his presence, you cling to him while letting out a sniffle of his name. "i thought...you were gonna...leave."

"never, babygirl; never. your man would never leave your side during your time of need."

feeling relaxed while in his steady embrace, you slowly fall back asleep, knowing that gojo would protect and care for you for forever and a day.

a.n. - oh to be spoiled by the jjk men as you are feeling ill 😭🙏🏻

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[rockingrobin69]

Parched

It was hot, summer, and sticky, and terrible. His eyes would not unglue from the dreadful image ahead: a bead of water sliding down his chest, glimmering-gold on his skin, and oh, fuck, Draco was doomed.

Draco, in his fucking linen trousers (who in hell convinced him to wear this), in his fucking face, flushed so helplessly and so telling. Why did he come? He could be home with his ancient fan right now. He could be sitting on the floor with a drink in his hand and pining himself stupid over Potter’s text. Why even text him, if he’s so intent on speaking to Ginevra? Over there by the pool, with his fucking hands. In his hair (wet, why did he have to be so wet) and clapping his thigh (thick, why did it have to be so thick) and—touching Ginevra’s face—

Oh, Draco forgot, he couldn’t do this. Had places to be, had—things to, do. None of them included sitting in the shade, trying to control his face and swallow the scream. None of them included a first-row seat to the Lovebirds getting back together. No, in fact, a nice hot dip in the actual magma of the actual sun would be more pleasant than this, excuse him, Granger, excuse, fucking Weasley, trying to lure in him a chat about—chess? He really couldn’t pay the slightest attention. Escaping, er, going to the, er, loos, so get off him, Luna, he’s just—

“Draco?”

No, no. No. Draco wasn’t ready for this. In his trousers and his face and his heart beating a racket in his ears. Please, he just needed a moment to cool down. To stuff all this unbearable heat somewhere private, somewhere distant, where it’d only scorch a little and not flay him open.

“Where are you going? You’re not leaving yet, are you?”

He turned to Potter with what started as fury, then melted, turned stupid, more grunting than actual words. Potter, still so fucking wet from when Neville pushed him in, dripping right in front of him. All big smile and that dimple which sent Draco to many a miserable fit, and those hands, those hands. Sent out, to stop him, maybe.

“I, er. I have to… there’s something…”

The Gryffindorks were all staring. In the corner, Pansy was sunbathing and couldn’t care less. Blaise was grinning. The pool area smelled of chlorine and beer, and Potter, who was somehow getting closer. Oh, he was moving. Towards him. Draco would back away, but the sun lounger was already nudging his leg, and. Helpless. With Potter’s… everything.

“You can’t go. You only just got here!”

Draco blinked. Begged himself for a shred of coherency. Found none. “You… ahem. You seem to be quite busy anyway. So, ah, it shouldn’t matter if—”

“Matters,” Potter said, directly onto Draco’s face. He was warm and wet and mesmerising. Draco couldn’t think. “It matters. Stay, just a little longer?” one Hand rose, a finger gently tapping the edge of his nose.

“Hmm?” was Draco’s best effort.

“You have a little bit of sunscreen,” with a breathy laugh. “Here, let me just…”

Let him? What would Draco not let him do? The concept was absurd. “Potter,” he tried, with the very last of his might.

His hand was warm, and big, and perfect. Without quite noticing he was doing it, Draco let his mouth fall open, deaf for the raucous beating in his chest.

Potter’s thumb came up to rest, gently, on his bottom lip. “Stay,” he whispered. His face was so close. Draco only had to lean an inch and they’d be—closer.

Splashing from a few yards away, yelling and laughter; the world ceased to exist. Draco could vaguely tell they were in the shade. Was only somewhat aware of other people who might be watching this. A funny sensation was already tingling on his skin, like sunburn, but worse.

“Okay,” he heard himself say. More vibration than word, making Potter’s thumb twitch. That blasted hand took his chin, brought it the tiniest bit down. What wouldn’t Draco let him do? He’d let him anything.

“Okay,” Potter said back. There was a tilt of a smile to the word, to his lips. Pink and very, very close. Coming closer still. Slowly, so slowly, and Draco’s head was burning with it, smoking, was fit to combust—

“Come inside? I need to dry off. You could help towel me down.”

“Down,” Draco said, wisely. “Towel—yes.”

Potter was bright everywhere, but his smile, oh god. Made Draco’s mouth water and his eyes sting. And his mind melt. “Good,” Potter said, and leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “That’s good.”

It was roasting hot, summer, sticky and sweaty. And good, yes, also very, very good.  

[tadpolesonalgae]

Chapter 8

A/N: Please defer to warning section in Chapter 1

-Chapter 7- -Chapter 9-

You finally exit the building, entering into the cool night breeze that soothes your heated skin.

You aren’t foolish enough to get completely drunk on a night like this—you need some sort of sense about you. And you want to remember, too. Every part of it. So you’re only a little tipsy—enough to have a pleasurable buzz beneath your skin but not enough to entirely lose your inhibitions.

As you promised, you’re walking slowly, allowing the tension to build in the pit of your stomach. Though maybe he won’t come. You’d purposely left it up for him to decide—leaving that air of uncertainty to get high off. Maybe he’ll drag you away, maybe you’ll make it home in one piece.

But there it is.

The hairs rising at the back of your neck, awareness lighting your body, a predator’s gaze piercing your back, slicing down your exposed spine. You feel a familiar tingle lick over your skin, heating between your thighs as you feel his eyes on you, tracking your movement.

Your heartbeat kicks up, pounding heavily in your chest and you feel your skin raise with sensitivity, keeping beneath the razor-sharp attention. Your eyes flick to the alleyways, one just behind you, another further on your left, two on your right across the street. Then of course, the night sky is completely open.

But the eyes have vanished. Simply disappeared.

You can’t feel him, can’t feel his direction, leaving you wandering along the cobbles, alone and vaguely cold. Your life’s pulse thrums in your ears, blood rushing throughout your body as you try to pinpoint the feeling of wrongness. What’s happening? What’s he doing?

Darkness seems to spill from one alleyway, almost taunting you with it’s tantalising danger. You stop at it’s edge. The faelight doesn’t reach inside, completely black and void. You hesitate, toes a millimetre away from where that darkness starts, a stark line on the cobbles.

You swallow, and step into the shadows.

It’s instantly colder, and even with your keen eyesight it’s difficult to navigate your way.

You stumble a little and slightly regret your choice of having a drink at the restaurant. Maybe you should have remained sober for this experience. But that’s the thrill of it—putting yourself so helplessly at the mercy of such a powerful warrior. He’s been trained for this, arguably bred for it too, this predator’s chase.

You trip again, but this time you know it isn’t you. Something tipped your balance.

You stop, turning to look back on the way you came.

Nothing.

No light from the street, not even a sign the street had been there. It’s gone.

Something metallic rustles at your back, and you spin on your feet, toppling in your heels as you loose your balance for a moment. The second before you right yourself, you could swear you feel skin brush against your spine. Just a teasing touch, taunting you with a presence you can’t see.

You’re utterly blind to him. Unable to sense him, see him, feel him. You can’t even pick up a scent. Nothing stands out to you in this inky blackness. A swirling vortex of malevolence.

You can feel yourself nearing the centre of his web.

So you swallow, and move forward. At least, you think it’s forward, but you’ve already gotten so turned around, you’re not sure you could get out if you wanted to.

An image flashes through your mind: taking one step further, and falling off the edge of the world. Stepping into a bottomless pit, free falling into the space between realms. Lost in time and space, swallowed up in a gap.

Another flashes: a large hand reaching for you, stretching down the alleyway, fingers beginning to close around your unaware body, talons scraping at your mind as you twist on your feet, hands subconsciously reaching out to feel for the claws.

A nail drags over the nape of your neck and you yelp, muscles tensing, hand slapping over the skin in protection, hackles raised in primordial fear.

Something akin to the snapping of animal teeth sounds somewhere to your left— or was it your right? Then a hot puff of air brushes against the hollow of your throat and you gasp, shivering, trying to back away from the senses.

How was Cassian managing this? He doesn’t have magic. Not the normal kind, anyway. You’re getting nervous. Scared, even. He shouldn’t be able to recreate these senses.

A low growl sounds beside your ear before something surges into you, knocking you off kilter. Hands bite into your hips, spinning you around as you’re shoved against a wall, cheek pressing against the rough stone, breasts squishing against the cold solidness.

A hot, male body presses tightly behind you and your breath hitches, feeling the invasive press of his hips against the swell of your hind. “Cassian,” you murmur, softly—shakily. Again, hot breath puffs out over your neck, followed by the menacing scrape of canines over your delicate skin, nipping beneath your ear, followed by a soft snarl.

His hips grind into you, pressing you tight into the wall, smushing you against it with the weight of him. Your breathing stutters as you arch your back, helping him as you press against the hard outline of his cock, gasping quietly at the promise. You inhale, desperate to have his scent fill you up, submerge yourself in the feel of him, but it’s not his scent you taste—

“What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, little lynx?”

Every muscle in your body goes taut as Rhysand presses into you tighter, grinding his hips into your backside, keeping you crushed against the wall.

You’re caught off guard. Stunned with shock. What’s your High Lord doing here?

“Rhys…” you stammer, attempting to pull out of his grip, the tiniest seed of humiliation planting itself in your chest. But he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t give the slightest bit as you struggle. “Rhys, what—?”

“Why did you call me Cassian?” He breathes, lips brushing the shell of your ear, fingertips biting down harder into the softness of your hips. You open your mouth to reply—to give the truth, you realise—and quickly shut it.

He laughs softly, the sounds dripping with malevolence, “you’re a brazen thing, you know,” he purrs. “I can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased us with the promise of something, only to dance out of our reach a second too soon.”

You struggle again, but his touch is so demanding, so ironlike that it hurts to move—darkness keeping your arms tucked to your front. “Rhys,” you hiss, “what are you talking about? Why are you here?” He growls softly, the sound dragging from deep within his chest, and you can feel the reverberations in your back.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He asks menacingly, voice still deceptively soft and you can practically feel all of him against you. “No,” you reply, hurriedly, “I—” He tugs on your hips, pulling you into him as he snarls quietly, “don’t lie to me. You were waiting for Cassian, weren’t you?”

You don’t get a chance to respond before one of his arms is snaking around your waist, wrapping over the sweep of bone while the other forces its way between your front and the wall, slowly—teasingly—slinking downwards. “Rhysand,” you hiss, shoulders locking and breath stuttering as he cups your heat, easily slipping his hand beneath your dress.

Arousal dulls your mind as the warmth of his hand envelops you, pressing against the lace that’s clinging to your hips. He bites lightly at your earlobe, tugging gently before he’s nosing up the side of your neck, inhaling your scent, humming with male satisfaction. “Even adorning yourself in some nice underthings. All because you let him get his grubby paws between your thighs.”

Rhysand sighs, as if he’s disappointed in you, but adds torturous pressure to his hand over your heat, making you gulp.

“Is that really all it took? Some half-decent pleasure and you were willing to throw away that act you’ve kept up for the past three centuries?” He drawls smoothly, opening his mouth over your throat as he laps at the skin. “Never mind we could give you so much more.” You shiver when he nips at your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses up the column until he’s beneath your jaw. “wouldn’t you like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you insist, shakily, still struggling against him. Even if it only pushes you back into him. “No?” He asks, a note of mockery in his lover’s voice. “Then why did you stumble down this alley? Why not walk within the light, where you would be safe and untouched?” You try to shift, but it only causes his fingers to roll across your clit, a sound of need building in your chest.

“Fine,” you snap, softly, “I was meeting Cassian. Not that it’s any of your concern.” A low hum of approval is all you get before he’s roughly flipping you round to face him, hands shackling your wrists as he pins your lower body with his hips. You stiffen as you peer up at him, his violet eyes seeming to glow in the dark—so inky it’s difficult to discern his features.

He laughs; it’s low and silky sounding. “That won’t do,” he purrs, “that won’t do at all.” You don’t like the sound of that tone. Not one bit. “What about me and Az, hm? Were you just going to exclude us, huh? Leave us out of your fun, little fling?” He laughs again, but it’s turned darker—sinister. “You thought you could fuck Cassian behind our backs and we wouldn’t know? You’d have had better luck trying to escape Velaris without one of us catching you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest but it has nothing to do with the way his cock is pressing into your lower belly, feeling his firm outline. “He told you?” You breathe, shakily.

“He has a possessive streak,” Rhys answers lazily, as if he hasn’t a concern in the world. “A pretty nasty one, too, when it comes to you.” He huffs a laugh, rolling his hips against yours, making heat boil within you out of habit. “We all do. It just got the better of him this time. He thought he could have you before we did. Even when Az and I had been generous enough to let him have a share of you. But he got greedy. Tried to keep you to himself.”

Your blood runs cold, the heat suddenly draining from your body as his violet eyes take on an icy hue.

It’s getting seriously out of hand.

“What did you do?” You utter, lips trembling. You’re certain your legs have long since given out—Rhysand the only thing keeping you from collapsing. He only laughs softly, as if this is usual behaviour between them—is it? “What did you do, Rhys?” You ask again, firmer this time.

“There’s a reason why only one of us comes to you at a time, you know. Just like last time.”

“Stop talking cryptically. You know it pisses me off.”

You get the vague impression he’s smiling. It’s disconcerting.

“Remember us? In the kitchen? How Cassian was gone when you went back upstairs despite not having heard him leave?” He purrs quietly, seemingly enjoying watching the cogs turn in your mind. “I get the lovely pleasure of dealing with you, while Az takes care of Cassian. Just some fun on our part.”

Your eyes widen marginally, “what do you mean takes care of?”

“Nothing like what you’re thinking, I assure you. Though Az is probably taking his time in tying my General up—making sure he’ll be able to see everything, with hardly a drop of relief.” Teeth flash in the blackness, and something dark and delicious licks up your spine. “You’re mad,” you breathe. “Absolutely insane.”

“You can’t mean to say you didn’t see this coming. Really, I think Cassian made it quiet obvious. Even I did, at times. Azriel was the only one successful at keeping it secret.” Rhys drawls, still in that smooth voice of his.

“That is, until the night before.” The warmth drains from your face. Az’s eyes had gone glazed, which means—

“You’re making this difficult for yourself,” he mutters, roughly. “We’re having you tonight, no way around it. So either you can refuse and struggle, kick and scream.” Again, you get the feeling he’s smiling, “or you can dive into one of those fucked up fantasies you mentioned, and live out the pleasure of the moment.”

His hands grip firmly on your hips, pulling you tight against him, your back arching as your chest smushes against his. “So what will it be?”

Heat boils beneath your skin, arousal he can surely scent. But this is real life, and wrong, and you can’t be endorsing this sort of behaviour from anyone—

“I want my safeword to be vanilla,” you manage, hands settling over his forearms, and you swear you can scent his own arousal at the confirmation.

But instead, he leans down, mouth brushing over your own. “If that will give you the illusion of safety you need, then, by all means. Scream vanilla until your lungs give out.”

And then his grip tightens possessively; the weightlessness of winnowing overtakes you.

[sixhours]

Chapter 24 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You lose track of time. You eat too little, you sleep too much, and most of your waking hours are spent in semi-consciousness, in that gray, liminal space of despair.

It’s maybe day ten or fifteen when Joel rouses you from this state, kneeling in front of your chair until you’re eye to eye.

“Hey. Time for a bath.”

You blink. Your mouth feels fuzzy and dry, tongue thick. You’ve been vaguely aware of Joel’s rummaging around the room, moving things, busying himself.

He offers you a hand and you take it after a pause, leaning on him to take the weight off your ankle. Upright, you can see he’s dragged the makeshift wash tub close to the stove. The fire is roaring, radiating heat, and a large pot of water steams on top.

“Do I smell?” you say, meaning to sound sarcastic, but he doesn’t answer. With a flush of shame, you realize you can’t remember the last time you washed.

You undress, wincing at how fucking weak you feel. In the process of stripping off your jeans, you have to stop, leaning hard against Joel to keep the room from spinning.

“Not gonna faint on me, are ya?” he grumbles, and you shake your head, but the motion only serves to make the vertigo worse. You lean on his shoulders as he kneels to finish removing your jeans and socks, then he helps you step into the tiny basin. The metal sides dig into your hip bones, freshly sharpened from starvation, and you tuck your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. There’s already a pool of warm water that barely comes over your ankles.

Joel stands, presumably to leave you to your bath, but you don’t have the energy to do more than sit. You rest your forehead on your knees and close your eyes.

Then Joel is at your side, and you feel a warm, wet cloth over your shoulders, running down your back.

“Lemme know if it’s too hot,” he murmurs.

He runs the rag up and down your spine, your shoulders, your arms, refreshing it with warm water from the pot on the stove. He gently untangles one arm from your curled cocoon shape and holds it out, rubbing the soaked rag down the slope of your forearm, your wrist, your palm. Then he puts it back and repeats the process with the other arm until your skin is glistening and damp. 

You close your eyes again, letting yourself sink into the sensation of the cloth at your neck, the gentle massage of your shoulders. Joel moves to get a different angle, wiping down your thighs, your calves, taking extra care around your bad ankle when he lifts it out of the tub to dig his thumbs into the arch of your foot with the cloth before setting it down.

In a dim part of your mind, you know you should feel exposed, that in any other situation, your nakedness means an invitation to more. But Joel is almost clinical in his ministrations around your breasts, your thighs, your crotch, like a nurse tending a patient.

“You have better bedside manner than me,” you murmur sleepily into your knees when he drapes the rag over the edge of the tub and stands.

A soft snort. “Bar’s not that high if I’m rememberin’ right.”

The water in the tub has cooled to an almost uncomfortable temperature, even with the fire still blazing at your back, and you put your hands on the edge of the tub to push yourself up, but Joel stills you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Hold up,” he says. “Not done yet.”

You hear him grabbing something, hear the slosh of water in the pot as he moves it from the stove to the floor, then his hand finds your shoulder again.

“Can I take this out?” he tugs gently at the tie wrap holding your hair up in a messy knot.

“Mmhm.”

He does, carefully combing his fingers through your tangled hair. 

“Head back,” he says. 

You look up at him, confused, and he gently puts a hand on your forehead, covering your eyes and tipping your chin up. You feel the warm water splash against your scalp like a baptism. It’s hot, almost as hot as you like it, and it feels like heaven.

“Did you do this for Sarah?” you whisper.

His hands go still at your temple, you hear the air rushing into his lungs.

“Yeah. For as long as she’d let me…which wasn’t long,” he murmurs, pausing to get another cupful of water from the pot.

You imagine a chubby baby sitting in a warm tub, splashing while a much younger Joel kneels on the floor. He pours soapy water gently down her back with a plastic cup and piles bubbles on her head. She hands him a toy, maybe a rubber duck, and he boops her tiny nose with the wet washcloth. Then he picks her up, wrapped in a soft towel, and blows raspberries on her little belly until she’s breathless with laughter.

The vision is so vivid, so strong it’s like a memory, and your eyes sting with tears.

He keeps one calloused, warm palm at your hairline to prevent the water from trickling into your eyes while he wets your scalp, pouring cup after cup of water over you until your hair is heavy and saturated and the pot is empty. Then his fingers wrap around your hair to squeeze out the excess, letting it run in rivulets down your lower back.

“Think you can get up?” He holds out a blanket and gently hooks under your arms, lifting you as you find your feet and he towels you dry.

Then you’re wrapped in a quilt and instructed to sit on the mattress by the fire to keep warm. You’re distantly aware of him moving around, gathering your clothes from the floor, and dumping them into the wash basin to make use of the leftover water for washing.

You must have dozed off because he’s kneeling in front of you again, hand on your cheek. Your damp clothes are draped around the stove to dry, and he’s pulling a soft shirt around your shoulders, up your arms, doing the buttons in the front. It’s one of his flannels, and it’s a tent on you in your half-starved state, but he tucks it around you as best he can to keep the warm air close to your body, pulling the quilt back across your lap.

“Don’t have anything else until your clothes are dry.”

He moves behind you and you feel his fingers in your hair again, running through it, finding little knots and tangles and gently pulling them apart. You duck your head, folding into yourself. The flannel smells like him, smokey and warmed by the stove, and suddenly the tears are back, falling before you can clamp down on this feeling and shove it away. This is too much, this gentle care, so much more than you deserve. His hand stills at your back when he feels you shaking.

“Hey…”

It’s soft, so soft, and the concern in his voice only makes it worse. You press your hands to your mouth, sobbing silently into the cuffs of his shirt. Something in your chest unwinds, snaps back like an outstretched spring, and you’re being pulled into his lap, clutching at him as you muffle your sounds of hurt in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I could take it all back. I’m sorry.”

“Not…you–” you gasp, unable to get the words out through your tears.

“I was cruel,” he whispers at your temple, words laden with grief. “I was…so fuckin’ angry…I don’t know how to be…I haven’t had…fuck–I’m no good at this.”

He takes you by the arms and pushes you back until you can see his face, blurred by tears. He holds your head in his hands, wiping at the wet tracks on your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I can’t…lose you,” he says fiercely, eyes shimmering. “I…need you. D’you understand that?”

You nod your head dumbly, although you’re not sure you do.

“I need you,” he whispers, grinding out the words. “And I don’t…want to, but I do.”

Untouchable.

You close your eyes. You can’t hear this, you can’t . Your love is a weapon, a liability, and you can’t face it, can’t face him . So he pulls you back in, all warmth and heartbeat in the fading firelight, and you let him.

~*~

“Tell me about Ellie,” you whisper into the dark, during one of those long nights when you can’t sleep, when the thoughts threaten to pull you down. You’re on your side, head tucked under his chin, listening to his heart.

“What do you wanna know?”

“How did you meet?”

“Mm. In Boston. She tried to stab me.”

“Of course she did,” you murmur, burrowing into him and closing your eyes. “Keep going.”

“Uh. She’d never been out of the QZ before. She talked all the damn time. Thought she’d never shut up, always askin’ questions…tellin’ these dumb jokes. God, what I would give for one of those stupid jokes…

“She talks tough, but she’s a good kid. Never thought I’d have another chance to, uh…to be a dad,” he coughs, his voice suddenly thick. “She brought me back, y’know? Made me…wanna do better.”

His hand moves along your back absently, tracing the line of your spine, the too-prominent bones and ridges beneath your skin.

“Tell me about Sarah,” you say softly.

“ Oh, ” he says, shifting his weight. It’s not so much a word as a sigh. “We…I was young. Her mom was younger…barely outta high school. We didn’t…her parents were Catholic. I wanted to do right by her, so we got married.

“When Sarah was born…I remember holdin’ her that first night in the hospital. She was all bundled up and she just…looked at me with those big eyes…and I…I was all hers. I knew I’d do anything for her. Anything.”

You feel him swallow hard. 

“Her mom…didn’t feel the same, I guess. Left when Sarah was four months old. I think it was that…depression thing. Or she was just too young.

“Sarah…she screamed for a week straight. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t sleep. Think I wore a track in the carpet, pacin’ back and forth and tryin’ not to cry myself. I was this…dumb kid with a baby. Was so afraid I’d fucked it up before we’d even had a chance.”

“You didn’t have help?”

“Tommy was around…but then they shipped him off to Iraq. Our folks were long gone by that point. Dunno how, but she and I figured it out. It was always…her an’ me against the world after that.

“She, uh…she was a lot like Ellie in some ways. Talked too damn much,” he whispers, and you can feel him smile. “Smart as hell. Stubborn. She was a typical teenager…worried about boys…n’ clothes…n’ her hair…whether she’d make varsity soccer.”

You think this is where he’ll leave it, and there’s a pause, but then he continues, his voice so soft and delicate it’s a blessing at your temple.

“When she was gone, I…I didn’t think I’d make it,” he swallows hard. “Tried…tried to…y’know. But I flinched and…”

You suck in a sharp breath. He shifts again, tensing, pulling you closer.

“S’why when I saw you like that I…I uhh–”

“I know,” you say thickly, cutting him off. You can’t have that conversation yet. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothin’ to apologize for,” he murmurs.

You scoff, a bitter laugh burbling out of you before you can stop it. “You really don’t know me, do you?”

You feel the muscles of his forearms tighten, fists clenching. You think he’s going to leave now, the way he should have left weeks ago, but he doesn’t, just breathes a weary sigh into your hair.

“Guess I don’t.”

“Joel–”

“So tell me,” he says softly. “Your turn.”

And you do. You tell him how you ended up in Boston, how you were recruited by FEDRA, how you embedded yourself in desperate communities and fed the information back to your superiors piece by piece. You tell him how you starved, fought, and fucked your way through life in the QZ, that your life had been on autopilot from the day you watched your girlfriend turn. When things went bad, you always found a way out; bit down on the strap and pushed through until you couldn’t tell the difference between life and pain.

“I…should have seen what FEDRA was doing, I should have known it wasn’t right…but there was always another mission. Until Jackson…I didn’t know it could be different.”

His only response is to squeeze you a little tighter. I know.

“FEDRA knows about her, Joel.”

There’s a click in his throat as he swallows. “They knew about her before.”

“But–”

“She’s with Tommy an’ Maria. They’ll keep her safe,” he says as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

You feel hollowed out, carved into a shell, ready to curl in on yourself, but there’s a question burning a hole at the back of your throat and you need to know.

“Do you hate me?” you whisper, despising how the words sound–frail, gossamer as a plucked dandelion seed floating on air.

He shakes his head, bumping your crown with his chin. “No. Maybe I did at first, but…prob’ly not for the reason you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tommy n’ I…back in the early days, we did a lot of stuff I’m not proud of. We weren’t good people, but I…didn’t see another way through, and I did what I had to…to protect him.

“So I get it, why you did what you did. We all had to make hard decisions to stay alive. An’ I don’t hold that against you.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“When Ellie found out you went to the council…she wouldn’t let it go. I couldn’t get her to shut up about findin’ you and bringin’ you back. She called me every name in the book. Said if I didn’t try to get you back, she’d do it herself. God…that kid,” he huffs.

He leans back until you’re meeting his eyes, flinty and dark.

“You left,” he says, his voice suddenly thready. “You left her . She doesn’t deserve…she’s lost so much. And maybe…maybe I hated you for that.”

~*~

At some point, Joel gets up to feed the fire and now it crackles at your back, lulling you with its heat. A candle flickers on the table. You’re finally drifting, half asleep when he crawls back into bed, slipping an arm around your waist and bringing you close.

You’ve grown accustomed to this nightly routine, safe from yourself in the circle of his arms. One hand absentmindedly strokes your cheek. You lean into his touch with a sigh, feel the prickling pleasure of his calloused palm at the nape of your neck. His breath is gentle at your forehead, placing a kiss at your hairline, your temple, the bridge of your nose. He draws a feather-light trail along your jawline with one fingertip and you let out a soft, involuntary moan. He stills then, waiting.

You arch your neck in response, tipping your face up, lips brushing along the juncture where his jaw meets his neck. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and takes a heavy, yearning breath.

“You awake?” His voice is rough, cracking along familiar fault lines. You know what he’s asking.

You hum your consent against his throat, opening your mouth to taste the rough, stubbled skin, feeling the rumble of his exhale.

His hands slide under your shirt– his shirt–skin to skin, little fires arcing along your back wherever he touches you. He’s undoing the buttons, unwrapping you like a gift, sliding your pants down, ducking his head to nuzzle at your breast as you arch into him, whimpering when he finds the slick between your legs.

Then you’re pressed against each other, skin to skin. When he moves to kiss you, you turn your head reflexively, offering your neck. His fingers graze your chin, guiding you back to him, gentle but firm. You have to close your eyes. It’s too much, too good.

“Please, baby. Look at me.”

You do, though it almost hurts. The glow of the candle deepens the brown of his irises, reflecting the flickering gold light.

“Let me love you,” he whispers.

His lips caress yours in the softest, sweetest kiss you’ve ever tasted, still holding your face in his big, warm hands, and it all comes back to you like a song. You wrap his hips and let his body sink into you completely. He rocks into you with hums and gasps of pleasure, hands tracing whorls on your back, your stomach, between your legs. His lips never leave your skin.

Your orgasm blooms inside you slowly, building and building until you’re trembling, clenching around him, and he cries out your name into the night.

[dynamic-power]

October 3rd prompt: aphrodisiacs

Rated E

Words: 626

A little bit of Steddie to really get things going

CW: dub-con of the "creepy plants made them do it" variety

-----

Steve knew that whatever the flower had spat at them was potentially bad when his blood began to rush south so quickly that his head spun. He could feel his cock hardening, pressing painfully against the zip of his pants. Heat coursed through him, arousal so sharp that his core muscles clenched and the bite wounds in his side ached. 

“What the fuck?” he said. 

At his side, he saw Eddie watching him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“The flower, whatever that shit is… fuck.” He had never gotten this hard this quickly before. His cock pulsed; he could feel the precum dripping from his tip and dampening his underwear. Unable to stop himself, he palmed at his erection. He was sensitive enough that the soft cotton scraped against him and he moaned with the mixture of pain and pleasure. 

Steve looked desperately at Eddie. Eddie just looked confused for a moment, obviously unsure of what to do with a suddenly horny Steve. But then his eyes slipped shut and his mouth gaped open around his own surprised growl. “Shit,” he panted, face flushed red. “I need- Oh my god, I need-”

“Yeah,” Steve said. His hands struggled with the button of his jeans for a moment. He managed to get it undone, his pleasure-addled brain aware just enough to pull down the zipper and yank his pants and underwear down in one go. He gasped as the unnaturally cool air of the Upside Down hit his cock. Before he could get his own hand on his length, Eddie was gripping his shoulder with one palm and spitting into the other. 

“I can- can you- I just. Please.” He didn’t seem totally aware of what he was doing, but then Steve couldn’t bring himself to care because Eddie’s wet hand was wrapping around his erection and tugging, desperate and unpracticed and clumsy, and Steve had never felt anything so good in his entire fucking life. 

He reached out and fumbled with a second set of zippers. He didn’t think about what he was doing, didn’t consider the aftermath, just spat into his own hand and gripped Eddie’s leaking cock. 

He stroked him in the way he liked to be touched. If Eddie had a problem with it, he clearly didn’t care enough to say something; he didn’t say anything, really. He just gasped and panted and groaned and thrust his hips into the circle of Steve’s fist. Steve wasn’t fairing much better; he was making mindless noises and fucking Eddie’s fist just as enthusiastically. 

He couldn’t help it, though. Eddie’s hand was the perfect mix of soft and rough and every movement of his hand drove Steve closer to what he knew was going to be an absolutely explosive orgasm. He could feel it in his tingling extremities, in the harsh coil of warmth curling in his belly. 

It couldn’t have been more than three minutes before the coil released and pleasure unlike anything Steve had ever felt before ripped through him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, could only feel as Eddie stroked him through it. He was vaguely aware of Eddie’s moan as he came right after, of the warmth of his release running down his own fingers. 

It took another minute for them to catch their breaths. Steve felt boneless. The only reason he was still standing was Eddie. They’d collapsed against each other, hands still on the other’s cock, fingers sticky, breaths damp as they panted into the other’s neck. 

“Better,” Steve said, “but not gone.” His dick gave a painful kick, aching from both having just come and still being rock hard. 

Eddie huffed against his skin, hand beginning to stroke again as he hummed his agreement. “Yeah, better. But definitely not gone.”

[spoiledleaff]

Ooooh! can we can 12: "I can't believe you're this innocent" with Mountain and Water Dew? ♥♥♥

ahh!! moon, my beloved!! i'm absolutely screaming about this prompt! and with water dew on top of it all?? hohoho!! >:3c

explicit ✿ ftm he/him mountain + water dewdrop ✿ wc ; 564. terminology here includes clit + pussy/cunt!

It was hot, simmering even. The 'dog days of summer' have quickly evolved into the 'ghoul days of summer' as even the sins of air have been seen melting into piles of exhausted goo. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Mountain just wanted to dip his claws in the pond, honest. The sun had dipped down below the horizon, but the sun-kissed land still boiled with humidity and heat.

...maybe that was why it was so easy for Dewdrop to pounce on him, his trouser already unlaced and his core bare to the world.

Dewdrop - as naked as the day he was summoned - wastes no time in seating his bare cunt over Mountain's heat. Their heavy clits rub together, and Mountain's vaguely aware of the way his tail is swirling by the pond's edge. The water's sin laughs, breathless and lilting, as he observes Mountain's bug-eyed expression at the way Dewdrop's grinding his dampness against Mountain's core.

"Wh-what are you doing...?" Mountain manages to huff out, his large hands instinctively reaching up to grasp tightly at Dewdrop's gyrating hips.

"Drowning a sailor," his siren's brow raises as a predatory grin stretches at his lips, "what's it look like I'm doing, Dirty Boy?"

"Grinding on my cock." Mountain answers, admirably straight faced despite the naked image of blasphemous fucking himself over his clit.

Those sinful hips stutter in their pace, and it takes Dewdrop a moment before his head tilts backwards. His silvered locks sway as his entire body flutters with his laughter. Even the fins sprouting from his ribcage seem to laugh with his body. Mountain's mesmerized.

"I can't believe you!" Dewdrop rasps, and Mountain can see the back of his throat from how hard he's laughing. "Imagine me swimming in my quaint little pond, and all of a sudden, this handsome little treat of a sailor just waltzes by. Scantily clothed, no less."

"I just wanted to take a dip-"

"Fully dressed?" Dewdrop cuts in. His hips have picked up their pace again, but it's more a gentle rocking as opposed to the intense gyrating from before. Mountain's clit throbs at the motion nonetheless. "You were going to cool off in this heat... fully dressed?"

"Y...yes?" Mountain mumbles, his face bright red despite the suspicious look in his eyes. "I wasn't expecting to get jumped by a siren, however."

Dewdrop laughs again, those midnight claws scratching gently at Mountain's stomach, finding purchase in the fuzzy skin. His hips slam forward harshly, and Mountain's breath hitches in his throat as Dewdrop fucks his slick cunt over Mountain's erection in earnest.

"I can't believe you're this fucking innocent. That, or perhaps just naïve." Dewdrop purrs. Those spindly arms of his trail back to grasp over Mountain's splayed thighs, giving him proper leverage to rub his wet heat over the entirety of Mountain's throbbing arousal. "I guess it's up to me to drown you in sin then."

(...Mountain wouldn't be able to return to the Abbey grounds in time for his smoke date with Zephyr. In fact, he wouldn't be able to walk properly for another full day. The poor earth's sin barely wobbling back to the Ministry just as the sun would begin to dip beneath the horizon. He could feel the way Dewdrop's eyes trailed after him like a predator who spared it's prey. Although, 'spared' might be a bit of a strong word.)

[mamamittens]

A Lone Melody (Pt. 7)

soft Platonic Yandere Arlong & OC (Melody)

Previous|Main|First

Warnings: Canonical mentions of slavery and racism. As well as mentions of branding but, to be honest, I'm pretty damn sure re-branding an ex-slave isn't the most... sensitive way to address trauma. So uh... I'm not doing that. Maybe Koala gets a tattoo over it later but like... no.

Anyway! Howdy! Been a bit, yeah? Well, there's no going back now, I suppose. I wanted to get at least a chapter out before tomorrow since I'll absolutely be playing Pikmin 4 this weekend lol

Thank you all for your patience as things start to get heated soon~!

Word Count: 1,489

Koala… didn’t know how to handle this.

It’d been three years since she was ‘freed’ by Fisher Tiger’s unexpected rampage and fleeing to this island. Sure, she was free now. No longer a slave. She understood that.

In her head.

But even three years later she flinched at loud voices. Messes made her anxious until she cleaned them up herself. Any mistake had her heart pounding. What was once a desperate hope to cope with her cruel reality became a hazy daydream.

Home.

Her mother, sweet and loving in the kitchen making breakfast. Her quant village full of faces she couldn’t remember. It was all fading away under the brutality of her memories of slavery. The name branded into her mind out of desperation, hotter than the brand that sealed her fate. She would go home but… she was just a kid. And the seas were a big place.

And then, shockingly, a vaguely familiar face came into port. Fishmen, which brought back memories of screams and smoke, lead by Fisher Tiger. Bright red skin and dark eyes staring out as he looked around.

His crew, the Sun Pirates, were in port. And possibly the only crew willing (maybe) and able (definitely) to take her home.

The townspeople asked on her behalf, nervous but hopeful to send her back home finally.

Fisher Tiger had a strange look on his face at that. A twisting expression that seemed to be an awful mix of emotions as he looked down at her. ‘Happy slave’ smile still etched onto her face—had been since she was beaten unconscious for frowning so long ago the edges of the pain blurred.

His eyes held sympathy and heartache as he smiled.

“Of course I will take her home.” He promised, elation rising in her chest.

Though, uhm, he didn’t appear to clear that with his crew. Several looked like they swallowed lemons.

A fishman with blue skin and a jagged nose looked like he wanted to beat her to a pulp before a small body darted between his legs.

“Hi! I’m Melody!” The little girl giggled, a bit shorter than herself. Light gray skin flush with a warm blush as red peeked out from under thick, white, black-tipped bangs. Her teeth were sharp and impressive as she bounced in excitement. “Are you human?!” she asked.

Koala… was incredibly lost.

“…Yes?” She flinched at the questioning tone, expecting someone to lash out at her—which may well have been the blue fishman if it wasn’t for a taller, broader fishman shoving his crewmate’s head down.

Melody gasped in elation.

“Cool! I’m half!” She crowed reaching out to grasp her hands. Her skin was smooth with a strange texture. Stronger than herself but aware of it.

Half? Half?

Somehow, this was the most shocking piece of information Koala had heard in a long time.

Melody grasped Koala’s hand and rubbed the back against her cheek with a giggle.

“You’re so soft! Wanna play?” She asked, still bouncing in elation. “Pah banned Dah from hosting tea parties cause he keeps going on and on about how cool fishmen are and ruins the fun.”

“… A tea party?” Koala asked.

Melody nodded.

“Yeah! Auntie Shar and her friends taught me! It’s easy, you just gotta drink tea and talk.” Melody informed her seriously. “And if we’re quiet we get to have cookies too—oops. I wasn’t supposed to let Pah hear that part.” Melody grimaced.

The taller fishman sighed, shaking his head.

“I already knew, pup. Arlong isn’t half as slick as he thinks he is.” He huffed, settling his hand on the other fishman’s shoulder with a stern look.

‘Arlong’ looked like he wanted to scream and rip her to pieces.

“Oh… does this mean I don’t gotta sneak cookies anymore?” Melody asked innocently, completely ignoring the tense atmosphere.

Tiger Fisher snorted.

“You go play tea party, pup. Jinbe will bring you two some snacks while I… talk to Arlong.”

Judging by the sour look on Arlong’s face, he already knew what kind of lecture he was in for.

“And let some filth—” Jinbe slammed his hand onto Arlong’s head with a hiss, Melody already dragging Koala away. An octopus fishman waved his many arms around and smiled nervously.

“W-Well! How about that tea party!”

“Okay! Wait… do you need six cups or is one fine, Hah-chan?” Melody asked curiously as quickly ushered them away.

“J-Just one, Melody~” He laughed with a look over his soulder.

She just heard Jinbe’s voice as she rounded a corner.

“Do. Not. Ruin this for her. Let her have a friend or I’ll—"

--*--

Fisher Tiger scowled at the maps, not really reading any of them. He already knew that he had never sailed to Foolshout before. But a little girl had been away from home long enough.

He had never really considered where the slaves he freed only a few years prior would go when he acted as he did. Just that they all deserved to be free. It was luck that Koala ended up on such a kind island, though she was human so it wasn’t much of a worry to begin with. He didn’t remember her, not really, but there was no mistaking that look in her eyes.

The look of someone made a slave too young. Emotions masked behind a fixed, unnatural smile. Hair a mess from lack of basic care. She was about ten or maybe eleven, old enough to know how to care for it. But just like him, she was still haunted from her time as a slave. It was a miracle she even remembered where she came from.

It was difficult to look at her, sometimes. But Fisher Tiger had grown a lot from that sad man in chains. It helped that he had such a supportive crew and, though he wasn’t sure how, the childlike wonder of his niece. Without that, he would have taken on this task with bitterness in his heart. Seen the marks of slavery still on her soul and done something drastic to try and wipe it away as he had tried with himself.

But Melody was taken with Koala. Always wanting to play with her hair and have Koala braid hers.

Arlong hadn’t stopped scowling since Koala boarded, pissed off that his daughter was close to a human. The first human she’d actually met, in fact. His amusement at Arlong’s plight helped temper that desperation in his soul. Jinbe certainly had his hands full keeping his friend in check around the little girl.

“Uncle Fishy!” Melody bounded into the room, her small hand grasping Koala’s thin wrist as the human’s fake smile faltered with nerves. Melody beamed, ruby eyes glittering behind her hair.

“Yes, Melody?” He asked with a fond smile.

“It’s food time! Food! Eat!” Melody bounced, reaching out for his hand. Fisher Tiger reached back and allowed Melody’s painfully small hand to pull on his fingers. He glanced at Koala with a soft smile.

“We’ll find your home soon, Koala. I promise.” He reassured her, “You’ve been free for three years… it’s time you went home.”

Melody paused, tilting her head as she glanced between the two of them. Letting go of his hand, she reached out and rubbed her thumb over Koala’s cheek, the human flinching at the motion.

“…It’s okay to cry, you know. Dah cried last week when Pah measured my height and found out I gained another half inch.” Melody informed her gravely.

That false smile wavered like a mirage and Fisher Tiger sighed.

“She’s right you know.” He whispered solemnly. “It’s okay to cry.”

He’d wept for hours in the comforting embrace of the sea when he finally found freedom. His brand burning in his flesh as he sobbed and wailed so deep only the sea beasts heard him.

Koala’s eyes watered, wavering smile falling to pieces as Fisher Tiger instinctively scooped up the two children.

He never would have done this a few years ago.

He still felt weak and pathetic from his time in chains, but he was undeniably a stronger man now. Shame no longer dogging his steps so heavily.

Koala would find her way to true freedom. The kind that cleanses the heart and soul that even he had yet to find. She just needed support and kindness she never had while in chains.

It wasn’t, after all, piracy or his flag that brought light to his heart after so long in the dark.

Fisher Tiger looked at Melody who reached out to Koala with gentle hands to pet her hair and shoulders soothingly. Not truly understanding the cause of Koala’s sadness but reaching out anyway.

He was a better man now… but deep in his heart, he knew he was still that pathetic wretch who could never quite let go of his hatred.

Maybe given time they’d both put the past behind them.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Make a Choice

Whumptober 2022: 17. Reluctant Caretaker, 19. Enough is Enough, 23. At the End of Their Rope, 27. Stumbling Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian, Din Djarin Word Count: 2305 TW: Angst, Sunburn, Heat Exhaustion, Captive, Mentions of Murder of Children, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: This takes place before The Mandalorian show

As you paused to catch your breath, a voice called out from behind you, “Move.”

The modulated, hollow sound was the first you had heard from your captor since he apprehended you almost an hour ago. The two of you had been trudging through the desert, assumedly heading for his ship, though nothing on the horizon gave you any hope of reaching it soon.

When you refused to move, he sent a small jolt of electricity through the rope wrapped around your waist and wrists. It didn’t hurt necessarily but the sensation did make you jump and something told you that was just a warning shock. Reluctantly, despite the ache in your feet and the scratchy dryness of your throat, you started walking again.

As the burning sun continued to rise in the sky, you peeked a glance back at the man behind you. The heat was unbelievable to the point it was almost burning your lungs to breathe. Yet, he was wearing head-to-toe metal armor and acting as if he were on a pleasant stroll through a forest or something. He should be cooking from the inside out in that getup, though it was always possible he had some sort of ventilation or cooling system built in. When it came to Mandalorians, who in the hell knew.

You stumbled yet again though you managed to right yourself. Every step was becoming more and more difficult to take. Your feet felt like there were weights tied to them and each time you lifted one, it seemed to take more effort.

Looking into the great expanse of nothingness that stretched in front of you, you realized that the edges of your vision were starting to darken as the world grew smaller. Your head was swimming and a suddenly cold chill ran down your body. You stumbled again and you were vaguely aware that the Mandalorian had sent another shock through the rope, but by this point, you were so disconnected from your body that you hardly felt it. 

Turning woozily to face him, the motion sent you tumbling to the ground. Without your hands to cushion your fall, you fell hard on your shoulder and the side of your face slammed into the burning sand. Yet, it didn’t matter. The darkness swallowed you up and then you felt nothing.

Everything hurt. Your legs felt like jelly, your face and shoulder ached, your skin burned, your lips were cracked, and your throat felt dryer than you could ever remember it feeling before. You tried to shift slightly as you struggled back to consciousness, but the movement made the aching worse and a soft moan escaped your lips. 

The next thing you knew, a hand slipped behind your neck and lifted your head up. Something pressed against your split lips and a rush of warm water flowed down your throat. The sensation roused you immediately and you reached up, trying to gulp down as much as possible. But the hand stopped you.

“Easy. Too much and you’ll get sick.”

Peeling your eyes open, you saw the Mandalorian kneeling above you with a canteen in his hand. Glancing around, you realized you were in a small cave of some sort. It was still unbearably hot, but at least it provided protection from the searing rays of the sun and allowed you to lay on cool rock instead of the burning sand. There had been no outcrops around you where a cave would have been possible so once you passed out, he must have carried you quite a distance to reach this place.

Turning back to the Mandalorian, you painfully croaked, “Th-thank you.”

He gave you a curt nod and offered you more water. For the next hour or so, he continued giving you small sips of water with breaks in between until you regain your strength. Apparently, he had been able to cut into the rock with his blaster and revealed a small stream running through it which provided you with as much water as either of you needed. You noticed that once or twice he turned his back to you to take his own drink, lifting his helmet in a way you could not see his face. 

He hadn’t untied the rope from around your hands or waist, but he no longer held onto his end, giving you more freedom to move around. When you had enough water, you got enough strength to sit up. Your body still ached all over, but at least the water had helped your throat some. You tried asking the Mandalorian where you were or how long you were staying here, but he ignored you. He hadn’t said a single word since the one sentence when you had first awoken and, besides giving you water, he basically ignored you, preferring to sit in the corner and clean the sand from his blasters. 

The tension in the small cave continued to grow as time passed. You knew he would receive a higher payment if he turned you over alive instead of dead, but it still didn’t explain the gentle way he had cared for you. You had assumed that the man beneath the armor was as cold and as uncaring as his emotionless visor suggested. Yet, if the man underneath did have a heart, how could he turn you over so callously without even asking why you were wanted in the first place?

Finally, the silence became too much for you to bear and you blurted out, “Why are you doing this? I mean, why did you capture me?”

Without looking up from his blaster, the Mandalorian replied, “You have a bounty out on you and I intend to collect.”

“Yeah, but why do you do it? I mean, do you even ever ask what any of these people did to get a bounty out on them in the first place?” He was silent as he lifted his head, his dark visor staring back blankly. After a moment, you continued.  “Sure, there are probably some real scumbags out there who deserve this kind of treatment. But not everyone does. Do you know why my name is on your puck? It’s because I refused to kill a room full of children.”

The visor was still as expressionless as ever, but you thought you noticed his shoulders tense just the slightest bit. The motion on anyone else might not seem significant, but it was the most reaction you had ever gotten out of him before. Maybe you had managed to hit a nerve after all.

Taking a deep breath, you said, “I grew up in the Empire and when I got old enough, I joined their army. I never gave it much thought about if what they were doing was right or wrong, it was just what you were expected to do. And I never questioned it. That is until my battalion was sent in to claim a town in the name of the Empire. A town. Not a city. Just a quaint little backwater town on a remote, underdeveloped world. And no one would tell us why. But we went because those were our orders: claim the town no matter the cost and take out anyone who got in our way.

“And we did. We slaughtered the majority of the people living there because we were told to. It didn’t matter because it was our job. But then….” 

You paused as you stared down at the floor, drawing your knees into your chest. In the two years since it had happened, you had never told anyone this story. Then again, there hadn’t really been anyone to tell. You had been alone and on the run every day since it happened and maybe that was why you were now spilling your guts to this stranger who was about to sign your death warrant. Maybe you just wanted someone to know what happened before you died.

“I went into one house and heard a soft crying. I followed the sound to a closet in the back of the house and I opened the door, ready to fire. But it was just a group of kids. Five kids huddled together on the floor, terrified and struggling not to cry. Their parents must have told them to stay hidden when the fighting started. As soon as they saw my weapon, the youngest burst into tears. And for the first time, it really hit me what we were doing and I was horrified. 

“I put down my blaster and tried to quiet them down so no one else would hear them but one of my superiors showed up before I could. He took one look at the situation and realized what I was doing. I was ordered to ‘take them out’ just like all the other townspeople but… I couldn’t do it. I was ordered to comply once more and when I refused, two of my fellow soldiers were ordered to take me into custody for treason. They hauled me back to the ship, but not before they forced me to watch them murder every single one of those children. And that’s when I saw The Empire for what it truly was.”

You looked up at the Mandalorian, tears silently rolling down your face. “I managed to escape when they were transferring me to be sentenced and I’ve been on the run ever since. So that is the reason I am on your puck. But I guess it doesn’t matter to you.” 

Standing up, you walked to the edge of the cave and held out the end of your rope. “Let’s just get this over with.”

An hour later, you made it back to his ship. Neither one of you had made a sound the rest of the walk and even when you stumbled again, falling to the ground, you silently climbed back to your feet and kept going without acknowledging the hand he offered you. 

Climbing on board, the Mandalorian led you toward the back of the ship and you recognized the carbonite freezer there. So this was how it was going to happen. You were going to get turned into a wall decoration and then handed over to the Empire. Then there was no telling what they would do with you, but whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

As you stared at the freezer, you were startled by the voice behind you. “Would you do it again?”

Jumping slightly at the sound, you turned to him. “W-what?”

It felt as if his visor was boring into you. “With the children. If you would have known the outcome, would you still have made the same choice?”

“Absolutely.” There was absolutely no hesitation in your voice. It was a question you had asked yourself many times before and one that you never wavered on the answer. “Those children were terrified, heartbroken, and innocent. They did not deserve what happened to them and every day I wish that I had found a way to save them. Sometimes you have to stop listening to orders and make a choice. I just wish I had made my choice sooner.”

The Mandalorian nodded, then he motioned to the carbonite freezer. Reluctantly, you climbed in, waiting for him to press the button.

But the Mandalorian spoke up once again. “Do you have any last words?”

You thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do. Since I’ve been on the run, I’ve seen the cracks starting to show. I am not the only one realizing the truth. And very soon, the Empire will fall. I just wish I could be around to see that day.”

The Mandalorian took a step back. “Yeah. Too bad.” Then he pressed the button.

As the gas obscured your vision, the last thing you saw was the Mandalorian staring back at you.

What seemed like seconds later, you collapsed to the floor. Every part of you ached and even the dim lighting was too intense for you. It took several moments before you were able to gradually open your eyes. And when you did, you saw you were kneeling in front of a familiar-looking pair of boots. 

“You?” you asked weakly.

Slowly looking around, you realized you were still on the same ship from before and the Mandalorian was the only other person around. There were no Stormtroopers, no Imperial officers. Just him. 

Without a word, the Mandalorian grabbed your arm and helped lift you to your feet. The effects of the carbonite was making it hard to walk straight, but he did not release his hold on you as he marched you towards the door. 

When he lowered it, you blinked as soft sunlight shone on you and a slight breeze rustled your clothes. “Where are we?”

“Lah'mu." Came that same old modulated tone. "I doubt anyone from the Empire will ever think to look for you here.”

You whirled around, eyes wide as you stared at your captor. “Wh-what?”

He reached over and undid the rope that was still wrapped around your hands and waist, completely freeing you. “Go.” When you didn’t move, he repeated, “Go.”

You stumble forward, looking over your shoulder but he made no move to stop you as you walked hesitantly down the gangway and into the grass. Stopping a few feet away, you turned and asked, “Wh-why are you doing this?”

For a long minute, he didn’t say anything and you figured he was just going to give you more of his usual silent treatment. But then, he said, “Because sometimes you have to stop listening to orders and make a choice.” 

And without another word, the Mandalorian raised the door between you. For just a moment, you held the gaze of his visor, but then the door shut completely and he was gone. 

Tag List:@nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996

[sugasnote]

falling for you (myg) - 1

pairings: idol!yoongi x flawed!reader(?) she is just not-so perfect but my girl wants you to know she's trying and oc is also younger

genre: yearning, just craving each other too much it physically hurts, strangers to lovers (?) and again strangers and just... again yearning bc i love lovesick mushy emotions. i do talk about mental health but it is vague and up for interpretation.

word count: 2.5k+

inspo: mahmoud darwish's 'speak her name over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life,' namjoon's 'i live so i love,' and 'i've seen a lot of beautiful things with a heavy heart' — albert camus

please do send in feedbacks and thank you for waiting <3

the morning run, which you decided to take as a new year resolution was you kicking you in the ass. you were a good runner when you were in the middle school and you were good at most of the sports. but after you've grown into a wonderful and laziest person who abandoned sports right after their middle school, you are struggling to take a step without your chest heaving for oxygen.

you had a pretty bad day, waking up late and a horrible hangover from the night before was not helping your throbbing ache in your head. you still pushed yourself to a healthy morning run because you wanted to see if having a morning run is good for your mental health, if the internet and tiktok was right or not.

you were fatigued by afternoon. just the heat waves from the scorching sun tired you out for the day even when you woke late. the summer in la was not to be joked about, the heat melts your skin and you can feel the warm sensation of burning of your skin. you may be exaggerating a little bit but you had enough of the heat. you found shade in the nearby aesthetic cafe, decorated in victorian style, making it a perfect instagram-worthy cafe.

you entered the cafe with a ding of the doorbell, just wanted a cool sensation to your burning skin literally. you chose a orange drink to refresh your internal organs, instantly cooling your body as well as your mind. you took a chair, near to the air cooler by the corner of the cafe, not even bothering to ask if the seat was taken.

once you were cooled down for your satisfaction, you turned around to see a stranger staring at you, head leaning against his palm. a beanie covering his head, black face mask covering half of his face, fierce eyes looking at you. you were little shaken by the sight, but his presence gives off calmness to you. you cleared your throat, forming apologies on your tongue, ready to slip them when he still stare at you, still and motionless.

"sorry, i took your seat unannounced. i was in a hurry for some cold and almost passed out from heat. sorry to bother you." you started off, internally cringing at the way your rambling.

he stares at you for quite longer time, his eyes getting familiar to you. maybe the heat was getting into your head like ever, unable to remember the eyes of famous boyband rapper and producer, min yoongi. you knew they were in town when they had a two-day concert event and you were definitely a fan of bts. their music and story resonating with you, deeply imprinted on your heart. you felt loved and cared whenever you listened to their music, warmed your heart with their words and moved your heart with their talent and ambitions.

you took a sharp breath when you recognised the celebrity infront of you, hitting yourself in the head for being rude and reckless in front of him. he seems to notice your widened eyes and quick change in your behaviour. he swallowed thick air, muttering a quick it's okay, you're good and waving you off. he was looking outside now, you felt flustered and nervous around him. you have never imagined to meet him in a cafe, you didn't even dream meeting him at all. your brain fogged awareness throwing you off lightly, looking down to your hand. you decided to leave him alone, thinking he was here alone before you came.

"sorry, again. i will leave now to give you space." you mumbled a quick apology and glanced at him, taking in your bag that you dropped on the nearby chair.

"if you want to stay awhile, you can. i don't mind honestly. " he said while tentatively looking at you.

"okay" you quickly agreed because you were extremely fatigued and you would not want to pass out on the roadside if you leave now.

you were currently waiting for yoongi in a restaurant, taking in slow breaths to calm your nerves. even after spending much time together with him, he still left you breathless. you were told to dress elegantly for the occasion, you thought what would the occasion would be that requited to dress classy.

you still don't know what you are to him, neither of you have spoken about the elephant in the room. even after sharing stolen kisses, playful glances, you know both of you are fooling around. just until the vacation ends and you leave to your home country and him to his, you still wished it coukd have been much better than this. you know you are playing a dangerous game with him. min yoongi was an addictive man, you fear you would fall into his addictive lips.

"sorry, have you been waiting long?" your train of thoughts were interrupted when you hear his deep voice. he questioned you while taking a seat across yours. his hands immediately placed over yours, gently squeezing your soft hands. you shake your head, letting out a small smile in reply. he was dressed handsome for the lack of better word. he was fully clothed black, satin shirt a little too tight for his prominent muslces, unbottoned two buttons, making you flustered with just his loving gaze.

you are addicted to this man, he will be the death of you.

"i wanted to tell you something. i had thought about it a lot." he started the unspoken arrangement which you both agreed even uttering a single word about him. he was nervous, eyes flickering all over your face. unable to fixate into your eyes, hands playing with your fingers, removing and twisting the rings on your fingers.

you squeezed his hand slightly, to give him some comfort but in reality, you are as just terrified as him. you did not know what you are doing here, you did not know what you were thinking when he begged you to come back to his hotel suite, you did not know what you were thinking when he had you putty just by his skilled tongue on your nether regions. you gulped before your mind travelled fo a topic you've avoided thinking about.

"you're leaving soon and i don't want to lose you. i don't know what we have here, but i know i just don't want to lose you." he rambles to you.

you are imperfect. you did not know if you were capable of being a girlfriend heck your longest relationship lasted for three weeks before you broke it off for unknown reasons. maybe you are just scared of falling in love, you never had a perfect example of what love was like when growing up. but right now, the thought of falling in love with yoongi terrified you.

"you know, i've told you before, i don't do relationships. it's just not my thing and i don't want to break your heart," you sighed out, eyes lowered to your hands, gently held by his.

"how would you know if you haven't tried? you can't just keep running away from it."

"i don't want to deal with all those things like, keeping up with your partner, constantly being around your partner.. all those exhaust me." you cried, you really wanted to get out of this situation. it's harder to focus when he looks extremely buff in that shirt, maybe that was also his plan. to make you weak, and just give into his plan.

"shit, y/n. fuck it's just-" he stammered, frustrated because he is unable to convince you to be his just before you leave the country. he wants to know how it is to be with you, even if he knows it will only make him harder to get over her. his desperate need to be constantly touching your soft skin, need to kiss your plump lips was taking over his rationale thinking.

"only for three days before you leave. that's all i'm asking. just for three days, please pretend to be my girlfriend. i just want to know how it feels to be loved by you, " he pleaded into your eyes, shaky breaths shared.

you know you are gone when you agreed to be his girlfriend, just for three days.

yoongi insisted on dropping you safely back at your hotel room, even carrying your handbag for you. his hand wrapped around your fingers, a shaky breath left your lips. his boldness leaving your heartbeat rapidly against your chest, taking a deep breath slowly to calm your racing heart.

standing in front of your door, you turned to look at him. your hands still clasped in his, not letting you go just yet, making you giggle at him.

"you need to let me go," you said softly. your hand hovering over his, not really want to let him go either but you have to anyway.

he nodded, pulling you in for a hug. you let out a squeak of surprise by the sudden pull. you wrap your other arm around his torso, letting him nuzzle into your neck. he pulled back, looking at you. he placed a soft kiss on your cheek and stood back lightly to let you go inside the room. giving him a soft smile, you unlocked the door and waved him bye and a soft get back safe to him.

you sighed as soon as the door shut. you were afraid of loving someone. growing up, you did not have a good example of a healthy love which affected your perception on plenty of things, mainly, on love. you were afraid to love and to be loved. you were afraid to give a voice to your deep fears, which you have desperately tried to suppress all these years before meeting him.

you let out your hundredth sighs as the restless worries of your inner monologue exhausted your body and mind. you went to take a quick shower, to stop yourself from spiraling down all over again. you would brace yourself for whatever that is waiting for her, with an open heart that is willing to ache for yoongi and a bruised soul to be battered by love.

admittedly, you agree the most powerful feeling is to shake a man's confidence but deep down you knew your flaws craved that loathly feeling of breaking someone's confidence and pride.

you were right here but you felt so unreachable to him.

"where are you taking me," you pouted at him, giving him a frown. yoongi had to hold himself back from pressing a kiss to your forehead, instead squeezing your hand tight to asking you to trust him. you kept pouting at him, both your hands now enclosed around his, where he kept squeezing yours to silently asking you to let your guards down for him.

you looked around the big building in front of you, delicate lights flickering in and out creating a enchanting glow to the poster on the wall. [musical theatre stage name], typical yoongi, of course. you should have expected this from him, their first date relating anything to music.

"hope this is okay for you," he whispered as he let his hands free from your hold, placing his hand behind your back guiding you gently inside the small theatre. yoongi was not sure if you would enjoy his unofficial first date choice, he wanted to show you that he is willing to offer you his heart. his love for his music was one of his ways to his soul and he is ready to risk every thorns on his way to your heart, by letting his guard down around you. you assured him with a gentle smile, nodded lightly.

yoongi's hand never leaving your waist, settling you both down in your designated seats. he noticed your chair seemed a little too far for him, placing his hand under your chair and pulling you closer to him. your breath hitched, eyes boring into his strong gaze. pink plump lips gracing a small smile and he whispered, "you were sitting too far from me, baby." you simply nodded at him, taking in his features up close, giving him a shy smile.

a classical musical orchestra playing classical hits for the small audience, yellow bulbs flickering resembling a constellation of stars and a chandelier placed in the centre. the atmosphere was calm and serene, the echos of the melody bouncing around the small hall.

the people enjoying the tunes being played, everyone in their small bubbles. yoongi's hands resting on your thigh, gently squeezing. you were enjoying the intimate aura of the theatre, reminding you of the old romantic movie scenes. you were moved by the charming tunes of the music and all of a sudden, the violin's movement, the cello's string and the piano's cries started to become about you. the composer's rhythm reminding you, what you would miss if you let him go.

there seemed to be no audience to perform for. just the two of you, watching the musicians play. there seemed to be no approval you wanted to achieve, no reputation to save. there was no role worth playing when being with him, there was no one to convince and no one to break your heart. for once, you wished to be free from your worries.

the musical date ended with yoongi inviting you for a dinner. he took you to italian restaurant. he pulled a chair for you to sit, tucking you in and fixing your hair from behind. you let out a small 'thank you,' it always took you by surprise on how attentive he was to the details. your racing heart still could not get used to it. he sat in the opposite manner, his unbuttoned shirt giving you a peak to his prominent collarbone. you looked down at the menu as to not get too distracted on how sexy and intimidating he looks right now.

"i hope you enjoyed the day so far," his timbre voice coming out like a melody of your favourite song, his hands occupied with the food of his choice for the night. veins on his hands popping as he started twirling his fork, feeling nervous all of a sudden and the quiet ambience making his heart beat more rapid. he wondered if you could hear his heart.

"it was lovely, thanking you for taking me there," you replied gently. placing your hand on top of his, swiping your thumb to rub on his knuckles. his eyes shifted to your hand, holding it in the sight of your frail hand on top his rough fingers. there is an unspoken question running in the air, neither of them starting the topic of this silly arrangement.

"i couldn't change your mind, right?" he asked, rubbing under his nose with his occupied hand. you knew he wanted to be clear with you and you knew he would come clean because he did not want any misunderstanding at least on his side. you hate the fact that he still carried hope even after all this.

you weren't ready for a relationship. you weren't ready for a commitment, being with a person for a lifetime scared you and you were too much of a coward to do anything you are afraid of.

"yoongi, you knew what you were doing when you asked me to do this." you started off, turning sour from all the frantic worries running in your head.

"i thought maybe i could make you show what you would miss if you don't let yourself enjoy what your heart wants," he let out a scoff, his eyes twinkling in the low light.

you rolled your eyes at his words, you chose to stay silent this time. you prepared yourself for the night to be changed into a sour and uneventful but you weren't expecting for him to ask a question that would break his heart into a million pieces. the one that would make his heart carry the scar forever, without having any remedy to heal the scar.

"don't you want to stay with me" he started.

you did not answer him, staring at him. if you did, you would be the heartbreaker, the bad guy, the villain and everything in his stories and songs later on. but you did know, he was the one who proposed this arrangement in the first place. he should be expecting all of this after the three dates, to be broken and bruised by the end of the day.

"you're quite the heartbreaker, aren't you?" yoongi let out a sigh, looking at you with a fond smile. you desperately wanted to know what he was thinking when he looked at you like this, wanted to know if he enjoyed being played by you, if he enjoyed being a sadist?.

he placed his other hand on top of yours, holding your hand, eyes flickering between your tired eyes and your tied hands. he hoped to god he would change your mind before you leave for good, he would at least make him worthy enough to be loved by you, worthy enough to make you stay by his side for him.

"please, let me down gently if you are going to," soft words left his mouth, his voice always gentle enough to calm her racing heart as a consequence of his bold actions to hold her hand.

a/n: sorry for the delay. hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me your thoughts. i think i seem to post whenever it is a rainy weather ( just an observation i wanted to share)

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Numb

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 12. Set during RttE’s ‘Enemy Of My Enemy.’ Believe Dagur to have hurt or even killed Toothless, Hiccup does something he can never take back.

Warning: Major character death, Murder

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut

Pairing: /

Words: 1 354

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Character death

Whumpee: Hiccup, Dagur

Author’s Notes: Was actually working on a different prompt for way later in the month when I got the idea for this one.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

Before Hiccup realizes it, Dagur has already stopped moving. His hands are still around his throat, still squeezing, he’s still shaking. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, how much longer than necessary he’s been like this.

They’re on a shore of some sort, Hiccup doesn’t have an eye out for his surroundings. His focus is on Dagur and solely on him.

Because Dagur lies lifeless beneath him. He was strangled.

He’s still being strangled, Hiccup’s hands haven’t left him yet.

Finally, they let go and he sits back, straddling him.

It’s over. After three long years and a lifetime of torment, Dagur is dead at long last. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. He can’t hurt any of his friends anymore, he can’t hurt his sister.

Though his death won’t be bringing Toothless back.

The thought doesn’t bring him any sadness. The rage he felt before has left him completely. Right now, he’s just numb. He feels nothing, no emotion, he doesn’t even seem a part of his own body anymore. Reality is crumbling away and he’s letting it. If for whatever reason he were to pass on himself, he wouldn’t mind. At least, he would be reunited with Toothless.

Rolling off Dagur, he lets himself fall onto his back. Still wet, sand sticks to him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He stares up at the near cloudless sky. It’s strange, the sun doesn’t feel particularly warm.

What is he supposed to do now? Dagur is gone and cooling next to him, eyes staring up at nothing. Toothless must be gone by now, too. Hiccup left him to die alone and nothing will make that right either.

Strangely enough, that thought doesn’t hurt. Just as life left Dagur, the ability to feel anything has left Hiccup. Today doesn’t even feel real, it’s like a particularly prolonged nightmare he can’t seem to wake up from.

He could lie here or maybe he could at least return to the cave he left his dragon in. He could curl up next to him and hope to join him.

There’s rustling in the bushes. On automation, Hiccup arches his neck to watch Hunters approach him. He should feel a certain way, but there’s nothing. Viggo himself could be standing there and he would get no reaction from Hiccup.

The captain of the crew stands over him. He has no idea what just happened, but he can guess from the bruises around Dagur’s neck and the lifeless look in the Dragon Rider’s eyes. Only one of the men before him are dead, but the other might as well be.

He’s been thrown around in the river, hit his head, his back, his everything. But if his body is aching, Hiccup doesn’t seem to notice. Not even when he’s grabbed by his arms and pulled away.

-XOXOX-

Time passes by in a blur. Hiccup is vaguely aware that he was being questioned. The Hunters wanted to know where Toothless was, but he wouldn’t give up a location. Not just because he desires to protect his dragon even in death, they’d use him for parts if they could, but also because he just… can’t. He’s too numb to talk, his body doesn’t feel like his to use and control.

They held a hot iron up to his face, threatening to brand him if he didn’t tell them what they wanted to know, but then they chose against it. If he wasn’t even cringing at the heat blistering his skin, he wasn’t going to tell them if the hot iron did mark him.

So they just… left him alone. Left him tied with his hands behind his back near the fire, face in the grass, barely dry.

“We’ll find the Night Fury ourselves,” the captain said before all but two left. Whatever happened to put the Dragon Rider in this kind of state, he was almost considering killing him as a show of mercy.

The sun lowers, clouds gather and rain pours. His two guards huddle together for warmth and shelter under a tree, leaving Hiccup out by the dying fire. He feels frozen to his core.

A flash of light, fire. The sounds of the two men screaming barely registers in Hiccup’s mind.

“Hiccup?!” As does Astrid’s voice. Stormfly’s blue form appears in sight, it’s the first thing to catch his full attention since Dagur.

But Astrid isn’t on her back.

Instead, she lands next to him and dismounts from a dragon as black as the night. The rain stops as a large wing hovers over them both.

“Hiccup! Hey,” she drops to her knees next to him, her hand cups his cheek as she leans down to meet his gaze. Astrid freezes at the emptiness she sees in them.

“Yeah, you better run! Cowards!” Snotlout can be heard shouting at the two Hunters on the run. They’re lucky there are more pressing matters at hand or he would’ve had Hookfang roast them for dinner.

After him, Meatlug and Barf and Belch land as well together with their Riders.

“Astrid, how is he? Is he okay?!” Fishlegs asks as he dismounts. Her total silence unnerves him.

“I- I don’t…” She straightens. She reaches for Hiccup’s bound wrists, but Snotlout beats her to them, already cutting through the ropes.

“Why isn’t he saying anything?” He asks, worry settling in his already angered heart.

“Is he breathing?” Tuffnut asks.

“Hiccup, what’s wrong?” Astrid tries again. “Did they hurt you?”

They all tense up. Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut can already think of several ways to punish these Hunters if they have.

The rain pours again when the wing retracts. A black snout with familiar green eyes steals his view of Stormfly, replacing her with himself. He warbles in worry.

“Toothless?”

Is he hallucinating? Are the rest of the Dragon Riders even here? Or is he getting his wish and will he join Toothless at long last?

A warm tongue tells him that, no, they’re both very much alive.

Both.

Both!

And just like that, all life returns to him.

“Toothless!” He shouts, his heart pumps warm blood through his veins. His body aches from being thrown around. His head throbs from slamming it on a rock in the river, his back is sore and stiff, and he’s probably full of bruises. But he finds the strength to climb up on his knees and throw his arms around Toothless’ neck.

Toothless purrs happily, he was so worried about Hiccup! He had no idea what happened to his Rider after he and Dagur fell down that waterfall and neither returned for hours. Before the Dragon Riders came, he didn’t even have the strength to get up and search for Hiccup himself.

He licks Hiccup’s entire face again before his arms settle around his head. “Oh, I thought I’d lost you, Bud! I thought you were gone!”

This heartwarming reunion brings a smile to all of their faces. Astrid places a hand on Hiccup’s back. She has no idea what made him think Toothless was dead when he was safe in a cave, recovering from an obvious dragon root injury. But she’s just glad that her boys have reunited again.

And then Hiccup pulls away, though his hands remain on the dragon’s chin. Toothless gazes at him quizzically.

“Wait, you’re alive,” Hiccup speaks breathlessly. “The antidote worked.”

“Antidote? The purple liquid in the cauldron?” Fishlegs asks curiously. He’s been wanting to ask his friend about that.

“Well, it certainly didn’t taste like soup,” Ruffnut states. She feels a shift in the atmosphere that she doesn’t like. Maybe humor will bring it back.

“It worked… It worked…” Hiccup repeats to himself, muttering. His hands part from Toothless’ scales. His heart begins to race, something is choking the life out of him.

Dagur’s remedy worked.

Dagur’s.

He was trying to help. He wasn’t killing Toothless.

And now he’s… Hiccup has…

The warmth he felt at being back with his friends again disappears, but his emotions don’t leave like they did before. Realization settles. Horror creeps up. Hiccup looks down at his hands and he knows what he has done.

[find-the-devil]

II. I Tend a Garden

Ennis drew open the blinds. By now the sun had risen and warmed the earth. Swirls of heat rose from the dirt and distorted the air in the most minute, nearly imperceptible ways, like dragging a wet paintbrush through a small spot of watercolor paint, pulling the delicate pigment across the paper. Insects clung to the cool windows and mice cowered for shade amongst the garden plants, gorging themselves on watery vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes and the like. This was the patch of farm he left for the wilderness, that he tended to for the animals that belonged to nature. His own food was grown on the other side, facing the cornfield. Blackberry bushes grew on their own by the low shoulder that divided his territory from that of the thousands of green stalks. 

Ennis cracked open a window, letting the chilled air that had clung to his walls join the heat outside. The breeze breathed balmy wind into the room which tousled the curtains. It brought in the scent of wheat and earth and smoke from a fire that had not ravaged but simply burned, impotent upon a stick and unable to claim the field. 

He turned from the window, moving across cherrywood floors with bare feet that padded quietly to the poplar chair, smooth, ivory, like bone in the light, and contrasted against the red wood on which it rested. Robin lied opposite from him, laying with legs propped up by the armrest of the couch, covered by a thin, dusty orange throw, his short grey hair peeking out from underneath, shoes ruined and a pebblish-colored coat that clung to his skin from sweat. The fabric was thin and reached just past his mid-thighs. 

Ennis took the mask set out on the table at his side, next to an untouched glass of water and affixed it to his face as the man began to stir, disturbed by the change in brightness and now vividly aware of the pain in his older joints. He hissed loudly, bending over and clutching his knees, righting himself properly before the man who sat still and observed him, leaning in, hunched and curious and silent. 

“So this is all your shit, then.” Robin spoke loudly, in a mix of disbelief and inconvenience, eyes squinted slightly and brow furrowed in confusion. He gestured vaguely to unfamiliar surroundings, his body regretting the motion instantaneously. The man in front of him gave him one nod, slow and earnest, shifting slightly where he sat, clasping his hands in front of his knees. “You know, people think you’re a ghoul, something occult and eerie. Spiritual types think you’re the Devil.” Robin added. 

“People think I’m you.” the man countered, a simple statement, tilting his head to the side as if prompting something out of the man in front of him. 

“Well, they do now.” Robin sighed, wincing slightly as he leaned back into the soft couch cushions. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one gets that I was by the last body 'cause I was investigating it, as the town’s only detective?” he shook his head in a kind of mirthless disbelief as he stared out of the window above the kitchen sink. 

“You retired. I get the town paper, you know.” Ennis corrected, leaning over to pick up the old newspaper under a discarded cup of coffee. Robin fell silent. He felt unsettled not by the stranger himself, but by his own lack of discomfort. The man was perfectly neighborly, he wore a white mask, affixed to his head with thick black straps, blood still stained the bottoms of his nails and eyes observing him without wasted movement, and considerate having given him not only a place to sleep but a glass of water and a blanket. 

“Yeah, I got real tired of everyone in town having my home number and calling it liberally.” Robin replied, mostly muttering, absently checking the phone in his pocket for missed calls and messages. “Dead.” he said, with a quick gesture to the black screen, mostly for himself.  Fatigue had racked his brain too voraciously for him to consider the implications. 

“You quit just after the first body.” 

“I’d’ve had to bring you in myself, I didn’t know what was doing… that but I had a feeling it was a good deal stronger than me. I was right.” he shrugged, giving a small nod to the man’s defined shoulders and thick arms before turning his attention to the window. “You can find a ‘who’ with one body, but you can only get a ‘why’ from more.”

“Well, then, good thing you found me how you did.” with an untold story of 'different circumstances' behind his words. Ennis stood up, and the red floorboards creaked. He stretched his back and shoulders like a brawler gearing up for a fight, yet instead of a fist Robin was offered an outstretched hand. “I’ll show you the garden. The grass will be light on your feet.”

The back porch looked over the cornfield, it swayed en masse with a breeze he couldn’t feel, moving to an earth rhythm humans weren’t privy to. The coniferous trees that bordered the field held themselves with a stillness unbecoming of the motion below. The stalks were bright green under the afternoon sun that beamed, hot on the soil, and cast the back of Ennis’ house into cooler shade from atop its high perch above. Robin’s senses were struck by a contradictory smell. Wildflowers, many, of different species and colors and aromas growing together from a brownish mass that lay stiff in the dirt, still clad in mucked up overalls. 

“After a while, the earth uses it entirely, all that’s left are the clothes. I wash them, repurpose them…” Ennis offered, leaning down to lift a strap of the body’s clothes with his index, insects crawling onto his arms as he did so. He brushed them off as if without having noticed their presence in the first place. The acrid smell that had intertwined itself with lavender and sweet alyssums emitted from the gaping, fleshy, rotting orifice they’d rooted themselves inside. “The soil handles the blood first, rich in nutrients, hydrating too.” the man continued explaining, patting the dirt close to the body. 

“You’d think you're selling fertilizer.” Rob interjected. 

“That’s what it is. Nature is an autocannibal, detective, she creates life to feed off of it. She’s self-sufficient. I like that.”

“Then what's with the new catch, this one looks…” he trailed off, unsure what qualifier to use. 

“His family told me he’s got a blood condition when I saw them in town. Everyone was having a wake, ‘taken too young’. He lived longer than anyone would’ve thought.”

“Is mother nature a picky eater?” Rob asked, jesting lightly as he adjusted to the scent and leaned in by Ennis to look at the life growing and thriving from the open wound. 

“No, but I am. The thought of eating sickle cell bugged me, can’t explain it.” he returned as he rose to his feet with a grunt and looked over the sunny patch of grass with eyes squinting into slits as the sun shifted in the sky and the shadows stretched in kind. 

“D’you cook the game you catch?” Robin enquired as he suddenly began to sober up to his situation. He checked his phone again. Dead. 

“Not the people. I’m no cannibal, detective. I tend a garden. I eat what comes from it. The meat I hunt is that of fox and deer.” he replied, replacing an errant support next to one of his plants. 

“Would I make a decent planter?” Robin asked, leaning on the side of the house for support as his shin bones shot waves of pain. His expression turned gravely cool, almost taunting with his calm “You know I’m no good for running.” his voice rang deep in his sternum bone.  

“I couldn’t say.” Ennis replied, with a slight grunt as he stood, facing him now with arms crossed in front of his chest. “You’re wiry, fit enough for a guy your age.” 

“I’m going to be your replacement for the new one,” he gestured with uncertainty for where the body would be kept “Wherever he is, once he’s just a pile of flannel?” he inquired again, no fear in his voice, but casual, as if asking for the time. The man in front of him tilted his head to the side, back an inch, sizing him up with his inscrutable eyes, squinting from the light and confusion, shifting the arms folded at his chest. 

“No, detective. You’re free to stay a while, if you’d like. They won’t find you here. They haven’t found me.”  Ennis’ voice turned grim, almost cooling the air, soundless. A swallow flew from tree to tree, the leaves twisting and toiling affixed to their branches, shimmering with an unknown breeze. Birds twittered and spoke to one another, and pollen floated lazily past the garden on a warm current. Clouds drifted like tanker ships far away, from their spacious blue sea in the sky. The sun hung over the house, and light crept closer to the back porch, illuminating blades of grass, turning them a lively green. Stalks some yards away swayed and twitched as a fox unseen ran through them, chasing a hare unknown. 

“When you’re all healed up, come hunting.” Ennis offered, testing the limits of the man’s collected view of a life he knew others saw as vile and evil.  

“I don’t think that’s my kind of passtime, and I’m no good with a rifle.” Rob admitted, sternness to his voice. 

“Our only lawman can’t handle a gun?” The other said, disbelief almost cutting through his cold tone. He shifted his on his feet.  

“The townsfolk who took me in accepted my technical smarts as a forgivable substitute for sharp shooting.” he winced slightly on ‘forgivable’ and paused “Circumstances being that there were no other offers and most people still wanted a detective. Not that they take any of my work to heart, they just chalk it up to the supernatural and tell me it’s out of my hands.” he finished. 

“I don’t kill with a bullet, either, not as… direct.” Ennis spoke factually. Robin sat in the grass, some feet away from the cluster of gardens, four or five of the bodies lined some distance away from the house itself. 

“Why not animals? One deer, or a lot of foxes, are bigger, more room for plant growth and less work." Rob asked. It all seemed like a wasteful system. The man’s ecological motives were not his sole reasons for his methods; madness lay in the works as well, it churned the gears of his reasoning, but his firm, rugged demeanor and stern, confident appearance and a bizarre personability lent a rational sense to his words.  

“I’ll take you on The Hunt. It’s some time away. You’ve gotten blood on your hands, but never like this.”

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Nights at the Circus: Epilogue

Fifteen years later...

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Mom! Svana’s set the den on fire!”

You and Loki reflexively threw the bed covers over yourselves, and you were barely able to rip the gag out of your mouth before your younger daughter bolted into the room in a panic. You went pale as you felt the words of your raven-haired second born settle in your brain.

“How did she do this, Thora?”

“She SNEEZED and then the curtains went up! Then she ran away so she wouldn’t get in trouble!” she replied in a panic that sounded urgent even for a seven-year-old.

Loki quickly asked, “Where did she run to?”

“To our old treehouse, I think,” said Thora, bouncing up and down on her heels urgently. 

You felt Loki’s strong, cool hand on your shoulder. You turned to him with a concerned look. “I suppose the day has come.”

He nodded. “I hope she’s ready for this…”

“I hope we’re ready for this,” you replied. 

“Do you think she’d want to talk to both of us, or--?”

You cocked your head and smiled playfully. “--Well, you could start by putting that old magic of yours to use and stopping our home from going up in flames while I find Svana? Or are you too old to remember that you have seidr?”

Loki grinned and grabbed your chin, forcing that sexy, dominating eye contact that made you stir with pleasure in even the most mundane times. “My dear, you very well know that for my hundreds of Asgardian years, I still have the spry movements of a youth in his--”

A scream came from out in the woods, loud enough that it carried all the way into the bedroom. You also could begin to smell the smoke that your daughter had inadvertently created. You and Loki shot out of bed (being sure to quickly magic some clothes on), and while Loki quickly went to douse the fire in the den, you told him to meet you outside when all was safe again. 

You knew exactly where she was, and you ran full-tilt out into the woods behind your home. Using seidr, Loki had created a large, elaborate treehouse for your children some years ago, immune from natural decay and the elements. It was large enough for one adult to fit as well as two young girls. Svana, a surprisingly introspective and quiet child given her parentage, used it when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. 

When you fell pregnant for the first time, it was a pleasant surprise for the both of you, given Loki’s uncertainty about the viability of your genes. It happened within four months of the wedding. The first discussion you’d had was how you would approach things if you had a girl, and said girl inherited your fire. In the end, you chose to keep her aware, and to use fire around her to get her used to the heat and dangers associated with the element. However, Svana’s naturally-timid personality had led her to develop some fear around the inevitable day she would reach menarche, and her flames would appear. 

Of course, when Thora was born six years later with blue Jotun skin and large, red eyes, you knew you’d likely only have to deal with the headache of your flame powers with one child. Thora was a spitting image of her daddy, and when she was born, he wept openly. Her inheritance gave Loki the chance to fully learn how to accept himself, so that he was able to teach his progeny to share in that pride. As Thora grew, Loki began to notice her showing off her budding ice powers to the children of the village below you. She, surely, would not grow up with the same shame he had. 

You ran down the path to the treehouse, which stood about forty feet of the ground, a ladder built into the trunk spiraling upward. From below, you could vaguely smell smoke and hear weeping. 

“Svana?” you called. 

“Mom?” a weak voice called in between sobs. 

“May I come up?” you asked. 

“I guess,” Svana answered, but you were already ascending the tree. Arriving at the top, you saw Svana shaking, her red braid on fire, her arms crossed tightly over her chest (as if that would somehow subdue the flames). Little bits of soot were peeling off her skin. 

“Oh, my girl,” you said reassuringly, scoping your firstborn into your tight arms. Svana squirmed a little bit. 

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

You let go of the girl quickly. Knowing that the last thing anyone wanted was for broken boundaries. 

“Svana, dear, we knew this was going to happen one day,” you began. “You know that as long as we train together, you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I don’t WANT this? What if I want to be a Jotun like Papa and Thora?” Svana suggested bitterly. 

You sighed. “You don't know this, but your father and sister have their own trials to face as Ice Giants, as do we as fire bearers. It doesn’t matter who can do what. The Realms are all unfair to people like us, who are different or misunderstood. But you have us, and Uncle Thor.”

Svana perked up at hearing Thor’s name. “You promised when this happened you’d invite him to stay with us!”

You snickered and rolled your eyes. Sometimes it seemed like your daughters loved Uncle Thor more than you, but you knew that was mainly because on the rare occasion Thor came around, he always brought presents and funny stories. When Svana picked up Mjolnir like it was a tree branch the last time he visited, everyone was astounded, and Thor promised to return when his niece came of age and received her powers to help her train with his hammer.

“I did,” you replied. “We’ll send word tonight, I promise.”

Svana nodded, calmed a little by the promise of seeing her beloved uncle. 

“And I’m guessing your period has arrived?” you continued.

 Svana blushed and nodded. “Last night. I didn’t want to tell you yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want anything to change,” Svana answered, her hot tears sending little tufts of steam off her cheek, sitting on the floor of the treehouse. You went over and sat beside her, and when you put your arm around her tiny shoulders, her smoke receded and she became whole again. 

“Well, you will just have to accept that change is everywhere,” you said. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Svana sighed. “Now what?”

You smiled. “We train. As soon as Thor arrives. You’ll learn quickly.”

“How do you even train fire?” Svana asked, confused. 

You smiled, getting to your feet, pulling up your daughter and taking her out of the other side of the treehouse, where a rope and a trapeze dangled in front of the window. “Swinging?” your baby girl said skeptically. 

You smiled knowingly. “I never told you this…but I learned to use my powers in a circus.”

Svana scoffed. “That’s dumb.”

“Oh, you just wait and see how “dumb” it is,” you replied, quickly hopping out the window onto the trapeze, delighting at the sounds of surprised squeals from Svana. 

“See?” you called, executing a small flip seamlessly and flying back toward the window. “I can teach you how to do this!”

Svana giggled, sending relief through you. “Mom! Why didn’t you tell me?? When can we start?”

-----------

Several days later, you sat in the kitchen of your humble abode, a cup of coffee in your hand, looking out of the window into the front field, where Svana was timidly trying to roll a small fireball down her arms, Thora ooh-ing and aah-ing in wonder. 

“She’s already doing well,” you heard Loki’s deep voice remarking from behind you as he entered the kitchen, hair tossed messily about his shoulders. “I daresay her capacities may even exceed ours. We may be in for some trouble.”

“A parent’s worst nightmare,” you added. You took a second tea cup from the set on the table and poured some rich black coffee into it, sliding across the table in front of Loki’s usual seat.  “But I’m thankful we’re here, away from others,” you answered. “She will be able to leave here when she’s ready, but I don’t want the wrong people getting wise to her existence or potential. After all, neither of us can lift that blasted hammer of your brother’s.”

Loki looked away for a moment, a specific former employer and adversary came to mind, one you’d never even been told about. One who was famous for stealing gifted children for his own family…but Loki pushed the thought out of his mind. He and his family were very safe here. Even a wrathful titan would be hard-pressed finding anything in these expansive woodlands. 

“When will Thor arrive?” Loki asked, sitting down across from you at the table. 

“Any time today,” you answered, recalling the letter he’d sent ahead, accepting your invitation to stay for a few weeks to show Svana how to use Mjolnir. In the letter, he’d mentioned bringing along some ‘training tools’ to aid in the process, which had made you skeptical. Loki also had no idea what Thor was implying, but neither of you wanted to press the matter further when you wanted to focus on comforting Svana and assuring jittery Thora that all was well. 

You continued. “The girls at least seem to be getting used to the adjustment,” a hint of worry in your voice.

Loki nodded and put a gentle, assuring hand over yours. “They won’t have to endure what we did,” he vowed. “That is what we promised one another on our wedding night, remember, dearest?”

You smiled at the memory of that perfect night, rolling around naked in the tall grasses under the vast expansion of stars, not being afraid to shout your pleasures into the night. Exile was never so blissful. 

“How could I forget?” you said with a seductive grin. 

But by far, your favorite part of your new life was watching Loki grow as a father to your daughters. For being the God of Mischief, former would-be-conqueror of Midgard, he was a gentle and devoted Papa. When you brought Svana into the world (after an unbearably long time in labor), he was too overwhelmed to cry or react other than with complete awe as the Vanir midwife placed the newborn in his arms. He wouldn’t let her go until the midwife insisted she needed to be nursed and practically had to pry him away. He was utterly besotted with fatherhood. 

You leaned over the table and drew Loki’s chin to your face with a finger, kissing him delicately. “I’ve been thinking, perhaps we should discuss giving the girls a little brother,” you suggested quietly. 

Loki purred, the idea of impregnating you (along with you once again growing round with his child) immediately driving him mad. “Oh, my pet, no discussion is necessary--”

Suddenly, the distinct sounds of the girls hollering in excitement drowned out your dirty thoughts of what you and Loki would do to start working on that little Lokisson. 

“Papa! He’s here! He’s landing!” called Thora. “Uncle Thor! Uncle Thor!”

The pair of you shot up, you nearly spilling your coffee. Still holding hands, you both quickly went outside and gathered the girls. “Where did he land?” you asked. “I can hear the ship, but I can’t see--?”

“Over behind the house, I think,” said Svana, pointing in that direction. 

As you all walked over, the sight before you made your heart skip a beat. 

Thor’s ship had landed indeed, but Thor had not been the only one on board. To your pleasant surprise, Steve Rogers and Wanda and Pietro Maximoff were with him, all of them smiling with anticipation upon seeing you approach. 

“Oh my god,” you smiled. “The ‘training aids’ he mentioned in his letter…”

“Oh, Thor, Thor, Thor…” Loki murmured, shaking his head, although you knew he was just as excited to see them as you were. “How does he expect us to feed and host so many?”

You put a reassuring kiss on your husband’s cool, blue cheek. “Perhaps it's our fault. We should’ve known that you can’t keep the Avengers apart for long!”

The End

Gods, where do I even begin with the thank yous and stuff? Thank you to every single reader, particularly my tag list: @huntress-artemis @el-zef​ @lokisgoodgirl​ @mochie85​ @mischief2sarawr​ @michelleleewise​ @lokisninerealms​ @toozmanykids​ @xorpsbane​ @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @goblingirlsarah @thedistractedagglomeration @unlucky-number-13

I never had people enjoy my work before, really. I wish I was more "popular" on here, but I did just join in July, so maybe I'm not doing too badly after all :) I have over 300 followers now, and this has over 5k views on AO3.

I have a concept for a new ongoing Asgardian romance in the works (it will be darker, though it won't be NEARLY this long), but in the meantime, my first attempt at a drabble festival is going to be coming up, and the call for requests is going to be popping up tomorrow!

Thank you again, to every one who enjoyed sharing in Loki and Firebird's story. Perhaps one day you'll see them again...