#and then the stone in it is actually me color picking past art I did of Silas bc why not ! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bontenten · 3 years

Text

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins!

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you.

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!”

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit.

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead.

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

519 notes · View notes

coexiising · 3 years

Text

art deco - anakin skywalker

SUMMARY ◆ You’ve been Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan for almost five years now, recieving training from one of the most brilliant Jedi Knights you have ever met. In an attempt to further your training, you and your Master take a trip to Naboo, however, it is soon revealed that your feelings will get in the way.

WARNING(S) ◆ Smut, lowkey slow burn, anakin being hot but what’s new, dirty talk, authority kink, virginity kink, bye

WORDS ◆ 7.8k and i regret nothing

NOTE ◆ I wrote this during heartbreak so this is me totally projecting

»»————-　✼　————-««

THERE WAS SOMETHING INCREASINGLY PLEASANT ABOUT BEING ON NABOO. You were quick to realize that the planet’s beauty that was always spoken about was not just a thing of rumors, and that, in fact, the place was even more beautiful than you could possibly imagine. The way that every tree hung perfectly, with it’s branches begging to be touched by a passerby, and how every single animal that grazed along it’s pastures had a sense of calm that you had never felt in all your years of living in the galaxy.

The villa along the large lake a few miles away from the main city was a thing of dreamlike structures. It’s columns held intricate pieces of wood and stone and the balconies that overlooked both water and flower fields were more welcoming than you could ever imagine. A own little touch of paradise, and you would be staying here for only a week.

The war, which you had been flung into only a few years into your training, was going on longer than anyone anticipated. The separatists were not letting up on their preposition to become a sovereign state, and the deaths of thousands mass produced clones has become a daily thing. It took a great toll on everyone involved, and more specifically the Padawan’s like yourself that were not at all prepared for this type of environment for your training. When you were just a youngling, all you expected was to go on lots of missions with your Master that would be Jedi affairs, not Republic ones. In a way, you felt as if you were being robbed of something that you weren’t quite sure how to pinpoint, an innocence in a way.

This was the Council’s way of trying to make it up to you. You knew that it wasn’t supposed to actually be a vacation, no, you were meant to keep up with your training, just in a different environment that would make you more akin with the Force. And that place was Naboo, tranquility in the form of a planet.

“I can feel your apprehension,” Your Master told you, walking in front of you up the stone stairs that came up to the front door of the place you would be staying in with him. Behind you was a ship, no one inside to accompany the two of you. To do this right, as the Council said, you were not to be distracted by anyone else, no clones, no droids, no nothing.

If only they knew that it didn’t matter if there was no one other than your Master to engage with, because Anakin Skywalker, alone, was able to distract you for hours on end if you really put your mind to it. Anakin and you were very similar in age, early adult years, and yet he had the role of Master and you were still just a Padawan. You knew that it was because of his efforts during the Battle of Geonosis at the very beginning of the war, and that alone was enough to grant him the title of Jedi Knight, but it still was awkward at points when he talked down on you, because really, he had only two years more experience in life than you did.

You did what you were told. You always did. As a youngling you had a temper, a rebellious streak that for a time was almost concerning for the Council and the Master’s that taught you. And yet, here you were, a respectful young Jedi. Over the years you have grown, probably more than any other youngling that the Order has ever seen. It was like overnight somehow you turned from a child to a young woman, and you were adamant about completing your studies so that you could become a Jedi Knight. Those plans, however, got incredibly tainted with the war, and then with the introduction of you and your Master. It was a rather uncalled for pairing. You were hoping for someone like Master Yoda to take you as his Padawan or even for master Plo Koon, yet it was wildly noted that you were picked by Anakin Skywalker yourself. A rather odd thing and he still hasn’t told you completely why.

Anakin was not entirely a man of secrets. You could ask him things about almost anything and he would tell you. The only thing that he kept guarded in the deepest parts of his mind was things of his past, and his reasoning behind making such vast decisions like taking on a Padawan during a large civil war. But you and Anakin still managed to be very close, the Force growing strong between both of you as if it too agreed in your compatibility.

You shook your head, immediately refuting his accusations. “No, it’s not apprehension,” you told him, eyes coming up to meet the back of his head since he wasn’t looking at you. “Just concern, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Your Master questioned. The second that his foot came up to the top of the stairs, his figure turned around and faced you, those bold, blue eyes of his racing to meet your own. “If you have any doubts about anything, tell me, I am your Master after all.”

That’s exactly that problem, you thought to yourself, making sure that your mental shields were up to guard it. That was the last thing that you needed, for him to know the things that you wished to push down into the darkest depths of your mind. That was the Jedi way, after all, keep all those emotions that were considered dangerous and a path to the dark side in a little cage in your mind and throw away the key. The thought of simply just being with him here alone made your brain almost electrify yourself, thinking about all the possibilities of slipping up and revealing all your emotions towards your Master directly to him. It was something to fear, and yet you were not allowed to fear.

You offered him the fakest smile that you could muster, saying, “Yes, Master, I’m alright. Let’s just get inside, it’s almost dark.” The setting sun was directly to your back, illuminating him in front of you like he was something to be marvelled at. And to your defense, Anakin Skywalker was definitely something to be marvelled at. His chiseled cheeks only looked more distinguished in the golden light, along with his dark brown hair that seemed to catch it just right. It made you feel weak in the knees, these thoughts of him, and you knew it was wrong to think of him in such ways - but you just couldn’t stop. Every time you tried to vilify him in your mind, another reason why you should love popped right back up in its place. It was a deadly cycle that you have shamelessly fallen victim to, and there was nothing that you could do to stop it or further this attraction. It was forbidden.

The moment that you stepped into the building, a sigh left your lips, eyes taking in all your surroundings. It was marvellous. There were marbled stone floors that were covered in rugs in some places, plush couches in the middle of the room, and off to the side were the counters of the kitchen, all looking as if no one had ever stepped foot in here. Suddenly you felt out of place here, like you weren’t good enough to live in such a lavish way. After all, your temple rooms were nothing compared to this. They were bland, sandy and brown colors everywhere. Only a dresser with a small mirror and a bed were in it. Yet here, there were different hues of reds, greens, and blues, tables and chairs and fancy lamps, and plants that added almost another dimension to the already breathtaking house.

“It’s - It’s,” You started, not able to find the correct words for what you were trying to say.

Luckily, Anakin finished your sentence, “Breathtaking. It’s breathtaking.”

You turned to look back at him, taking in his features for just a moment more.

Breathtaking, you thought to yourself. Yes, everything here is just breathtaking.

The soft silks of your bed sheets rolled between your fingers, tempting you to lay into bed and never get back up. How on Earth were you supposed to keep training when you were living like this? You could imagine yourself, not as a Jedi but as a normal person, eating wild berries as you sat on your bed near the balcony, looking towards the horizon and not having one single worry in that head of yours. It was tantalizing, the perfect picture in your mind of what you wished to be.

“You think too loud.”

You spun around to only be met with your Master, who was leaning against your doorframe effortlessly. A heat rose up to your cheeks, realizing that you hadn’t been taking the proper precautions of keeping those thoughts only to yourself. They were just little flings of ideas, nothing too brash that could get you into any trouble. “Sorry, Master, I shouldn’t have been thinking of slacking off when we have work to do in the coming days.”

A chuckle escaped his lips from deep within his chest. “It’s okay, Y/N, really, if I am being honest, I was thinking the same not too long ago.”

That was shocking news to you. You always thought that Anakin always wanted to be on the run, as if this trip that he had to take with you was annoying to him because he had to take time away from the front lines of the war. But it also made sense, even victorious war generals get tired sooner or later. Perhaps you didn’t know him as much as you thought that you did. This trip wasn’t just for you, it was for the both of you. It was good to go back to basics, remember the first feelings of the force and go from there.

“And here I was thinking that you didn’t want to be here,” You mused.

Your Master laughed at your jest. “No, quite the opposite. It’ll be nice to take a step back from life for a little bit and get some much needed rest.”

“I didn’t know that General Skywalker knew what rest meant,” You continued on your playful banter.

“I don’t,” He chuckled. “Maybe you can teach me?”

Now that sends you through a loop. You knew that he was probably just playing around with you, since you were teasing him a little bit. But that sentence was enough for that place in your mind to unlock all the fantasies you had in your head about him, the ones that you only dared touch when you knew you were alone and it was the dead of night so no was there to read them. You held yourself back from becoming flustered, knowing the moment you showed any signs of it that he would know that something was up. Instead you simply nodded your head, taking your eyes off of him to the balcony that was open to your room, seeing the way that the moonlight illuminated the waves of the water. “Perhaps after training tomorrow, we could go by the water?” You asked him.

“Sure thing,” Anakin said, turning on his heel and making his way out of your room. You took a sigh of relief at his absence, not because you wanted him gone, but because seeing him in such a leisurely setting was starting to get to your head. That dizzy feeling that got to your head every time you looked at him for too long started to subside, and you were left with only your thoughts as you put away some robes you packed for the stay.

The moment that your head hit the soft, plush pillow of your large bed, you were completely enveloped by sleep. In your dreams you only saw you and Anakin, happy and smiling in the gracious flower fields of Naboo, preparing meals together half dressed in the kitchen, and falling asleep in each other's arms. It was so real and lifelike that when you woke up in the morning, you felt as if you had awoken from an alternate universe.

Anakin didn’t know what he was doing.

Of course he was excited to be able to take a break from the long, withheld war between the Republic and the Separatists, but at the same time he knew that being alone with you was going to be a struggle for him. Anakin loved to train you, he really did. You were a loyal Padawan to the Order and was eager to learn the ways of the Force by his instruction. He knew the moment that he saw you that he wanted to train you. But he hadn’t prepared for him to become so emotionally attached to you, and it was tearing the young Jedi apart.

It was incredibly taboo of him to gain these feelings for two reasons. One: the Jedi were forbidden from attachment. And although Anakin hadn’t been known for following all the rules of the Jedi, he knew that attachment could possibly lead to dark places if he wasn’t careful. Two: you were his Padawan. It may have been different if you were within the same ranks as him, but you were not. He was supposed to be your teacher, and there was no way that he would take advantage of his position of power over you if you were not willing.

He, too, was having doubts about this vacation. Anakin almost asked his First in Command, Rex, if he would accompany the two Jedi for the week, but there was too much going on for the clone to take time off. So it was just you and him, alone in this house on this beautiful planet. Anakin was uneasy up until the moment he walked in your room last night when for a half a second he could sense your aura from the Force, and it was also uneasy about being with him alone. It was strange, since you were clearly hiding these thoughts from him with your mental shields whenever you were around him. But the moment he left you alone, those shields came down.

“Don’t think about keeping yourself up, the Force will do that on it’s own as long as you keep the connection with it. Focus on the rocks,” Anakin told you, walking around you in circles as you were in a handstand, mentally bringing up some rocks off the ground and stacking them off to your side. This was generally a lesson that a youngling would be given, though it was a good mental exercise. And in Anakin’s opinion: it was way better than meditating. “Feel it flow through you, allow it to take you over and become one with it.” These were the same things that Master Obi-Wan had taught him.

It was a bright, sunny day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as the time reached a little bit past noon. Training outside in the fields of Naboo were easier than doing so at the Jedi Temple, considering there was more nature that was akin to all aspects of the force. And the sun felt good on both of your skin, smelling the natural air that had a fluorescent scent to it rather than the smog and industrial life of Coruscant.

Your muscles were beginning to strain from underneath you as your head tilted to the side, watching all the rocks fall into place to your left. Even though the Force provided much needed relief on your arms, they were beginning to let out. There was one more rock for you to move and it was the smallest one, a tiny little pebble that needed to go on the top. It was such a small mass, yet with all of this mental and physical strain, it felt like a boulder to move across the air slowly with your mind. All you wanted was for Master Skywalker to feel proud of you. You wanted to see that smile on his face as you lifted that last pebble up and was allowed to finish your studies for the day.

The more you concentrated, the more you could feel the Force flow right through you. It could be felt in the tingling of your palms, sending vibrations towards the center of your chest while your blood flowed. Almost more importantly, you could feel Anakin’s eyes on you, waiting patiently for you to make your next move. Slowly, but surely, the little pebble made its way towards the top of the stacked rocks. Your eyes widened with joy, but immediately squinted back up when it shook a tiny bit. The moment that the bottom of it hit the top, you released your much concentrated attachment with the Force, and allowed yourself to fall seamlessly to the ground. The blood rushed back to your head, making your eyes darken to adjust. Once you could see again, you saw Anakin standing over you, that grin you had looked forward to seeing on his face.

“Not bad, Padawan,” He said in an appealing tone, extending a hand to help you up to your feet. You were quick to take it, ignoring the way that your heart soared as your skin touched against his skin. “We should go back to the house.” He almost turned and began walking away, but you scrunch your nose up and kept his hand in a tight grip, prompting him to look right back at you with a confused look. “What’s up?”

“You promised we could go to the water afterwards,” You told him, hoping that you were jogging his memory from last night.

But you didn’t need to jog Anakin’s memory, because he had been thinking about it ever since you asked. Thinking about having to watch you submerge under the water and come back up, drops of clear blue dripping down your exposed shoulders, and keeping himself from doing something that he would most likely regret when you would reject him, scolding him for his thinking. He thought about the way he wanted to put his hands on your hips and pull you as close as you possibly could get to him, taking the opportunity to pepper kisses along your smooth skin. It killed him to think that you probably didn’t think the same way about him, it was going to goddamn tear him apart.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to go back on his promise to you. It was the least he could do after thinking such sinful things about you. Anakin’s gave you a nod and walked beside you on the short trail to the large lake. You could hear the water ripple towards the small shoreline, coming up and then receding back again in a timely fashion. You kicked off your shoes, deciding that your tank top and pants were okay to get wet, especially since you wouldn’t take the risk of undressing in front of Anakin. As much as the thought was tempting, you knew better than to test your luck. Anakin watched with intensity as you got into the water, going deep enough to where only the tops of your shoulders and up were exposed. Maker, he cursed himself, did you have to look so good barely doing anything?

You cocked your head to the side. “Well . . . are you going to get in or just stare at me?” You asked, immediately submerging yourself under the water to ignore what he had to say about your teasing. Your heart thumped profusely as you sat there under the water holding your breath. Anakin had been looking at you.

He mentally cursed himself once again, taking his shoes off and following you into the water. It did feel good, the water having an almost calming effect over him as he walked deeper in the lake. He looked around him, taking in the appearance of all the beautiful trees that lined up, beautiful fruit hanging off of the branches. Little flowers were along the bay, facing right towards him as if they were welcoming him to their home.

The sun spilled harsh rays along his skin, causing Anakin to dip his head down fully into the water. Once he came back up for air, his eyes shifted over to you, both of you holding a type of eye contact that you swore almost knocked your breath out. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, like he was looking right into your soul and you to his, a sense of desire burning a pit in your stomach. Feeling exposed, you shifted your gaze to the fish swimming in the water near you. You could still feel his eyes on you, in them holding truths that he wished to tell you, but being unable to put the words together to explain.

“There’s something that you’re not telling me.”

Your eyes opened at your Master’s voice and looked directly at him. You had been meditating on your bed before sleeping, knowing that you hadn’t gotten the necessary amount of meditating that you needed for the day. At the temple they usually kept you on some kind of schedule, though here with Anakin rules were a little - no, more loose than normal.

Anakin once again stood in your doorframe, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed in, like he didn’t feel like he had a place stepping into your bedroom. You searched his face to gauge a feeling for what he was talking about, looking for hints of mischief or anger. There was nothing, his face was completely blank, almost too blank like he was hiding something from you.

You knew you had nothing to hide - or at least nothing that he should know about. “I don’t know what you mean, Master,” You replied, uncrossing your legs from their criss cross position and hugging them close to your chest. “Have I done something wrong?”

That answer seemed to not satisfy him, because for a moment something flickered in his eyes. “No, nothing like that,” He told you, furrowing his brows together and taking a tentative step closer into your room. “It’s just, I get this feeling when I’m around you. Your force signature . . . like something is just gnawing at you and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Oh, you were screwed. Alarms blared in your mind, thinking about how you had let your thoughts run too much during this trip. All the worst outcomes of this came to your mind, like how he would laugh at your growing feelings towards him, how much you wanted him almost shamelessly. It made your stomach twist into several knots, wanting to bury yourself into a hole and never ever come out of it again.

Your face and the Force must’ve told it all, because he spoke again, saying, “There. Right there. I can feel it, Y/N. Just talk to me. What is going on?” Your bottom lip quivered, knowing that there was no way you were getting out of this. This was it. The day you had been dreading and hoping didn’t come. Everything was about to come crash down onto your life.

“I can’t,” You said in a low voice, shifting your weight to sit at the edge of the bed, putting your head into your hands and staring down at the plush carpet in an attempt to get away from his stare. Almost as if you thought if you looked away long enough, he would suddenly disappear.

“What do you mean ‘you can’t’? You’re my Padawan, you can tell me anything.”

Padawan. The title felt foreign in your mind now. It was something that you knew you couldn’t hold onto for much longer once the truth was out. You would be stripped of it and be a Jedi no more. The council would hear of your feelings and immediately expel you. Padawan. Padawan. Padawan. The more the word bounced around in your mind the more you felt tears welling up into your eyes.

And you didn’t mean to sound so harsh when you said it, but your hands were balling up into fists as you said, “That’s what’s wrong!” Your head tilted up, seeing that Anakin had walked closer to you, towering over your frame. His face showed confusion, not understanding what you were alluding to. He didn’t even have to say it, but his expression was saying explain.

How could you even begin?

You were wordless.

“Please . . . I just want to help you,” Anakin told you, his hand coming to grab onto your forearm. The touch felt like hot coals on your body, scorching your soul. “I don’t like seeing you like this.” Which you knew translated to I don’t like not knowing how to fix it.

“It’s you,” You confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

For a moment, Anakin thought that he had stepped into some parallel universe. Or that this was some sort of prank let on by someone else. There was no way that this was happening, you were confessing. You had been thinking about him, probably as much as he was thinking about you. It felt as if the world had turned on its axis and was spinning the opposite direction.

You, on the other hand, was waiting for the words that never came. You expected him to immediately tell you that he was going to report you to the Council. And yet, he stood there, almost looking as dumbfounded as you did, maybe even more. This prompted you to stand up, his hand falling down and getting dangerously close to your own.

“I know . . .” You started again, seeing as he wasn’t going to say anything. “I know that it’s wrong, that I shouldn’t be thinking of you in the ways that I am. But I can’t stop, Anakin, you consume me.”

The usage of his name snapped him back to reality and out of his own spinning thoughts, and hearing it come from specifically your lips was not helping his frame of mind. It sounded . . . different coming from your mouth. Like you were saying it like a praise rather than just a passing phrase like most people did. He wanted you to say it over and over again, repeating it like a mantra you were to speak or you would die if you didn’t. His eyes flickered into your own and saw how scared you were of how he would react and how he was definitely not helping to settle your nerves.

In truth, he didn’t know how to handle this situation. After all, this was not a lesson that had been given to him and he was definitely not in the best place to tell you anything, since his emotions were starting to cloud his judgement and all he could think was how he wished to tell you he felt the same way.

You waited for his response, getting impatient and wanting to just get this over with. You were waiting for the words he was supposed to say.

But Anakin didn’t always do the things he was supposed to do.

“You and I both know that forming attachments isn’t allowed,” Anakin said. “And yet I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

A visible look of shock washed over your face, mouth opening slightly and eyes widening, heart pounding against your ribcage. His hand reached down and grabbed your own, fingertips softly touching the palm of your hand. This felt like a dream. Were you sure that you weren’t dreaming? No, this was definitely real. Anakin was in front of you for sure, confessing that he was feeling the exact same way.

Anakin tipped his head down to meet your own, his breath fanning along your face, making you shiver. Your breath hitched in your throat, his lips brushing against your own, almost like he was testing you. You could feel the tips of his hair tickling against your forehead, nose against nose. You were so close. The hand on your own was grasping now, pulling your body close to his. And the two of you sat there, lips millimeters close while each of your minds buzzed with the feeling of doing something so daring.

You felt yourself going mad, you couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t wait. All of your feelings erupted inside of your throat and suddenly you were kissing him, lips smashing against his own with no care in the world. You didn’t care about the Council, the Code . . . anything. All you cared about was Anakin, wanting as much of him that he was willing to give you.

You had never really kissed anyone before. There was a moment back when you were only ten and you were with another youngling, seeing one of the citizens of Coruscant kissing each other on the street. Interested in what they were doing, you and your friend kissed, thinking that it was weird and dismissing it. That had been your first kiss, a rather embarrassing one, but it was nothing compared to the way Anakin kissed you. He kissed you like there was a purpose to every single move of his muscles. He kissed you like you were forbidden fruit and he was starving.

His other hand came up to the back of your neck, tangling in your hair and keeping your face close to his. For just a moment his tongue slipped into your mouth and you made a small sound, butterflies swarming in your stomach. You tried to mimic what he was doing, going with your instincts and grasping onto his bicep, feeling the taut muscles under your touch.

Everything about yours and his actions were needy and hungry, wanting each other with such need that you had pushed down for so long. All of it seemed to come out of you like crashing waves. The kissing was nice, though after a while you needed more, you were dying for more of him. Please, Anakin, you thought.

What do you want, Padawan? He asked through his thoughts to you, hand coming to caress your face to look down at you. You looked into those big, blue eyes of his that never ceased to awaken something within you.

“You, Anakin, I want you,” You whispered to him, as if someone was going to hear if you talked too loud. “Please.” You thought that you probably sounded like someone desperate, and in a way you were, you had waited for this forever and had convinced yourself that it would never happen. But he thought the exact opposite, he marvelled in the way that you looked at him, wanting to show you how much you truly meant to him. The attraction and lust was there, intermingled with something more that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

He didn’t hesitate to give you what you wanted, slowly inching you towards the bed and helping you rest on your back, the silk sheets against the back of your arms and neck. Anakin was quick to follow, climbing on top of you and connecting his lips onto the skin right below your jaw. His lips were soft like snowflakes falling onto your skin, creating a masterpiece on your skin like you were his canvas. It all felt too good, the Force heightening the sensations to an almost unbearable amount. It sent shockwaves to your core, igniting a feeling you often only felt during the late hours of the night.

Seeing how well your body responded to him, well, almost drove Anakin crazy. You were so willing, so ready for him that his mind became cloudy, the only thing he could make out was his thoughts of you. Nothing about the war, the Council, the fact that he was your Master . . . It all blew away with the wind. His lips trailed down from your jaw to your neck, paying extra attention to the places that made you breath out more than the others. Your hands found their respective place in his hair, feeling the softness of the dirty blonde curls between your fingers.

Your clothes suddenly felt foreign on your body, you wanted them off, you wanted his off so that you could see all of him. He seemed to hear your thoughts, humming against your skin and pulling away, pressing a soft, firm kiss to your lips and helping you get out of them, and in turn you helped him get out of his.

Anakin’s body was like nothing you imagined. He was breathtaking. You knew that he had a nice body because of all the training and countless amounts of physical strain he has been through, but looking at those abs that he had, along with the sun kissed skin he had, you felt your throat close up, feeling inferior to what he looked like. “You’re beautiful, Y/N,” He spoke to your thoughts. “Don’t ever think that you’re not.” And you believed him.

His hands came to your hips, fingers toying with the fabric of your underwear that was the only thing blocking him from seeing you fully. His eyes scanned you, taking in the sheer and utter beauty before him. He wanted to kiss, lick, and nip on every single inch of skin on you. He wanted to learn each and every single curve, hear every story behind your scars, and know just what touches would have you squirming from underneath him.

No one has seen you this exposed before. You didn’t know whether or not to feel embarrassed, because he seemed to know what he was doing. It was not that you had taken the Jedi code to heart, but you simply hadn’t known anyone that you found enough to take that last piece of innocence from you - no one except Master Skywalker. And only now did you actually realize what was going to happen.

Your whole body felt hot, needing to feel the release that was beginning to build up from all of his kisses and your imagination running its course. “Anakin,” You breathed out, not knowing how to form into words what you wanted from him. Of course he knew, he could feel your force signature morph into something almost sinful, something he was sure he was emitting himself. After all, neither of you were hiding anything anymore. He knew exactly what he was going to do to you so that he could hear the plethora of moans that he knew you had just for him, wanting to hear his name come off of your lips in pleasure.

His head ducked down and kissed your hipbone, fingers hooking under your underwear and slowly sliding them off. Your eyes stayed on his actions, mouth forming into an ‘O’ when you realized what he was going to do. He was going to use his mouth on you. These were only things that you thought in your deepest, darkest fantasies, like he had reached into those parts of your mind and did exactly what you wanted.

As if Anakin was just tempting you, he pressed another slow kiss to the inside of your thigh and then did the same thing to the other side. Your hips lifted up only slightly, showing him that you couldn’t wait much longer. A chuckle left him, eyes reaching your own and saying, “Eager?” You weren’t even ashamed when you shook your head, keeping eye contact with him as he licked a bold stripe right up your slit. It felt as if an earthquake hit your body, your back arching and hands gripping onto his hair.

He hummed against you, liking the way that you responded to his actions. If he had it his way, he would sit here with you like this for hours on end, bringing you up to that high place again and again until you were a wrecked mess before him. It made him simply go crazy to think that he was the first person to ever do this to you, that he would be the first of anyone to hear those moans and profanities that slipped from your cherry kissed lips. Anakin’s own thoughts made him groan out, a noise that you played on repeat in your mind as your eyes screwed closed.

Your thighs quivered beside his face, attempting to squeeze shut so that you could keep him there forever. But his hands came and held them in place, fingers digging into your muscles that gave in to his touch like it was nothing. You were putty in his hands, the only movement you had was your hands pulling on his hair and the arch of your back while he lapped his tongue against you with no mercy.

“Stay still,” He told you, pulling away for a moment to lick what was left of you on his lips. You nodded, chest heaving and heart sinking at the loss of contact. But Anakin didn’t leave for long, his mouth on your clit accompanied with one of his fingers circling your entrance. You nearly lost it when he dipped his middle finger in experimentally, gauging your reaction. You could feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten, which only amplified once his finger pushed into you all the way.

You didn’t even attempt to try and censor the obscenities that came out of your mouth, mixed in rhyme with his name. Anakin. Anakin. Anakin. It was the only word that felt real in your mind.

You waited for that final jump towards a euphoric end, but it never came. Instead Anakin pulled away from you and his fingers left, making you feel uneasily empty. Opening your eyes, you saw that he was pulling down his boxers, taking his cock into his hands and watching as you almost became slack jawed - realizing what was about to happen. A moment of worry nestled its way into your mind, making your heart thump. If anyone was to find out, you would surely not be accepted back into the Order. You would never be able to have Anakin again. Jedi were not to fear, and yet here you were, fearing that you would lose the one person that you cared about - the only one you knew cared about you.

It was your moment to choose. You knew that if you backed out, at least you would be able to work under him still and not have his affections. It would be better than never seeing him again. And yet, you couldn’t see your life without him, all of him. Not just the side that was your Master.

Anakin sensed your worry, taking your chin in his hands so that you looked up at him. “Are you sure?” He asked you, not wanting to move forward before you were ready. And God, were you ready.

And with all the courage that you mustered up, you gave him a small smile and said, “Yes.” You felt like you were flinging yourself off of some sort of cliff, or even more sinfully feeling like you were Persephone, cutting up her own slice of pomegranate and looking right into Hades eyes as she tasted the fruit, securing your fate that you would stay with him. You would stay with Anakin, even if it was only for this night.

He nestled between your legs and you could feel his tip press against your entrance. Air was caught in your lungs, sitting up on your elbows so that you could see as he eased himself into you. A sting of pain and a subtle feeling of pleasure was seated inside of you, watching as his cock be enveloped by you inch by inch. Anakin hissed at the feeling, you were so goddamn tight and he never wanted to stop from being inside of you. Once all of him was inside, he leaned over so his head was in the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss to your searing skin as you adjusted to him bottoming out.

You urged him to continue, thinking that the discomfort would soon go away with time. And you were eager to get all of him that you could, temptation coming forward instead of reason. He pulled out all the way then eased himself back in, continuing the slower pace and watching your reaction before him, your hands reaching to his back and finding their place there. One of his hands kept your legs open, taking you by your thigh and hoisting it up.

It took all that he could muster to not just ram into you, the want starting to cloud his judgment. The Force felt as if it was pushing both you and him towards each other, the connection almost driving each of you crazy. “You feel . . .” He started. “You feel so good.” That alone, along with the raspiness in his voice, made a fire erupt in your stomach. You sighed in response, eyes fluttering closed once again.

And then, much to his surprise, you whispered, “Go faster, Anakin.” You needed him so bad you felt like you were going to explode, lust enveloping the both of you and intertwining with your Force energies.

He didn’t need to be told twice, and he gripped onto the leg he lifted up, beginning a slightly faster rhythm that had you arching your neck and eyes rolling to the back of your head. Anakin was so big, stretching you out in just the right way that had you almost keeling over if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. Your one leg wrapped along his waist, heel digging into his back while his pace increased.

This angle he had you in made you yelp and moan shamelessly, not caring if people all the way in the capital could hear you as you yelled his name like a prayer. His pace finally became a fast rhythm and you found comfort in being to finally feel nothing but pleasure with every deep stroke he made.

In this place, it was only you and him. Like you were in your own little place of paradise where you could explore each other in every way. There was nothing that could take this moment from you or him, this moment would forever be engraved in your mind for many years to come, remembering the way that he moaned out your name and the way he looked when you opened your eyes to peek at his face. His brows were furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead and mouth spilled open saying nothing but your name.

He made you feel so good, so euphoric that the fire grew and grew, becoming a wildfire raging inside of you. And you looked so heavenly to him, the way that your eyes only looked at him, breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust he gave you. You took him so well, like you were made for only him. His hips brushed against your own, hand coming up to caress your cheek, forcing you to look at him in the eyes.

You weren’t going to last much longer. Not with the way that he was pounding into you with sheer force you didn’t know was possible until now. But you didn’t want this to end, you never wanted this to end in fear that things would go back to the way they were before. You would have to try and forget that this ever happened. It wasn’t something you wanted to do and didn’t even know if you had the strength to do it. After this moment both of you would be connected.

You made a guttural noise, teetering over the edge of what felt like a wave of bliss. This was it, there was no way that you could keep yourself from it now. It only took a singular deep stroke of his cock to send you right over the edge, your back arching and body spasming, his name rolling off of your tongue in the most sinful way you have ever said it before. Your hands gripped for any part of him that you could reach, groping his muscles to keep him close to you. He didn’t stop moving inside of you, making you ride it out even harder as he chased his own high.

You were so sensitive as he fucked into you, giving you no mercy. He groaned as you came, watching the way that your eyes screwed shut and mouth opening in as you sucked in harsh breaths. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you and you knew that he was close, wondering if he was going to cum inside of you or pull out before he did. He did the latter, taking one more deep stroke before pulling out. Anakin was about to start stroking himself with his hand but you rushed with your own to meet him there, using your own and pumping a few times.

A string of profanities came from his lips as he came, white hot liquid spurting onto your stomach, dripping like beads coating your skin. He had no shame as he shuddered, muscles flexing with every passing second. He drank in your body, seeing how wet you were for him, how soft your hand was on his cock, how much he longed to see you like this more times before you and him left back for the war. And soon enough he was finished, the only thing between both of you was both of your panting breaths.

Anakin moved to grab something on the floor, realizing that it was the shirt he had on before and moving to wipe your stomach off, dropping it to the floor and coming to lay down next to you. You winced for a moment as you moved to look at him, his own eyes staring at the ceiling. You were scared of what was to come next, if there was anything that was supposed to come next. You knew that the two of you couldn’t be together, at least openly, though it was even risky to continue doing something like this in private.

“Anakin,” You called out to him, forcing him to look at you. “What will happen next?”

“I don’t know, Y/N, I don’t know,” He responded. All he knew was that he wanted you, again and again. In the domestic moments and in the explicit ones like before. You were so tantalizing, and he realized now that because he had tasted the forbidden fruit that was you, he would never be able to stop. There was simply no way that he would be able to conceal his want for you from you anymore.

You waited for his answer, knowing that it would probably be one you didn’t want to hear. But for the second time this evening, Anakin surprised you again.

He leaned over and kissed you.

And you knew his answer from that.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin smut #star wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars smut

825 notes · View notes

dredshirtroberts · 3 years

Text

Constellations

on AO3!

Rating: M / Lime Pair: Eskel/Geralt Summary: Eskel loves Geralt but their soulmarks don't match - he'd know. They're witchers, and scars are their business. As he joins Geralt in retirement, Eskel figures whatever he can get with the other witcher will be enough. He might get a little bit more than he thought he was bargaining for, but Eskel's never passed up a good deal.

My entry into the @eskelbigbang. Trying something new for posting fic so bear with me. Check out the awesome art by @dat-carovieh on their tumblr and twitter @ LupisLionstooth!

Eskel growled a little as he stumbled off the path, clutching the wound on his side. The scar on his face creased with his snarl as he collapsed into a tree. He hated being wounded. The blood loss was greater than normal and his vision swam as he tried to push forward. The horse beside him whickered softly at him as he tripped. A loose stone, probably—or at least he hoped. If there were nothing in the path that would be worse. That would mean he was worse off than he’d thought.

He needed to keep going. He had an appointment to make.

"You should meet me in Novigrad,” Geralt had said over cards last winter. They were several glasses of his horrible wine in (it wasn’t horrible, Eskel loved it, but he loved picking on Geralt more—loved making his nose wrinkle with irritation, and Eskel did prefer ale over wine but the wine made at Corvo Bianco was alright and, best of all, free) and having a quiet evening.

Most of their evenings together were quiet these days. How long had they lived now? How many of their friends were lost to the passage of time?

Lambert never stayed, preferring the road. They both dreaded his never returning but after the loss of his soulmate—the Cat Witcher that Geralt had helped avenge—he’d never been quite the same.

Ciri had grown up, grown into herself. She’d had a longer than average lifespan from her Elven blood, but she stayed with Yennefer more often than not, and had become a strong woman and mage in her own right. Yennefer, for her part, came and visited infrequently, lost often in her own research and pursuits.

Geralt’s bard, Dandelion, had retired from traveling, had owned a bar, had been a professor at Oxenfurt, and then, eventually, had passed in time from an old life lived long and lived well. Their other friends were either distant or dead.

So, things were quiet.

“Why would I meet you in Novigrad? I’m here?” Eskel had asked.

Geralt had rolled his eyes, “I mean when you’re not here. Back on the Path. We should meet in Novigrad. It’s a mid-point between here and your normal territory. And the biggest bookshop on the Continent.”

It was a tempting offer. And it wasn’t really like Eskel was going to refuse. They’d just never planned to meet before. Geralt had retired from the Path years ago, staying at his winery or traveling to meet his friends but never hunting monsters. Not that there were many monsters to find these days as it was. Eskel’s coin purse had been light for years, the only saving grace was Geralt’s hospitality during the winters, and his generosity with the funds that came in from the winery.

“Alright. Why?”

“Because I miss you when you’re out, dumbass,” Geralt groused with another eyeroll, the bite in his words sour and reminiscent of their younger brother-in-all-but-blood. The quick twitch of the corner of his mouth down and the tightness near his eyes belied the sincerity behind the words, however.

“Aww, I miss you too,” Eskel batted his eyes at Geralt sweetly, teasing, “Alright sure. I’ll meet you in Novigrad. When?”

Eskel was supposed to have been there days ago. But the contract he had been on was not only longer than anticipated but a larger beast as well. A more vicious one. And now he was injured and trying to make his way to Novigrad to meet Geralt.

He needed to meet Geralt there. He missed the man, his closest friend for the past century and a half, his only family. The closest thing Eskel would get to having his soulmate.

They didn’t talk about their marks. They used to. Before the Trials. Before everything had changed.

They were very young, the first time it had been brought up among their year group. Ten boys huddled around comparing the discolored skin that showed the closest their mate would ever come to death and recover from. They were in nothing but their smallclothes, sitting in a circle in one of the dorm rooms of Kaer Morhen and lit by only the fire in the hearth that kept the room warm in the cold nights.

Eskel’s mark was a series of dots on his arm, black-purple like bruises, peppered in regular intervals, dark lines running deep into his skin, touching the veins that brought blood to his hands, peppered in at the crook of his elbow. It was remarked by one that they were like stars—a description Eskel held onto for many years, even onto the Path itself, the constellations of Destiny drawing him to the match to his soul. Some boys had dark red patches on their chests, deep shadows of wounds-that-weren’t-yet slicing through their legs, their arms, their stomachs. One boy, Gweld, had a pale line running right across his throat.

Geralt’s was the biggest. A swath of pink skin from hips to shoulders, like he was flayed open and a new patch was sewn on in a slightly wrong color. Eskel’s heart hurt to see it. He liked Geralt best of the other boys, he wasn’t too loud when Eskel wanted to read, exchanged stories of knights and chivalry and wanting to be a hero with Eskel. And they of course got up to much mischief together, which Eskel always appreciated. To see him marked like that, to know that whoever Geralt’s soul was promised to would have to survive something that bad, was painful.

Eskel and the other boys knew Geralt’s soulmate was a Witcher. It was obvious. No one else would survive an injury that large, that deep.

Vesemir had caught them that night, scowling and barking to get back into their beds, that they’d all have kitchen duty in the morning and for the next week after for being out of bed so late. The boys had complained, whining as they got into their bunks.

The outline of Geralt’s soulmark was etched into Eskel’s mind for a long while after. Forever, really.

They’d discussed their respective marks privately at other times. Osbert had caught them out once, poking and prodding at one another, wondering what the cause of their marks would be, speculating on when they’d meet their soulmates. Would it be before they’d gotten the scars that would be representative of the marks on their bodies? Would it be after? What scars would they acquire and how would they show up on their soulmates?

Osbert had seen their marks. Saw Geralt’s and nodded, his eyes sad but knowing. Then he’d seen Eskel’s. The look on his face was one that Eskel wasn’t able to parse at the time, but as he looked back on the memory in later years, he realized it was devastated.

Eskel didn’t know what caused him to feel that way until he was strapped to the table during the Trials, mages and Witchers alike hovering over him. One of the mages had seen his arm, had nudged another beside him and said, “Look, this one already has where the needles go on his arm. Nearly labeled and everything.”

The laughter that had passed between the two mages frightened Eskel, but not more than the knowledge that his mate, the soul that matched his soul, the one that Destiny herself had picked for him, would go through the Trials, and that would be the worst thing they would survive. Would they die? On the table? He knew it was a possibility but…

Would he die before meeting his soulmate? That hurt worse, the thought of leaving his soulmate to the world without knowing what happened to Eskel. His brain raced through all the injuries he knew he’d acquired since coming to Kaer Morhen—which one was the worst one? Which one brought him closest to death? Which would be the mark on his mate’s body if he died on the table, chemicals and reagents and mutagens pouring into his bloodstream, changing his body?

For the first time in his life, he wondered if his soulmate would fear him after he became a Witcher, if he survived. And as the needles pierced his skin, their caustic, toxic mixtures seeping into him and altering him irrevocably, he cried.

Eskel, of course, had survived the Trials.

Geralt had, as well. Not easily, though. He’d been chosen for additional mutagens, extra tests, further Trials. Once-auburn hair that shone blood-red in the sunshine was snow-white. His skin was death-pale, and shadows seemed perpetually under his eyes. He had been unconscious when they’d brought him back up to the dorms, and Eskel had sat by his bed as often as he could, watching, waiting for his friend to wake up.

If he’d checked Geralt’s arms for the marks that still lay purple-bruised on his own, darker now with the pinpricks of the needles that had actually entered his arm, well… They weren’t there. His arms were as clear as the sky on a summer day. It was as if the Trials had not happened to him. Eskel knew that Witchers healed quickly, that the marks on his arm—the one’s he’d acquired, not the ones he’d been born with—would disappear shortly. But to see Geralt who had gone through more with nothing had…

Had…

Eskel hadn’t realized until that moment how much he desperately wanted Geralt to be his soulmate, until he had been so devastated by the undeniable truth that he wasn’t.

Eskel collapsed on the ground, the world shifting on its axis as he blinked foggy blurriness from his eyes. The horse behind him had stopped obediently. Geralt had trained him well, of course. Eskel didn’t expect otherwise from a man who had trained every single horse he had ever ridden—even if he did end up calling them all Roach.

He wasn’t going to make it to Novigrad.

It was the last coherent thought he had before he slumped to the ground, the world going dark around him.

Eskel had many wounds in his lifetime. Wounds that had brought him to the brink of death and he was saved only by the timeliest of Swallows, of magical healers, of mages. It was the fate of a Witcher. Their Destiny to be covered in marks from their profession. Some wore their scars proudly, some hid them away. Eskel didn’t really mind either which way. Not until Diedre.

The deep, horrible mark on his face certainly made him feel as though he were better off dead. It wrapped around the side of his face, tore part of his lip away leaving him with a constant snarl, reaching to his ear. He knew, in that moment, that whoever his soulmate was, had to hate him for giving them this…this…

This thing on their face.

It was also when he lost all hope that Geralt could still be his soulmate. That his best friend would ever become more. Geralt had always had a rather romantic idea of how soulmates worked. He would take his pleasure where he could get it in the meantime—as most Witchers did, but he would wait to have a romance with someone until their marks matched scars.

And Eskel, the fool, loved him for that. Loved him for his hopeless, idealistic view on soulmates, when in reality a soulmate was just a person, as flawed and horrible as every other person on the Continent. There were soulmate couples who hated one another. Those who never met. Those who hurt their mates, were the ones to give them their scars.

As soon as Eskel knew he was not Geralt’s he worried. He worried for Geralt because the man, despite everything was still soft on the inside, was still the boy with bright eyes who waxed poetic about becoming a Knightly Witcher, who would save the world, not just from monsters but from everything he could. The man who had wanted to name himself Geralt Eric Roger du Haute-Bellegarde entirely earnestly. The man who loved every horse he ever met and named them each after the same kind of fish.

Eskel worried because he could not protect Geralt if his soulmate hurt him, because Eskel was not his soulmate.

Eskel traced the constellations on his arm, the little stars that marked where his soulmate went through the Trials. That marked where he went through the Trials. Absently, late at night he wondered if they were someone he had already met.

After the pogroms and the attack of Kaer Morhen he no longer needed to wonder. If he hadn’t met them yet, they had probably already died.

It was years before he let himself consider that they had died even earlier than that. Likely the first year on the Path. He tried not to think about if they were from the Wolf school or another.

Sometimes he would run his fingers over the shape of the scar on his face, wonder if his soulmate could feel it—could have felt it, he sometimes reminded himself, they weren’t alive anymore, likely. He would think about what it would be to run his fingers lovingly over the mark that tied them together, let them touch his mark—the memories of the Trials were painful, traumatic for all who went through them, but maybe with the fact that it connected them together in so many ways it would be… better.

Eventually he stopped letting himself think about it at all. It hurt too much. It wasn’t Geralt, it would never be Geralt, and he would never know his soulmate.

And maybe, if he were really and truly honest with himself, he didn’t want to know his soulmate.

Eskel woke in a bed.

This was mostly jarring because he had the distinct memory of passing out in the middle of the road, but he’d woken up in worse places than a bed before. At least this time there were no succubi.

That had been interesting.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Geralt’s voice was gravelly as always, and coming from Eskel’s left hand side.

Eskel grunted as he turned his head to look at the white-haired man beside him. The ever-present dark circles under his eyes seemed darker than usual, the pallor of his skin waxier and wanner than Eskel remembered from the last time they’d seen one another.

(Geralt had been looking healthier since he’d retired, well-fed, relaxed. This looked like Geralt on the Path—something Eskel hadn’t seen in years, decades even.)

“You look like shit,” Eskel said, pulling his face into a rough approximation of a smirk. His body felt heavy and he could feel the familiar tug of stitches in his side. At least he wasn’t actively bleeding out anymore.

“Yeah, well,” Geralt started like he was going to retort, but his voice fell flat as his expression did something Eskel wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on the man before, “You’re lucky I caught your scent while I was out hunting or you’d have died laying in the road.”

“Business as usual, then,” Eskel grunted, attempting to sit up a little. Geralt moved quickly, faster than Eskel was anticipating, and a hand was on his chest, pushing him back down into the bed. If Eskel really wanted to, he probably could have ignored the hand but…

Geralt’s long fingers were cold and felt nice on his heated skin and it had been so long since their last hug in Toussaint before Eskel had left on the Path again. Maybe this year he’d actually talk to Geralt about retiring with him, about setting up in the winery with Geralt, becoming even-older-old men together. It wasn’t like the monsters were getting any more populous. He could take up a trade, maybe, and pretend he wasn’t made into a monster himself by mutagens and actions and scars. Maybe he could pretend they were soulmates again, that this was enough.

He suddenly remembered why he hadn’t chosen to retire with Geralt yet. Why he might not ever.

“Stay down, idiot. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Doubt I need them much longer,” Eskel grumbled.

“The fact that I could see your intestines before I got you fixed up begs to differ.” Geralt’s eyes were narrowed, the slits of his pupils dark in the wheat-gold of his eyes.

“Eh, they needed a bit of fresh air,” Eskel’s joking tone didn’t quite hit, and Geralt’s jaw clenched as he swallowed thickly. Eskel winced, turning away, “That was dumb of me to say, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re…you’re right. It’s part of the job,” Geralt was leaning back, taking his hand with him and Eskel gritted his teeth together to avoid begging him to keep touching Eskel, to never let go.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck,” Eskel shrugged.

They sat in silence for a bit, Eskel’s eyes feeling heavy again.

“You give me something for it?” He asked, his brow creasing in confusion.

“What?”

“For the…” He gestured to his side, “Did you give me something?”

“Nah, why?”

“Tired,” Eskel mumbles, feeling his eyes drift shut again. Though, perhaps the exhaustion is more from having pushed himself on the Path for days on end before his last contract, and then further while injured, from having little to no food because he couldn’t afford it and the hunting was scarce close to the griffin.

Perhaps it was being in a bed for the first time since he’d left Geralt’s side in early spring, or maybe just the safety and comfort of having Geralt by his side again, listening to the man’s steady, Witcher-slow heartbeat and the soft sound of his breathing.

“So sleep,” Geralt’s voice is fond in Eskel’s ears and he thinks it’s probably just his mind making things up as it slows from waking to meditation to sleep, drifting from consciousness to dreams with little to no effort.

Eskel thinks he could get used to it, and fears what that means.

Eskel wakes again and it’s morning. Sun is shining through the window in the corner and birds are chirping outside.

Geralt is asleep, leaned forward on the bed, head resting on Eskel’s lap, and hands clasped around Eskel’s own. Previously cold fingers are warmed by the heat of Eskel’s palms and something in Eskel’s chest clenches in a way he is all too familiar with.

Geralt’s hair is loose, unbound and a tangled mess around his shoulders. Several strands have fallen across his face, a lock of it draped over his eyes, closed in sleep with pale lashes fanned out over dark circles. Soft breaths huff between parted lips that move slightly with the dreams that he sees behind his eyelids—Eskel can see the shape of his eyes darting back and forth beneath the thin skin.

He brings his other hand up, the one unclaimed by Geralt’s grasping fingers, and gently pushes the hair out of the other man’s face.

Geralt is beautiful. And Eskel loves him. He loves him so much.

Golden eyes drift open slowly, pupils sliding from wide circles to rounded slits with the light as Geralt blinks, taking a moment to wake up.

“Hey,” Eskel murmurs, a smile sliding over his face—easy, this time, and he is sure his emotions are plastered all over his face but he can’t really find it in himself to care. Geralt is here. Geralt was worried for him. Geralt slept at his bed rather than in one of his own, holding his hand.

“Hey,” Geralt’s already rough voice is moreso from the sleep as Eskel brings his hand away from the white hair that slides through his fingers like water made semi-solid. “You actually awake this time?”

“Probably,” Eskel chuckles, resting back against the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Been a tough season so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wants to explain, but also he doesn’t. He doesn’t want Geralt to worry about him more. He didn’t really want Geralt to worry about him injured, either, but that wasn’t his fault.

(Their trainers might have disagreed, might have said of course it was Eskel’s fault he had been injured on the Path, but they weren’t there now, were they?)

“What got you?” Fingers trace the line of the wound, healed already, the stitches already out, having been removed while Eskel slept. Eskel shivers.

“Griffin. Villagers weren’t exaggerating the size, after all.” Eskel pulls himself up to sitting, his muscles protesting after so long relaxed in sleep. “Got here in the end, though.”

Geralt snorts, “Barely.”

“Eh, I knew either you’d come find me or it was my time to go,” Eskel half-jokes. A mirror of their earlier conversation. A conversation they’d had about various wounds and injuries accrued over their extra long lifespans. Geralt’s face is impassive, neutral and shows nothing. Which means he’s very upset by this comment.

“Come back to Toussaint with me,” Geralt says, and his voice is soft enough that if Eskel wanted to he could pretend he didn’t hear it.

Eskel isn’t sure what he wants.

“Why?”

Geralt’s jaw works as his mouth stays shut. There are words, Eskel knows, caught behind teeth and tongue and throat that will not come out because Geralt’s mind won’t let them. Ever since Blaviken, he’d been like this. Their hands are still tangled together and Eskel squeezes Geralt’s fingers to his palm gently.

“Why do you want me to come to Toussaint with you in the middle of the season, Geralt?” He asks again. Sometimes saying it again, saying *more* helps. Sometimes it makes it worse. He desperately hopes this makes it better.

“I don’t want…” Geralt starts. Stops. Squeezes Eskel’s fingers back. Then he pulls away. “You’re probably hungry. I’ll get food.”

Eskel drops it. Geralt will come to him in his own time. Eskel will decide what he wants to do in the meantime. A few days rest as planned here in Novigrad will be enough for now.

Geralt comes back with food for them both, and Eskel’s body remembers that it is starving. They don’t speak much during the meal, and when it’s over they talk about everything other than Geralt’s invitation.

Geralt doesn’t bring it back up that day, or the day after. Or the day after that.

They spend a week together in Novigrad. Eskel raids the bookstore—it was very impressive, filled with tomes on tomes of books with knowledge and poetry and stories and everything and anything. Geralt came with him, though he only picked at the plays and atlases, but he purchased several books that Eskel looked at longingly, tucking them in his bags to travel, saying they will be waiting in the library for Eskel when he comes back.

Eskel decided that meant they were not going to talk about the invitation to Toussaint again unless he brings it back up.

The thing is, Eskel doesn’t want to leave Novigrad. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt. He doesn’t want to go back on the Path where he will be lonely and cold, where there is little food and fewer friendly faces. Back to monsters and fighting and nursing himself back to health, to glares and fearful children, to long stretches of time with no contact with anyone other than the horse and his reflection in the water.

He doesn’t want to risk not being able to get back to Geralt.

That night, he begins the conversation.

“We’ve been here a week,” Eskel observed, taking a bite of a soft, buttery roll. He was not sure what kind of money Geralt was paying the innkeep here but they have eaten well since Eskel arrived.

Geralt freezes momentarily. Had Eskel not been watching, he would have missed it.

“Yep.”

“Been trying to think about where to go next. Not many monsters up north anymore,” Eskel keeps his commentary light, his tone gentle and observational only. Nothing to indicate that he’s leading the conversation anywhere.

“Eskel.”

“Geralt.”

Ah, he has been found out. Figures it wouldn’t work on the man who has known him the longest of anyone alive in the world right now.

“I- I can’t-…” Geralt pushes back from the table a little, tension clear in his body and shoulders, “I won’t-”

“I was thinking I could head south. Maybe travel with you. Head to Toussaint. I know they were having vampire problems decades back. You think there are still any hiding out? I bet there’s an infestation in your library. I should really check that out, you know. Since you’re all out of practice and all.”

Geralt glares at him but there is a relief etched in his bones that Eskel can feel as he grins unrepentantly, feeling his stiff scar tissue crinkle the skin on his cheek as he does.

“You’re an ass.”

“Hmm, but you’re friends with an ass so I think that says more about you than me.” Eskel teases and Geralt rolls his eyes.

“Ass-kel.”

“Come now, Geralt. We’ve surely grown past the insults you thought up when we were twelve.”

“Not if you still act like you did back then.” Geralt points out and Eskel laughs. The tension breaks, and the two of them end up nearly giggling over their dinner.

It is good to hear Geralt laugh again. Eskel wonders when the last time he heard it was and realizes it’s been much longer than a season on the Path.

Travelling with Geralt is easy. It is also the hardest thing Eskel has ever done.

They camp on the road. It’s economical, and reminds them both of earlier times, times before the world changed and left them behind. It also leaves them with little to no privacy between them and Eskel has never wanted a wank more in his life than when he has to wake up and watch Geralt still asleep in his bedroll, or bathing in the stream. But trying to get off with another Witcher around is even more difficult than it had been to try and get off in a keep full of them—especially when he doesn’t want Geralt to know.

Because Eskel is sure Geralt would figure out exactly what was causing Eskel’s need as soon as he was caught.

Geralt’s back is nearly unmarred by scars, leaving his mark clear as the day Eskel first saw it. The mark Eskel has seen in his mind's eye for decades. Nearly a hundred years of thinking of that shape, the line of it. The pink is the same shade as it was before but seems so much darker, starker with the contrast to Geralt’s death-pale skin. The shock of color interrupted by fine scars from smaller wounds, and from the bright white hair trailing between Geralt’s shoulder blades. Eskel wants to run his hands over it, claim it, mark it up with bites and scratches and make it his because that mark ties Geralt’s soul to another and Eskel wants what he cannot have.

He turns away, usually, and does not watch as Geralt bathes. Does not imagine what he is doing, does not follow the sounds of the water moving as it is sloughed over skin, hands chafing at dirt to scrub it off, dripping, dribbling sounds as it is squeezed from the long locks of hair.

The trip to Toussaint from Novigrad is the longest it has ever been and Eskel is glad when they arrive at Corvo Bianco, greeted by the man Geralt has hired to run things in his stead. The rooms Eskel normally uses are clean and available for him and he realizes he has actually agreed to do this. He will be staying in Toussaint. He won’t be finishing the season on the Path. He will be with Geralt.

He doesn’t know if he’s made the right decision.

Geralt is far more relaxed in Toussaint than he ever was anywhere else. He allows himself to be open with his affections—something he lost when he went off on the Path, and gained back in fits and spurts after rearing Ciri. Hugs to his brothers for no reason, gentle touches to shoulders and arms and hands, leaning on them when sitting together, especially when drinking.

Lambert always scoffs and complains, shoving the man off and griping about how he’s become sentimental in his dotage. Geralt always grins and laughs, making a joke of it, teasing the youngest of their remaining family and ramping up the gestures to absurdity for his benefit.

With Eskel it is quieter, softer. Eskel always returns the touch, reveling in the chance to hold the man he cannot have. Arms around Geralt for the hug, squeezing him tight. A returned pat to the shoulder or back (where his mark is, don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t–), a squeeze of fingers when their hands touch. His arm wrapping around Geralt’s shoulders when it’s late at night and they’re leaning on one another, deep into their cups and watching the stars and the lights of the town below the vineyards as the night drifts on around them.

If he adds a few touches of his own here and there, well, it’s just to show Geralt that it’s okay to share these moments. And a kiss to the top of the head during those late nights is entirely innocent enough.

(Wishing it was more, wanting desperately for more, more, more, is just something Eskel has gotten used to after all this time. Wanting and wishing is one thing, acting on those is another and he won’t do that to Geralt, he won’t.)

So it is that they find themselves late into the night, out on Geralt’s balcony, several bottles of wine in, and Geralt resting his head on Eskel’s shoulder, Eskel’s arm not around his shoulders but further down his back, settling on his ribs. His fingers are absently tracing patterns through the fabric of Geralt’s shirt—if he’s tracing the line of the mark on Geralt’s skin, well…It’s on his back, Geralt probably doesn’t put that together.

Geralt sighs softly, a happy, content sort of sound, and turns his head into Eskel’s shoulder, headbutting it gently with his forehead.

“You good?” Eskel asks, his voice barely above a whisper. For some reason talking louder feels like it might break some sort of spell between them. Something that would cause them to have to part.

“Yeah,” Geralt hums, a smile visible from what little of his face Eskel can spy looking down at him, “Yeah, I’m… I’m good.”

“Good,” Eskel pulls him in closer, abandoning his tracing of Geralt’s soulmark through his clothes to lay his hand steadily on Geralt’s side.

“You?”

“Yeah. Me.” Eskel teases laughing a little, “I’m good.”

“Good.”

And it is. Good, that is. They’re happy. It’s warm, the last of summer fading into autumn, a breeze blowing and rustling the leaves of the vines in the vineyard below. They can hear music from the town—probably none of the human inhabitants of the land Geralt owns can, but the two Witchers are able to. It’s faint, what with the distance, but it’s audible and sets a nice background tone for their evening. There are bugs making chirping noises and night birds calling in the trees and it’s peaceful and everything Eskel never knew he wanted alongside everything he always wanted.

“Esk?”

“Hm?” He glances down again at Geralt, having been staring out at the lamplight across the valley in a daze, feeling Geralt’s body heat against his own and his thumb absently stroking against the ribbones he can no longer feel so starkly under Geralt’s skin.

Geralt’s face is… much closer than Eskel thought it had been the last time he’d looked down at him and now it’s moving even closer and–

“Ger?” He whispers when Geralt stops, a hairsbreadth from their lips touching.

“I–” Geralt stops again, pulling back a little.

“I didn’t say stop,” Eskel breathes, leaning in and connecting them together in a way they haven’t before.

Geralt is on him like a starving man on a feast, hands gripping at Eskel’s shirt, pulling him in closer, closer, closer. And Eskel goes willingly, opening his mouth to Geralt’s assault, letting him do the leading, finding out where Geralt wants this to go because wherever it is, however far, Eskel will follow.

His hands bracket Geralt’s sides, palms resting above hip bones and thumbs pressing gently into the softer flesh under his ribs. Eskel slides them up and down slowly, just a fraction of an inch in either direction, and Geralt makes a noise that Eskel has never heard him make before and suddenly Eskel is the starving man and Geralt is the feast.

They break for air when even their lung capacity is at its limit. Gasping and panting, Geralt leans into Eskel’s neck, biting kisses into the flesh there, bared because this is home, he is safe and needs no armor, no barrier between his vulnerable parts and Geralt because he can trust this man like he trusts no other on this earth.

“Fuck, Geralt. Geralt, I–” Eskel groans, tilting his head to the side to give Geralt more room, “How long?”

“Forever,” Geralt breathes and Eskel’s hands grip his hips, yanking him closer, closer still, burying his face into Geralt’s neck for his own marks to be made on the pale, pale skin.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel’s teeth bite at Geralt’s jaw, “I wish I’d known.”

“Please,” Geralt asks, “Please come to bed with me. I– I can’t. I can’t wait for you anymore.”

Eskel answers by grabbing underneath Geralt’s ass and hauling him up. Geralt inhales sharply—whether in surprise or arousal is hard to tell—his legs wrapping around Eskel’s waist as his arms drape over his shoulders. And then there’s more kissing, which honestly Eskel doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without because it’s perfect.

Geralt doesn’t have a mark on his face, and doesn’t have scars on his arm, but Eskel thinks that this has to be better than kissing your soulmate.

He carries Geralt through the door between the balcony and Geralt’s bedroom, carefully making his way over dirtied clothes and stray shoes and half-read books to reach the bed. His knees bump the edge of the mattress and he grins wickedly into the kisses Geralt is plundering his mouth with before releasing his hold on Geralt suddenly.

Geralt clearly did not realize just how much of his weight Eskel was holding, falling to the mattress with a shocked yelp of surprise before Eskel was on him again, leaning over him, pressing him back into the bed.

“Still good?” Eskel asks between kisses to Geralt’s shoulders and neck.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Geralt is nodding and his breathy words are half-whined, “Still good, fuck Eskel. Eskel I’m– I’ve–”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.” The kisses he is giving to Geralt get gentler, softer, sweeter, “I’m sorry, me too.”

“You’re an idiot,” Geralt breathes, fondly, “The fuck did I do falling in love with a dumbass like you?”

Eskel’s heart is fit to burst at this and he looms over Geralt suddenly, “Say it again.”

Geralt is blinking with wide, dark pupils encompassing almost the whole of his golden irises, his hair is fanned out around his head like a snowy halo and Eskel wants more than he has wanted ever before and he didn’t even know that was possible but here he is. Geralt is with him, wants him, and he can have him and it’s so much more and so much better than he thought it would be.

Why the fuck did they wait so long?

“Fuck, Eskel. Eskel I love you,” Geralt’s hands rest on Eskel’s arms, but they’re sliding up to cup Eskel’s face, thumb tracing the scar from lip to cheek and back again, “I have always loved you, you stupid idiot. How the fuck have you not known?”

“When the fuck was I supposed to know?” Eskel asks, frowning, “You never said!”

“I thought you did! I thought you were waiting for your soulmate or whatever but maybe you’d settle for me eventually.” Geralt scoffs, “Seriously? You had no idea? I’ve been so obvious that Yen said something about it ages ago.”

Eskel wants to comment on the fact that Geralt thought Eskel was waiting for his soulmate when the whole time Eskel thought Geralt was waiting for his soulmate. He wants to say something about how low Geralt’s self esteem is that he thinks Eskel would have to settle for him, like Geralt isn’t the only thing in the world Eskel can’t put a price on if he absolutely had to. He wants to make mention of the fact that Geralt thought he was being obvious about it, that Yen somehow figured it out.

Instead he just grins down at Geralt.

“I love you too, you son of a bitch.”

It’s good, what they have. It’s pretty much the same as it was, but Geralt is even more physically affectionate and now Eskel can kiss him and hold him and Geralt kisses and holds him back. Geralt is very good at kissing and Eskel tries to be as appreciative of it as possible every time he is gifted with the opportunity.

They have not gone farther than rutting against one another through their clothes and Eskel can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

On the one hand, he very much wants to fuck Geralt. It’s something he’s been thinking of doing for nearly a hundred years, and now that he gets to be so close to it, it’s almost painful that he can’t. On the other hand, seeing Geralt’s soulmark while they’re intending on doing something intimate together, despite how many times Eskel has fantasized about marking it up, making it his, making Geralt his, he’s not sure he would actually be able to follow through with anything if he saw it in the moment.

Geralt, too, seems to be reluctant and that’s probably the main reason Eskel hasn’t made any motions to go further with it. They share a bed at night for sleeping, they wake tangled in one another, they eat together, they drink together, they hold and touch and kiss and say “I love you” to one another like it’ll be the last time they ever get to say it, like it’s the first time they’ve ever said it before, and it’s good. It’s so good. It’s more than Eskel ever thought he’d get, and it’s enough.

Eskel has taken to helping out in the fields for something to do during the day. It’s harvest season and they need all the hands they can get out there, so he joins in and assists. It’s warm in Toussaint, in the early autumn, and he is sweating and dirty when he comes in for the afternoon.

Geralt is sitting outside, drinking and reading his legs crossed as he reclines a little in the chair he’s sat in, reaching blindly for the glass of wine on the table beside him to avoid looking up from his book. Eskel smiles but does not interrupt, instead shucking his shirt off with a roll of his shoulders and taking the bucket of water beside the patio and upending it over his head.

The sluice of water is chilly enough despite the bucket’s position in the sun, and while bracing, it is also refreshing and feels good on his sweaty and overheated skin. He shakes his head out like a dog—or a wolf, he thinks to himself with a smile—his medallion clinking gently on his chest as he stretches out. Not quite as rigorous as a training session with Vesemir, but close enough. He might even be sore later if he’s lucky.

There’s a startled gasp from behind him and the clattering of a glass on wood, followed by a curse. Eskel turns around to see that Geralt has knocked his wine over and is desperately trying to clean it up while also not setting his book down in it. His movements are flustered and Eskel wonders what startled him so.

“Good book?” He asks, a laugh at the edge of his voice, amused by Geralt’s movements.

“What? Oh, uh. Yes. Yes very… very… um,” Geralt struggles to come up with a word. “When did you get that big scar on your back?”

“What?” Eskel blinks at the non sequitur.

“The big scar on your back. That’s– it’s– it looks old but I don’t think I’ve seen it before?” Geralt is affecting a tone that says he’s trying very hard to appear nonchalant, which means he’s failing miserably at it. Eskel crinkles his brow with a confused smile.

“I have lots of scars on my back, Geralt. You will have to be more specific.”

“It’s…” Geralt stands, still acting flustered, and turns Eskel around, laying a hand on the top of Eskel’s shoulder and dragging it down in a rough diagonal before tracing the edge of it—it spans the whole of Eskel’s back, and he thinks he remembers which one it was.

“Uh… Leshen, I think. About… twenty years on the Path? It’s been a while, Geralt, why?”

Geralt spins him around and takes his arm, pulling it forward and stretching his elbow flat. The network of dots on his elbow are visible to the sun for the first time in, gods, half a century at least—he’s tried to keep them covered as much as he can because looking at them was too much. A pale finger traces over them, slightly cool as usual. Eskel wants to take those fingers and chafe them between his palms to warm them up but he knows that would only work a little. Plus he kind of likes that Geralt’s hands are cool to the touch.

“Yeah, uh… that’s where they put the needles for the-”

“The Trials. Yeah. I remember.” Geralt whispers, his finger tracing a connecting line between the star-shaped marks, “Had it done twice.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eskel scowls, remembering the fierce terror at waking up and not knowing where Geralt was, learning that he was having more torture forced on him, then the recovery period where he had sat sentinel at Geralt’s bedside.

“Worst thing I ever lived through,” Geralt murmurs, glancing up at Eskel through white lashes and oh.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Eskel feels numb. And dumb. And like he’s been struck by lightning. Or a griffin. Or a Leshen.

Oh.

“So… we’re idiots, right?” Eskel asks after a moment.

Geralt laughs leaning forward to drop his head onto Eskel’s shoulder. Eskel’s arms come up automatically to hold him, threading fingers through his hair, loose and long and gorgeous. He finger-combs the locks as Geralt shakes, not answering him. Eskel doesn’t worry, it happens sometimes, that Geralt won’t have words.

He does worry a little when he catches the scent of tears, “Geralt?”

“Yeah,” He finally says, “Yeah, we’re idiots.”

“But you’re my idiot,” Eskel says and it’s the strangest, greatest feeling in the world that it’s unequivocally true.

“And you’re mine,” Geralt leans back, tilting his head to the side, and taking Eskel’s mouth with a fierce—but somehow sweeter than even their chastest—kiss.

They knock their foreheads together lightly, eyes closed for just a moment as Geralt’s hands reach up and cup Eskel’s neck and face.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#the witcher #eskel big bang #ebb2021 #eskel/geralt #my fic #my writing #the captain writes #soulmate identifying marks #mutual pining #idiots in love #soulmates #making out #fade to black #happy ending

32 notes · View notes

joshslater · 3 years

Text

Grimsby pt. 7

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was speechless and touched. I was too exhausted to figure out what this meant though. Did he expect something from me now? Before I could gather myself Jace picked up his bag and started walking towards the exit.

- We should of a pint.

I wasn’t audibly breathing heavily any longer, but I could feel I was still pretty wound up. Flush, sweaty, and definitely thirsty after this shock introduction to the gentlemen’s art of self-defense. I felt a pint was too far away and I needed to drink right now, so I stood up and started to walk towards the drinking faucet. “You’ll regret it,” Jace remarked, barely looking my way. He was half right. The water tasted of metal pipes, but it felt good to splash my face with cold water and cool it down. There were empty holders of a mirror pane mounted on the well. At some point the mirror must have cracked and never been replaced. I wondered how I looked after such a beating. I cupped my hands and brought water up to dump in my hair, and was quickly reminded of how little of it I had left. I could feel trickles down my shaved sides and neck. The sound of the door closing made me realize Jace wasn’t waiting, so I rushed out of the locker room, out through the main doors, and caught up with him slowly walking back the way we came.

It didn’t take long until he deviated from the path we followed to the club. I had no idea where we were, or really where he was taking me, but it was obviously a route as well optimized as the path we took going here. Mostly road, but a few shortcuts through people’s back yards. It looked kind of familiar, but I’ve only walked around these blocks very tired, hangover, drunk and/or high. Now I could add beaten up and exhausted to that list. As we rounded a corner I saw a painted sign hanging out from the building, stating “Fawn’s Head”. I'd seen that pub at some point earlier in the week, but never been near it.

For some reason it looked deserted on the empty street, not that you could really tell about a pub with its door closed. Looks were deceiving, sure enough, because there were quite a few people scattered around inside the pub. It was decidedly not a high-brow clientele. Everywhere I looked I saw track tops, worker's high-viz clothes, and quite a few paint-spattered sweatshirts. I recognized some people from yesterday evening, though not by name. A few people glanced our way, garnering no interest.

I followed Jace over to the barman and witnessed a play in gestures. The barman gave Jace a nod. Jace gave him a nod. Then he nodded sideways towards me. Then the barman poured two lager, and placed them in front of us. Jace was clearly a regular, though I wasn’t even sure he was 18 yet. Without a word we grabbed our beers and started to empty the glass. It was the best-tasting beer I’ve had all week. Not because of the beer, but because this was the end of a hard day at the end of a hard week. Whatever part of my body didn’t hurt after hauling ice and fish, Jace had made tender, either directly by knocking me out, or with the bag punching exercises. But this was the end of...

- HEY!

Jace had turned towards the room and shouted at the top of his lungs. It instantly became dead silent.

- Is Chayse innit!

Everyone shifted their eyes onto me. What the hell was Jace doing?

- Fuck with him, fuck with me!

There was a second of tense silence in the room. I didn’t dare breathe.

- On me. Cheers!

The room erupted in loud cheers, followed by an explosion of chatter. Some guy in blue carpenter trousers and a blue sweatshirt, both splattered with hundreds of tiny white dots of paint, jumped up from his seat and grabbed the first of the new beers. As he was turning to get back to his table, he stopped as if he realized he should pay for the beer somehow, and slapped my sore shoulder.

- Connor’s the name. Why don’t you lad join our table for a wee bit?

Before I could even agree to that, he started shoving me in the direction towards the table. I pulled an extra chair and sat down with his crew of builders. Conner, Kieran, Tommy, and Callum. To my surprise their work stories about bad shoes, early mornings, lunch places, all felt relevant to me, and I had a few insights that fit into the conversation. Once I’ve emptied my beer I excused myself for a smoke, but Callum got up and told me to follow him. We walked out on the back and there was a large smokers patio with two groups in either end talking. Callum brought me to one of the groups and the others there greeted me and introduced themselves.

It turned out that none of them actually knew Jace, but they had seen him around. They themselves didn’t know each other that well either. They usually sat with their pals and then just came together outside for a smoke. As they started to move back inside, a tall, hard-looking guy from the other group walked across the patio.

- Hey come here!

He was shaved bald, wore shiny, black Puma clothes with red zippers and details, and a pair of black Dr. Martens. He clearly worked out, but even if he hadn’t his height alone was intimidating. It didn’t sound like a request either. Callum got the hint and quickly stubbed out his fag.

- See you around. - Yeah.

While he returned inside the pub the shaved guy motioned with his shiny head towards the other two who silently smoked at the other end. They looked every bit as tough as this guy. A bit older but just as muscled, one with buzzed heads and tracksuits, the other with a mohawk, adidas top, and dark blue adidas joggers. As I started to walk towards them, the shaved guy walked behind me, like he was herding me. Dammit, I’m also shaved, although not completely. I must stop thinking of myself as looking so different than them. Anyone who stumbled out into the patio would assume we four were a group. As I stopped he pushed me in the back to force me uncomfortably close to the other two. The older of the two, standing just in my face, made a deep drag, and blew a cloud of smoke in my face. I’m sure it was intended as disrespectful and intimidating, but it took all my self-discipline to not inhale it, even though I had just finished a smoke myself. He gave me a nod and spoke.

- Jace new runner innit. - I don’t know wh... - Shut the fuck.

I could feel the color draining from my face. Apparently there was a reason why they all left me alone outside with these guys. He continued.

- I don’t give a fuck what you do, but stay out of our business. If you see any of us you do as you’re told. Got it? - Yes. - Good. Now lick my balls. - What? - You heard me mate.

A wave of fatigue washed over me. I had been shaved and punched and drugged and so much more. Everything was unreal. This was not me, this was not my life. It’s just that with a pint in my hand and nice people around I slipped and forgot. Like an emotionally drained whore on her tenth fuck for the day I silently went down on my knees in front of his crotch. He patted my head on the exposed skin.

- This is what we like, lads, innit.

And then he tilted my head back up and looked me in the eyes.

- Remember your place next time we tell you to do something.

Then he let go and looked up at the others.

- Let's go for another, lads.

He dropped his smoldering fag on the ground in front of me as they left, and I hated that my first instinct was to pick it up and put it in my mouth. Who were they? What did they mean by Jace's runner? They had already left the patio by the time I got up and looked around. A group of patrons just walked into the patio and nodded in my direction. I nodded back and headed back into the pub, past them. I needed to find Jace and ask him what the guys meant. It wasn't hard to find him inside the pub, despite it filling up in the moments he had been out. He was standing next to a table close to the entrance, towering over the guy standing next to him. He probably towered over most people. The guy next to him was passionately talking to him. Jace saw me, and reached out like for a handshake.

- Oi Chayse, be a minute.

I grabbed his hand and felt something small in my hand. Jace winked at me.

- First one's free bruv.

He handed me a half-emptied pint glass and turned back to the guy. I stepped away and looked into my hand. A small, white pill. I felt both neglected and thankful at the same time. Of course he should finish whatever this is, but I felt we needed to talk right now. I took a large swig out of the glass and realized as I swallowed that I had already put the pill in my mouth. I was just running on autopilot after everything that had happened during this week.

Something was moving in my peripheral, and I turned to see a few guys at a table waving at me. I went to join them to kill time. I felt like I was losing grip of reality again, because the man who waved me to the table came back from the bar with a fresh lager and sat it down in front of me, while one of the other guys at the table was talking about their day of road maintenance. I was jolted back into the present, looking up at the man, Rob was it? He was smiling at me kindly. I thanked him and took a sip of the beer, and a shiver of pleasure went through me. It was even better tasting than the one I had earlier. The guy who was talking was detailing all the problems with one of the stores next to the road where they had laid stones during the day. He was about my age, but more tanned and crow's feet by the eyes after having been outdoor so much. No, this was Rob. His pitch-black hair was gelled up, and his face was framed on the other side by a black T-shirt with a big, yellow "Powell Construction" logo. I realized I had stopped listening to him and was lost in his grey-blue eyes, when he asked me something.

- Sorry mate, I have to piss.

At the moment I said it I realized it was actually true, and somewhat wobbly got up and headed towards the gents. They nodded and smiled. Jace wasn't standing where I had last seen him, I noted on the way to the gents, nor did I see him anywhere else. I wasn't sure I could trust my senses fully. What had he given me? Molly? It must have been part of it, as everything and everyone was lovely. I double-checked the sign on the door and entered the gents. Two sinks, two urinals, and a door to a proper toilet. As I walked by the mirrors over the sinks I turned my head, almost like a reflex, but stopped in my tracks.

I looked horrible. It wasn't the brutal hair, or the eyebrows, or the piercings, or the clothes. I looked like a criminal mug shot. My face was subtly swollen and bruised from the pummeling I've gotten from Jace an hour or two ago. There wasn't any specific thing I could point out. Just that I looked off. I didn't look like me anymore. Fascinated, almost mesmerized by my own ugliness I touched and poked my face. Nothing hurt. Not specifically anyway. I'm sure it would look better tomorrow, but it was unnerving still.

As I reached the urinal I realized I had a stiffy. I hoped the black adidas joggers had hidden it from Rob and whatever his name was, but I couldn't be sure. Well, this wasn't the place to do anything about it, so I simply aimed forward and let go, pissing straight into the wall of the urinal. Despite me swaying more than I would have liked or expected, the only thing I got on me was a fine mist of back splatter. I was clearly more intoxicated or high or whatever than I thought, so I don't know how long I stood with my dick out and forehead against the wall, just waiting for the dripping to stop. I was kind of hoping to also get soft, but had to settle for a semi.

I was pulling my joggers up when someone entered. I didn't take any notice of him until someone shouted "Hey" in my ear, and pushed me into the room with the toilet. He shoved me down on the lid facing him, and locked the door. It was one of the goons from the outside patio, the one with the mohawk, adidas top and joggers. He had a week-old beard and looked a bit tired as well. I knew I should be intimidated by him, but somehow I just felt like I wanted to hug him. I had this unexplainable urge to touch him. He glanced at the ceiling, looking for a smoke detector, then picked a cigarette and a lighter from a pocket. While looking down on me he slowly put the cigarette to his mouth and lit it, inhaled deeply, and exhaled the smoke on me. To his confusion this time I inhaled deeply as well. Not only did I want to embrace him. I wanted to french kiss him and suck the smoke out of his lungs. What the fuck was wrong with me?

He regained his composure. He was also clearly a bit drunker than before.

- I want to be fucking clear with you. When we tell you what to do, you do it. - Sound, mate.

This wasn't going how either of us had expected. My eyes kept darting between his face and the chain he had around his neck. Somehow it looked so pretty, glittering in the fluorescent tube light. Everything looked pretty. He struggled with what to do next.

- Lick it. Lick the groin.

I looked down. The loose, dark blue adidas joggers didn't reveal much, but a little bump indicated where his dick was. For some reason, I don't know why, I did as he said, leaned forward, and let my tongue run up and down the fabric. It didn't taste like much. I moved forward and licked with a bit more pressure. I could hear him inhale from the cigarette again.

- Ok, alright. I need to piss.

He grabbed me and stood me up with one arm, and unlocked the door with the other.

- Share the fag? - What?

It took him a second to realize I asked for his cigarette. His intimidation ploy had not gone the way he wanted, though I was at the same time both zen and wondering what the fuck was going on. He handed me the cigarette. I stepped out and he closed the door behind me. I finished the cigarette and threw it in the urinal.

73 notes · View notes

actress4him · 3 years

Text

Overexposure - New Ideas

(Prompt #17 for Summer of Whump)

Ask to get on a taglist!

Previous | Next

Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, referenced beating, noncon touching (non-sexual), forced stripping (non-sexual), restraints, stress position

It’s only a few days after the exhibit, a few days after the brutal beating Ellery received for trying to ask for help, when the door to her room flies open and he’s standing there with that smile on his face. The smile she hates more than anything. The smile that says she’s about to suffer even more.

“Good morning, Princess.” Lucas strolls into the room - the cell, really, just a tiny corner of the basement built expressly for the purpose of keeping her inside. “In the midst of the fallout from your misguided attempt the other night, I failed to mention how much of a success the exhibit was. Everyone adored you.”

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she knows better than to respond by now. Instead she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself as if she can keep him away.

“I’m getting plenty of sales, too. So many people who want to have our beautiful artwork all for themselves.”

She knows better than to respond, but she can’t help it. The image of those photos hanging on someone’s walls, or being hidden away to look at secretly… “Guess they’re just as sick as you are.”

All of her muscles tense up as soon as she says it, expecting him to lash out. But he must be in an awfully good mood, because he simply ignores the outburst, pacing toward the tiny table with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve been getting requests, too. Some from patrons at the last exhibit, others from people who have seen my previous work.” He turns, leaning up against the table, eyes roving over her body in the way he does when she knows he’s imagining ways to torture it. “Seems like there’s a whole collection of people out there who love...well, I keep hearing the word ‘whump’, but...basically, they draw all kinds of inspiration from what we’re doing. And now they’d like to see something...a little less refined, a little more...hm, how do I say it? A little more...raw. Primitive.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’m certainly up to the challenge. I’ve got ideas already. And I have a feeling once I get started I’ll be quite inspired to keep going.”

No wonder he’s in a good mood. He’s in his creative zone, which means a nightmare of a day for her. And it’s so soon, she’s still healing, her body isn’t ready.

He won’t care about any of that, though.

“Alright, come on, chop chop! Up to makeup we go.”

It’s one of the few instances when she’s allowed out of the basement, so she tries to enjoy it. If she cranes her neck as they come to the top of the stairs, she can catch a glimpse of green and sunlight through a sliver of window, and overall the rooms upstairs are much brighter. It’s a refreshing change.

Lucas’ assistant, whose name she’s never bothered to learn, is ready and waiting in the usual spot with her makeup and hair tools. It’s the one thing that he doesn’t do himself. Ellery expects the same treatment for the bruise around her eye - now turned a sickly yellow - as it got for the exhibit, but it’s ignored. Instead the assistant focuses on eyeliner, mascara, and a little bit of lip color. The basics, meant to make her features pop in the photos, nothing fancy. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘raw and primitive’. She can certainly hope that it’s nothing worse, though hope has done her a fat lot of good so far.

“You want her hair pulled back at all?” the assistant asks.

Lucas, who has been lurking the whole time, watching the process, steps forward and runs thick fingers through her long black hair. She doesn’t bother to suppress a shudder and a look of disgust, but doesn’t try to pull away, either.

“Yeah. Go ahead and put it up, something simple, though. Simple and messy. I might take it down partway through, we’ll see.”

It’s brushed back into a ponytail with lots of strands hanging down around her face, and the top is fussed over until it’s perfectly, believably messy. The assistant looks up to Lucas for approval.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I like it. Okay, moving on.”

This is the point where her starting wardrobe is usually chosen. She stands, waiting while he scrutinizes her current outfit of a baggy white t-shirt and black cotton shorts.

“Take that off, remind me what you have on under it.”

Ellery’s face flushes scarlet. She hates this, hates obeying and hates demeaning herself for him, but last time she refused to take off the clothes herself he just did it for her, and that was so much worse. And it’s not like he’s actually interested in her, not in that way. She was so incredibly afraid of that for a long time. But no, to him she’s not a person for him to want. She’s a piece of art, a canvas, a sculpture. A thing. All he’s thinking of is how he can best use her to create the ‘masterpiece’ he has in mind.

So she slips the t-shirt off over her head. Stands in just her sports bra and shorts with her cheeks burning and wishes that she could melt into the floor and cease to exist.

The expression that comes over his face is nothing short of delight. “Ooh, this is so much better than I was expecting.” He practically trots over to her, eyes on her bare stomach, and reaches out to brush his fingers along the tender, aching skin. She flinches, instinctively pulls back, but he only latches onto her waist, digging his fingers into a myriad of bruises. “This is fantastic. Just what we need for today. So glad I gave you these already.”

Gave her. Like the beating was a gift. She doesn’t need to look down to know that her torso is pretty much one giant bruise, she can feel it just fine.

“Yep. That’ll be perfect. Leave it just like that. No sense in covering up any of this beauty.” He strokes his fingers across her stomach one more time before stepping back to admire the whole thing. “Alright, thank you, Jordan. Let’s get back to the studio.”

The studio - aka the basement. Back down to the cold concrete walls and the artificial lights. She can’t help but slow, just a little, as they pass the room with the window, trying to get one more little peek of the outdoors. She pays for it with his hand coming to land on the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, promising much more pain if she doesn’t keep walking.

The area of the basement that Lucas uses to take her photos isn’t much to speak of, especially today when the white backdrop is rolled up at the ceiling. It’s just an expanse of grey, but it haunts her nightmares.

“Alright.” Lucas is practically giddy with excitement. “I’ve got so many ideas I don’t know where to start. No, scratch that. I do know where I want to start.” He turns to his shelf of props and rummages through a box, pulling out several pieces of metal with chains draping in between.

The dread that had been swirling in Ellery’s stomach all morning suddenly solidifies into something heavy, a stone that simultaneously pulls her down into the floor and threatens to make her sick. She can’t do this again. She can’t. The pain of being stretched into positions her body was never meant to be in, the humiliation of being photographed in the most vulnerable state possible...and now it’s even worse, because she’s already in pain from being beaten.

Lucas is at the far wall, tinkering with his contraption, using existing bolts and screws from previous sessions to attach things to both the wall and floor. “Come here,” he says after a few minutes, and it’s the last straw.

Something inside of her crumples.

“Please…” It comes out as no more than a trembling whisper, but it catches his attention anyway. “Please don’t, I can’t, I can’t, please…”

Sighing heavily, he walks toward her, boots clomping out her doom on the concrete floor. “I thought we were past this, Princess. You’d been doing so well.”

She opens her mouth, to say what, she doesn’t know, it’s all pointless anyway, but before a sound makes it past her lips his fist is connecting with her temple. Her world is reduced to black and pain and falling. When her vision returns, the room whirls around her, Lucas’ face up above hers dipping and bobbing in a way that makes her stomach churn, and her head throbs. She can tell she’s being dragged, though, by the ankle over to where he wanted her.

Rough hands grab her by the arms and heft her to her feet, and the room goes spinning again. Her back is pressed up against the wall, concrete blocks cold on her bare skin, and Lucas wraps an arm around her waist to lift her slightly. She gasps as he puts pressure on the ribs she’s pretty sure are broken.

A second later, something thin and cool falls across her throat, and after he fiddles with something just under her ear for a moment, Lucas steps back and leaves her to settle down onto her bare toes. They just barely touch the floor enough for her to rest her weight on, the metal across her neck digging slightly into her skin and threatening to cut off her air. She tries not to notice him watching her as she struggles to adjust her feet to push herself a little higher.

“Nice. I love it already. Actually, hang on, I’m also loving the disoriented look you’ve got going on right now. I need a shot of that.”

He grabs his camera and gets right up in her face. Ellery automatically squeezes her eyes shut, hating that lens, hating the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, but all she gets for it is his finger poking her in the ribs. Her eyes fly open as she cries out, and the camera clicks. Once, twice, three times.

“Ooh, I don’t know which one of these I like best.” He studies the screen with a grin, flipping back and forth through the shots. “The hazy, disoriented look I was going for, or the gasping in pain. And the restraint around the neck really sets it off. Fantastic. Okay, moving on.”

Bending down, he picks up the rest of the metal pieces, the ones with the chains attached. While she wasn’t paying attention it seems he had hooked one end of the chains to the floor, several feet out in front of her, and now he brings the other end to her. She only finds out what it is for sure when he yanks her hands away from the wall where she had been attempting to help support herself and clamps it around her wrists. The shackles pull her arms out in front of her, naturally making her body want to lean forward, too. But if she gives into the pull, or if her feet get tired and try to lower, she’ll choke.

Lucas stands back to admire his work. “Yes. Just as good as I had hoped. And you’re already starting to get that wild look in your eyes, too. I think if I leave you here for, oh -” he checks his phone -“around thirty or forty-five minutes, I’ll really get the desperation I’m looking for. Maybe an hour. We’ll see.”

With that, he turns and heads for the stairs. As the echo of his footsteps dies out, Ellery finally lets the tears start to pour down her cheeks. She can’t spare the focus to stop them anymore, anyway. All of her concentration until he decides she’s done is going to have to be on staying balanced so she doesn’t die.

Disclaimer: I don’t think people who like whump are “sick”. Obviously, I am one of them. Now, if there were actually people like Lucas out there who hurt real people for whump’s sake, then yeah. They would be considered “sick”. But of course, Lucas’ patrons don’t know what he’s really doing...or do they...?

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #collared and shackled #overexposure #ellery the model #whump #whump writing #lady whump #lady whumpee #creepy/intimate whumper #captivity whump #nonconsensual touching tw #forced stripping tw #restraints tw #stress position tw #whump photography #original fiction

23 notes · View notes

nikki-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

Sweet As Sin - Part Four

Summary: After losing your job and having to spend all of your savings, you find yourself completely broke as you desperately search for a job. On a whim, you join a website for sugar babies and sugar daddies can meet, and you’re surprised when you immediately make a connection with Captain America, of all people. But as you grow closer to Steve, you start to realize that there may be a dark side to America’s golden boy.

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Steve Rogers x Reader, with eventual Dark!Steve Rogers

Read part three here!

A/N: Here be smut! 18+ only, please. :) Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your GPS navigated you to the address Steve had texted you that morning, and you immediately felt out of place as your old, battered Impala puttered down a road lined with well-manicured brownstones. Each one was a little bit unique, but they all had the same thing in common – they were wicked expensive, located in one of the nicest areas of Brooklyn. You had passed a boujee private school, two quaint shopping centers, and a small dog park on the way, and now you were parallel parking in front of Steve’s house.

After reaching into the backseat to sling your duffel bag over your shoulder, you turned on your heel and stared up at the three-story building. Planter boxes lined every window on the street-facing side, and you smiled at the thought of Steve planting and tending to the ferns growing within them. The door had been painted a bright, cheerful red, and an American flag was flapping just to the left of it. You had to chuckle a little at the cliché, but you knew that Steve was an old-fashioned guy. It was easy for you to picture him making this house his home.

You climbed the front steps and knocked on the door, adjusting your knit cap as you waited for your boyfriend to answer. The wind was biting as it whirled through the streets of New York, and a quick glance skyward told you that snow would be coming soon.

You were broken out of your thoughts when the door opened, revealing Steve smiling down at you from its other side. He was dressed in a cable-knit sweater that was the same color of his eyes, and your mouth watered when you saw the steaming mug of coffee in his left hand.

“Hey, doll,” he greeted you, and you immediately stepped into the warm space, pressing your forehead against his chest.

“You’re so warm,” you groaned, eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Glad I can be of service,” he joked. The door clicked shut behind you as his free hand rubbed your back. “You’re cold as ice, hon. Come in; let me take your things.”

Steve slid your duffel bag off of your shoulder, waving at you to follow him into the living room. Along the way, your eyes skimmed over the space, taking in the pictures he had dotted around the walls. You paused at one that showed him sitting on a couch with some very familiar faces; Tony Stark was sitting directly to Steve’s left, holding his hand up behind his head to give him bunny ears. Then, there was the famous Natasha Romanoff, who had her legs draped over Hawkeye’s knees. Thor – the actual Thor - was standing behind the couch holding a massive stein of beer, a large, dopey smile spread across his face as he posed for the camera. And, to top it all off, Bruce Banner was sitting on the floor in front of Mr. Stark with a shy grin.

“That’s me and the original team,” Steve said from behind you, and you jolted at how close he suddenly was. “We took that about a year after the Battle of New York. Tony’s always throwing these parties around holidays.”

You smiled, turning back to face him.

“You guys look like you’re all good friends,” you commented.

“Yeah… We’ve had our ups and downs, but we all know that we have one another’s backs.”

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the baby hairs growing at the base of his skull.

“You need to tell me about some of your adventures sometime,” you remarked. Steve laughed and squeezed your hip, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

“You’re my favorite adventure so far.”

“Oh, my god,” you laughed. “That was so cheesy, Steve!”

He smiled sheepishly before stepping back, leading you towards a crackling fireplace waiting just in the other room.

“As cheesy as it is, it’s true.”

You nearly melted once you laid eyes on Steve’s living room. The space was incredibly cozy; there was a large, beige sectional sofa to one side, and a matching loveseat was placed directly in front of it on the other side of the hardwood coffee table. To the left, there was a large bay window that had been visible from the street, and there was a window seat built into it full of decorative pillows. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, and you recognized one of them from the picture Steve had sent to you during your first ever conversation.

The fireplace, though, was truly the heart of the space. It was large and made of stone, and above the mantle, there was a huge painting of the New York skyline done in abstract shades of brown and red. As you walked further into the room, you felt the heat from the fireplace wash over you, and you didn’t hesitate before taking a seat on the floor in front of it and sticking your hands out to warm them by the fire.

“Steve, I’m in love with this room,” you gushed, smiling up at him.

“And here I thought I’d never be jealous of my own house,” he joked, lowering himself down beside you. He set your duffel to the side and carefully set his coffee down a few feet away before pulling you flush against his side. You leaned into him as his arm came up around your shoulders, closing your eyes as you breathed in the scent of his cologne.

“I can’t take full credit for this place, though,” Steve continued on. “When I picked this house out, Tony surprised me by hiring a decorator. But there are a few things that I’ve done here and there to put my own spin on it.”

“Like what?”

You watched as he pointed at the painting above the mantle, nodding towards it.

“Well, I did that about a week after I moved in.”

“Wait, you painted that? Steve, that’s amazing.”

You turned to him just in time to catch the blush that was painted over his features. He just chuckled and shook his head, waving off your compliment.

“Nah, it’s nothing. I don’t make nearly as much art as I used to,” he confessed. “Back when I was growing up, I would draw on the side to earn extra cash for me and my mom all the time.”

You smiled, craning your neck so you could look up at him.

“What kind of things would you draw?” you asked.

“Usually people,” he reminisced. “I would set up my sketchpad on a street in a rich neighborhood, and some people passing by would give me a nickel to do a quick sketch of them.”

“Wow… So on top of everything else, he draws too,” you chuckled. “Is there anything you can’t do, Steve?”

He laughed, pulling you tighter against him.

“Oh, god, yeah,” he laughed. “You could write a series of encyclopedias about the things I can’t do.”

“Oh, please. Name just one.”

“I can’t dance,” he said immediately.

“C’mon, everyone can dance-“

“Everyone except for Steve Rogers,” he insisted. “It was the same back when I was younger; whether it’s to modern music or not, I can’t dance without looking like a goober.”

You snorted, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, just… ‘Goober’?”

Steve winced, glancing at you sheepishly.

“…People don’t say ‘goober’ anymore?”

“Steve, no one has used the word ‘goober’ in a sentence in a thousand years.”

“Now, I know that’s not true. I’m old, but I’m not a thousand-“

“Are you sure about that?” you interrupted with a grin. “Because anyone who says goober should probably be checked into a nursing home. Actually, I passed a few on the way, if you’d like to consider-“

You cut yourself off with a squeal as Steve turned you around, pressing your back to the floor as he straddled your hips.

“You know what?” he laughed. “I don’t need to take this abuse.”

You couldn’t hold back the giggles that were tumbling out of your lips, and Steve’s smile matched yours as he held you firmly in place despite how much you were squirming.

“Oh, what, do you have somewhere to go, miss?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes!”

“And where is that?”

“I was hoping,” you smiled, “to explore my boyfriend’s house a little bit. See what kind of incriminating things I can find in his bedside drawers and medicine cabinets; you know how it is.”

“Hmmm… No, can’t say I do. What I do know, though,” he remarked, moving one of his hands slowly down your side, “is that your boyfriend has something else he would rather be doing.”

You bit your lip, looking down to watch as his hand snaked lower and lower, eventually finding the button on your jeans. His fingers played with it a bit as he watched your face to gauge your reaction; you looked up at him, staring into his blue irises, and saw how his pupils seemed to dilate.

Suddenly, his mouth was on yours, and you made a small noise of surprise before wrapping your arms around his back and kissing him. The carpet was soft beneath your skin as he slowly started to pull your shirt off, and when you finally broke your kiss, it was only so he could fully remove it and toss it onto the couch. The heat of the fire was warm against your right side, but you still shivered as his eyes hungrily settled on your breasts. You said a silent thank you to your past self for deciding to wear one of your nicer bras that morning as Steve ran his hands over the pink lace of your lingerie.

“I really like this,” he murmured under his breath, most likely to himself. You felt your cheeks heat up from his praise, but your eyes widened when Steve abruptly reached around your back and ripped the bra’s band clean in half.

“Steve!”

“I’ll buy you another one just like it,” he promised, hushing your protests with another searing kiss.

He tossed the now-useless scrap of fabric away before greedily kneading at your tits, rolling them in his palms as his hips started to grind against yours. Every time his bulge pressed against you just right, you felt shocks of pleasure emanate from your already-drenched pussy.

His lips slowly started to trek downwards, trailing a path down your cheek to your neck, and you cried out when you felt him bite your flesh. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he licked over the bitemark, soothing it before once more sucking in what you were certain would be an impressive hickey later.

Suddenly, though, you felt yourself being flipped over, and your breath was nearly taken away when Steve maneuvered you onto your belly.

“I wanna try something,” he murmured against your ear. You nodded quickly as you felt him guide you up onto your knees, and you shifted to support your weight on your elbows.

You craned your neck and looked over your shoulder, watching as Steve efficiently started removing his and the rest of your clothes, tossing them into a neat pile before turning his attention to you again. He smirked, giving you a wink as he knelt behind you.

“Have I mentioned,” he asked, “how much I love your ass?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you saw his jaw clench as he brought his palm down hard against your ass. You gasped, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward. Again, he spanked you, and you bit your lip from the sting it left in its wake.

“I asked you a question, baby,” Steve cooed as his hands groped and squeezed your ass.

“I-I,” you stammered, trying to gather your scattered thought. “Uh, n-no, I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”

“Well.” You could hear the smile on his lips as he once more leaned down, covering your body with his as he kissed your shoulder. “I love it. And I wanna watch it as I fuck you.”

You gulped and nodded, biting your lip as Steve’s mouth trailed down your spine. A noise escaped your throat as his hands spread your ass cheeks, and your pussy clenched as it was exposed to the sudden rush of cool air. You spread your knees wider apart and arched your back, glancing behind you once again.

Steve’s eyes darkened as he took in your form, sitting back on his heels as his hands shifted, using his thumbs to keep you spread open while the rest of his digits curled around your hips. His tongue darted out, licking his lips as his eyes focused on your pussy.

“So wet,” he observed, leaning closer. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you want me?”

“Yes, Steve, please-“

“What happened to sir?”

He arched an eyebrow, smirking up at you, and you felt something mischievous stir within you.

“Sorry, Captain,” you purred, wiggling your ass. “I meant to say, ‘Please, sir, fuck me until I can’t walk straight-‘”

A moan interrupted you as Steve leaned in and licked a stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let out a moan as he lapped at your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue. One of his hands trailed up your back until it rested between your shoulder blades, and you felt him slowly start to press you downwards until your chest was flush against the carpet and your ass was sticking further up into the air.

All the while, his tongue was starting to flatten out, tracing patterns against your clit that had you seeing stars. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead against your crossed forearms, your hips jolting any time his tongue changed its pace. Moans fell from your lips unbidden, and you hoped to God his neighbors couldn’t hear you as you grew louder and louder.

The carpet was rough against your knees and your hands, and the lewd sounds of Steve’s tongue laving over your soaked cunt filled the air. You could feel your own juices running down the inside of your thighs, and you could tell from the knot tightening in your belly that you were getting close to cumming.

“Steve,” you panted, pushing your hips back against him. “Fuck, I’m close-“

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, though, Steve pulled away. You whined at the loss, your nails digging into the carpet as you squeezed your thighs together. Within seconds, though, you felt Steve grip your hips as he drew himself up onto his knees, and before you take a breath to prepare yourself, he was pushing into you.

“O-oh, fuck,” he groaned, “Been thinkin’ about this pussy all damn day…”

He wasted no time before starting to move, and you braced yourself as you felt the way your pussy stretched around him; his cock was still just as big as you remembered it being, but despite the burn from being stuffed so full, it still felt amazing as your cunt took his hard length.

“Captain, oh my God-“

You craned your neck to watch him, taking in the way his muscles tensed and flexed as he rolled his hips forward. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his jaw was clenched; you wondered if he was straining to control himself and his strength, doing his best not to hurt you.

Ragged groans were emanating from his parted lips as he fucked you into the floor, and his hands were continuously exploring your body, gliding over your ass to your tits and then back to your hips. With every thrust, the head of his cock was slamming into a spot deep inside of you that had you all but screaming his name, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you found your release.

“You’re getting close,” Steve grunted, pressing his chest against your back and caging you in beneath his body. “I can feel it; you gonna cum for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you moaned. “F-fuck, I’m so close-“

One of Steve’s hands moved towards your pussy, brushing past your folds to tap your clit in time with his thrusts. You wailed, your body tensing as your orgasm ripped through you. Your eyes rolled as wave after wave of pleasure washed over your body, and somewhere in the background you could hear Steve’s groan as he came inside of you. Hot cum coated your inner walls as you both rode out your highs, and you shivered as his cock began to soften inside of you.

“Fuck, doll,” he sighed, rolling over onto his side. He gently took you in his arms, spooning you from behind as you faced the fire. “I’d been looking forward to that.”

A laugh bubbled past your lips, and you turned your head to press a quick peck to his lips.

“Me too. To be honest, I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off of you, now that I’m gonna be staying here.”

You turned away just as a wide grin spread over Steve’s face, and you missed the pleased, possessive gleam in his eyes as he pecked your cheek.

“I hope it takes them a long time to fix your heating, then.”

____________

The rest of the day went by quickly. You and Steve laid there, talking and dozing for a good hour before going for another round. This time, he fucked you from behind as you laid on the floor, rocking his hips slowly as he whispered filthy things into your ear. Your orgasm was slow-building and languid as he slowly wrung it out of you, and you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep afterwards until you awoke to find Steve picking you up.

“Sorry, doll,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh! Oh, no, it’s… it’s fine. Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s almost five.” Your eyebrows flew up as he started carrying you to the staircase, climbing it with long, confident strides despite baring the weight of an entire other person in his arms. “I was just about to start on dinner.”

“Oh?” A yawn interrupted you, and you giggled when Steve yawned immediately after. “Oh, sorry.”

“For what?”

“For giving you my yawn.”

Steve frowned.

“I… Don’t understand. Your yawn?”

“Yeah! Cuz, you know. Yawns are contagious?”

He shook his head as he carried you into a bathroom decorated in white and blue tile. He sat you down on the counter as he bent down to retrieve a hand towel from beneath the sink, and you took the opportunity to admire just how wide his shoulders were.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Yawns are contagious; for most people, if they see someone else yawn, it makes them yawn, too,” you explained. “It’s a sign of empathy.”

“Huh.” Steve smiled as he ran the towel under the sink, getting it wet with warm water. “Well. Since I caught your yawn…”

“…It means you’re a very empathetic person,” you finished. “But I could’ve told you that anyways.”

“Mm.”

He pulled your legs apart gently as he nodded, and you felt your cheeks heat up as he started to clean the cum from between your legs. His touch was exceedingly gentle as he ran the rag over your skin, and the warmth in his eyes as he looked at you made butterflies erupt into flight within your chest. You thought that this might just be the most intimate moment you’d ever shared with another person; there was something about the sudden shift in mood and the vulnerability of your position that made you want to cling to Steve and never let go.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but his lips found yours in a slow, lazy kiss that had your toes curling. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his beard as it tickled and brushed against your chin. He tasted like coffee, and he was so warm; you felt as if you were going to dissolve into his touch.

From there, Steve carried you into the kitchen, which was right next to the living room. It, too, was decked out with blue and white tile, and there were several modern stainless steel appliances with the Stark logo on them. You sat on one of the barstools at the island in the center of the room, making easy conversation with your boyfriend as he set about cooking a casserole of some sort.

“Thanks again for letting me stay with you,” you sighed, setting your chin in your hand. “Leave it to my luck to have my heat go out during the coldest time in the year.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with luck,” Steve spoke, glancing up at you. “I looked into it, and apparently three other apartment complexes in your neighborhood had the same thing happen.”

You straightened upon hearing that; you hadn’t seen that anywhere on the news.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea.”

He shrugged, pulling a head of broccoli from the fridge.

“Well, your side of town isn’t exactly the, uh…safest place to live,” he mused. “If anything, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” you quickly defended. “If anything, it’s on the nicer side of things for that part of Brooklyn.”

For a moment, Steve looked as if he wanted to say something, but he held back, closing his mouth before he could make whatever point he’d just thought of.

“…I guess I just worry about you,” he finally huffed. “Sorry; I know that’s probably paranoid.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But… It’s also very sweet. And I am grateful that you invited me to stay here with you.”

A smile came to his lips, and his eyes twinkled as he looked over at you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

As it turned out, the casserole Steve made was actually good, despite its bland coloration and questionable look. It was a recipe from the 30’s, after all, but you weren’t disappointed. After eating, you insisted on helping Steve do the dishes, which you did standing side by side in a comfortable silence.

Once the dishes were dried and put away, Steve brought your duffel bag up to the bedroom, giving you a quick tour of the space on the way.

“There are three stories and a basement,” he explained as you ascended the stairs. “But I only use the first and second floor, for the most part.”

He paused on the landing, pointing out various doorways as he listed off rooms.

“Office, bathroom, and bedroom through there,” he explained, gesturing to each respectively. He turned and pointed towards the second set of stairs, which lead upwards. “Upstairs is there, but don’t bother checking it out; it’s just storage and old boxes.”

He walked into the bedroom, which had in it the biggest bed that you had ever laid eyes on. It looked like something out of a movie, and you immediately walked over and sank down, headfirst, into its grey sheets. Steve laughed as he set your bag on the dresser.

“Comfy?”

“Oh, my God,” you groaned, your voice muffled by the sheets. “It’s so comfy, Steve.”

“I did not understand a word of what you just said,” he joked. “But I think it was a yes.”

That evening, the two of you sat on the sofa and watched movies in your pajamas. As it turned out, Steve had never seen Star Wars (though you weren’t terribly surprised by that fact), so he rented A New Hope for the two of you. He kept up with the plot surprisingly well, though you could tell some of the science-fiction jargon went way over his head. And once it was over, he asked if you would watch Empire Strikes Back with him next, which you happily agreed to do even though you were starting to feel your eyelids grow heavy.

Steve’s reaction to the ending, though, was completely worth staying up. You laughed as he sat there, watching the credits, his jaw still slack with shock.

“…So wait a minute,” he finally said, setting his elbows on his knees and staring at the screen. “You’re tellin’ me that Darth Vader is Luke’s father?!”

“I cannot believe you haven’t had that spoiled for you before,” you laughed.

“I mean, I thought it was a little funny that his name means ‘father’ in German, but I thought it was just a coincidence,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. He let himself relax once again, sinking back into the sofa cushions, and you set your head on his shoulder as he tapped his foot restlessly.

“Darth Vader is Luke’s dad,” he whispered to himself, and you barked out a laugh. Directly afterwards, though, a yawn overtook you, and Steve looked down at you with an arched eyebrow. “Gettin’ sleepy?”

“Just a bit,” you yawned once again. You blinked up at Steve slowly, finding a fond smile plastered across his lips.

“I think,” he said, pulling you into his arms, “that it’s time for us to go to bed.”

You made no protest as he picked you up, effortlessly carrying you through the house as he went around, shutting off all the lights. He only let you go once he brought you to the bedroom, and you kissed his cheek before kneeling down by your duffel, looking around for your toothbrush.

“Oh, shit,” you groaned under your breath. “No, no, come on-“

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked from the other side of the room.

“I forgot my toothbrush,” you sighed, standing up. “I’m gonna have the worst morning breath.”

Steve chuckled and gestured for you to follow him to the bathroom.

“Don’t worry; I picked up an extra for you the last time I was at the store,” he told you.

“Oh, thank God-“ You paused, arching an eyebrow at him. “Wait… How did you know I would be over?”

The smile on his face faltered for just a second as he turned to answer your question, but it righted itself before he spoke next.

“Oh, I didn’t. But I was hopeful that you’d spend the night here at some point.”

You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours after he pulled a still-packaged toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet.

“Someone was confident,” you smirked.

“No, not confident,” he corrected you. “Just hopeful.”

____________

You slept like a baby that night; how could you not? Steve held you in his arms almost the entire time; as it turned out, he was a bit of a cuddler in his sleep. You weren’t complaining, though; when you woke up the next morning, you felt more well-rested than you had in a long, long time.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

You turned to find Steve walking into the bedroom, already dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue button-down. A quick glance towards the clock told you that it was only 8:07 in the morning, but you could already smell breakfast wafting from downstairs.

“How’d you sleep?” Steve asked, drawing your attention back to him.

“Perfectly,” you smiled, pushing the sheets back and stretching.

“Well, I’m glad. We have a busy day ahead of us,” he remarked. You arched an eyebrow as you stood up and made your way over to your duffel.

“Oh, really? What do you have planned for us, Cap?”

You jumped when you felt him press up against you from behind, and you let him tilt your head to the side so he could press a soft kiss to your neck.

“Well,” he murmured, trailing his hands over your hips. “I thought that we could eat a big breakfast, first off. And afterwards, I was thinking we could go to the zoo.”

You gasped and spun around, feeling excitement spark in your chest.

“What?!”

Steve laughed, a wide grin spreading over his features.

“Well, why not? I’m in between missions, so there’s nowhere for me to be. And I’ve always wanted to take a dame to Prospect Park; me and Bucky were actually at the opening of the zoo there back in the 30’s.”

“That’s…really cool, Steve,” you smiled, starting to pick out your outfit for the day. “What was it like?”

Steve sat on the bed and watched as you debated which sweater you wanted to wear with the jeans you’d picked out, thinking back to the fond memory.

“Well, me and Bucky were broke, first of all,” he chuckled. “We couldn’t afford a ticket in, but Buck was friends with one of the zookeeper’s sons. So he snuck us in with him when he went in to work that morning.

“The whole place was packed that first day; things were different back then, you know. Most people had only ever seen pictures of an elephant or a lion, and even then, the pictures weren’t detailed and in color the way they are today. So people were seeing these creatures they’d only ever imagined before in real life for the first time. It was…”

You looked over as you pulled your sweater over your head, catching the small, wistful smile on Steve’s face as he thought back to that time.

“It was magical, as corny as that sounds,” he finally sighed. “Plus, that opening day was the day before my birthday, so it was extra special for me.”

“Oh, I bet that was one incredible b-day,” you said. “What day is it on?”

At that, Steve paused, and you could have sworn that a blush had started to spread over his cheeks.

“I… Well, it’s…”

You frowned, walking over to set your hands on his shoulders.

“What is it?” you asked? “Don’t wanna tell your own girlfriend when your birthday is?”

Steve let out a huff of laughter at that, letting his hands come to rest on your waist.

“It’s just… Well. When Tony found out about it, he never let me hear the end of it. In fact, every year since he found out, he’s thrown an enormous, obnoxious birthday barbeque for me.”

“Oh, come on, that doesn’t sound so bad-“

“My birthday is on the fourth of July.”

You blinked, trying your best to fight back the grin that was trying to spread over your face. A sharp burst of laughter escaped you, and you quickly threw your hand over your mouth as Steve let out a sigh.

“…Yyyyeah…”

“You’re kidding me,” you giggled, letting your hand fall from your mouth to your chest. “No, that’s…that’s too perfect. The universe would never be so rude to you.”

Steve shook his head, scratching his beard.

“Tony puts up these banners that say Happy America Day, and my cake has been red, white, and blue for the past five years.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed so hard that tears came to your eyes; Steve had just looked so defeated as he said that, and you couldn’t deny the irony that Steve would also just happen to be born on the same day America declared its independence from Britain. He took it like a champ, though, and just laughed with you at the coincidence.

“Well,” you finally said, still grinning, “this year we’ll do something for your birthday that’s decidedly not patriotic.”

Steve, for his part, actually looked touched, and there was a tone of relief in his next words.

“I would…really like that.”

______________

That day might have been one of the best of your life. After feasting on pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs, the two of you dressed up in your warmest coats and left for the zoo. Steve had offered to drive you there on his motorcycle, and despite your initial trepidation, you’d said yes. As it turned out, you enjoyed the experience, if for no other reason than it gave you an excuse to have Steve between your legs for the duration of the short drive. It was nice to feel the wind rush around you as you clung to him, and the way the bike tilted into the twists and turns of the road was exhilarating.

You’d never had as much fun at a zoo as you had that day. Steve gave you a grand tour of the parts he remembered from the 30’s, and you told him random facts about the various animals the two of you saw. And despite the fact that Steve swore up and down that he didn’t enjoy using modern technology, he took nearly a thousand pictures that day – most of them were of you or whatever animal you were looking at, but you managed to convince him to take a few selfies with you.

You even captured a picture of Steve that, in your opinion, was priceless. It was of him in front of the lion exhibit, and it was taken the moment one of the lions started walking right towards the glass. Steve’s eyes were wide in the photo, and his mouth was open wide in an excited smile; you’d found out later that lions were his favorite animal. He told you that as you two sat in the zoo’s main plaza, snacking on some overpriced pizza that Steve had insisted he didn’t mind getting for the two of you.

“To be fair,” he said after laughing at the picture, “lions are my favorites. I get that excited any time I see one.”

“Really? Why lions?” you asked.

One of the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile, and he took a sip of his beer before answering.

“They were always my mom’s favorite,” he explained, and you could hear a hint of melancholy in his voice. “I used to draw them for her; they always made her happy, even after she got sick.”

A sad smile had fallen over his face, and your heart squeezed at the sight of it.

“…I can tell you miss her,” you spoke softly, reaching over to put your hand over his. “But for what it’s worth, I know that she was proud of you, and she’d be even prouder to see who you’ve become. But… I know that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Steve’s eyes found yours, and no one could miss the affection that was glimmering in them for you. His hand squeezed yours, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Thanks, doll,” he murmured. “It does help, more than you know.”

After the two of you finished your lunch, you walked around the rest of the zoo, hand in hand. Steve’s beard made it harder for people to recognize him, but there were still a few who came up asking for selfies with him. He was always gracious about it, letting them take a quick photo and thanking them for their kind words before turning back to you. There were others who didn’t come up to talk to him but who definitely still recognized who he was; you saw a few of them taking pictures of you, but you tried not to worry about it, focusing instead of Steve and the scenery around you.

Once you were done at the zoo, you two walked around for a while without any real purpose or destination. You took in the sights of the city, strolling down tiny side streets and exploring what Brooklyn had to offer. Towards mid-afternoon, you stumbled upon a small, hole-in-the-wall café that had the most delicious smell wafting from its open door. The two of you had stepped in to find that the shop owner had just baked some homemade cinnamon rolls, and so the two of you took a break in your exploration of the city to have a cup of coffee while sharing a cinnamon roll. It, of course, was sinfully delicious, as was the sight of Steve licking icing off of his lips.

He caught you staring at one point and winked, causing you to look away as your cheeks heated up in embarrassment. You got him right back, though, when you saw his eyes linger on your mouth as you licked icing off your fingertips.

“See something you like, sir?” you’d asked quietly. His eyes had visibly darkened, and his voice was husky when he leaned in to murmur his reply.

“I’m gonna remember that later on tonight, baby,” he’d promised.

And once the two of you got back to his place, that’s exactly what he did. That night, the two of you could barely keep your hands off each other. When you finally did manage to go to sleep, you were thoroughly exhausted, which might have been the reason why you slept so late the next day. In any case, when you finally woke up, the clock on the nightstand told you it was 9:30 already.

“Fuck,” you sighed, sitting up stiffly as your sore muscles ached in protest.

No amount of stretching was able to calm the ache in your limbs, but despite how it made your every movement burn, you didn’t regret a single thing about the day before. A small, sated smile had settled over your lips as you pulled on one of Steve’s t-shirts and made your way downstairs. Halfway there, though, you heard your lover’s voice coming from the kitchen, and he didn’t seem happy.

You paused, a frown spreading over your face you slowed to a stop.

“I don’t care, Fury,” Steve was saying. You peeked around the corner, seeing him seated at the island, a stormy expression on his face as he stared down at his cup of coffee. You could just barely catch the sound of a man yelling something on the other line, but you couldn’t make out his words.

“Then get Natasha to lead the mission,” he suddenly barked, and you ducked back around the corner as you listened. “Or Sam; he’s more than capable of-“

He was interrupted again, and you bit your lip, contemplating whether or not you should reveal yourself. Maybe you should go back upstairs? But what if he heard you walking away – would he realize you’d been eavesdropping?

“Director, my personal relationships are none of your business,” he all but growled, and your ears perked up; was he talking about you? “And neither are my reasons for turning down missions. Bottom line is, I’m not going. Sam will be willing to lead, and you can send Wanda in for extra backup. And before you say anything, yes, she’s ready for this.”

With that, Steve hung up; you heard the clatter of him dropping his phone onto the countertop. You held your breath and counted to ten in your head before straightening up and walking around the corner, watching as his head popped up to look at you.

“Good morning,” you smiled, walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Did I hear you on the phone with someone?”

Instantly, the worried lines on his face disappeared, and an easy smile overtook his features as he pulled you in for a quick kiss.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he said. “Just some business back at the compound – nothing to worry about.”

You pulled back, looking over his face; as upset as he’d sounded before, now there were no traces of frustration to be seen. A small part inside of you glowed at the thought that you’d been the one to relieve his tension so quickly, but you couldn’t help but wonder about what his phone call had been about.

“I was thinking we could go back to that café we found yesterday for breakfast,” he said abruptly. “Does that sound good to you?”

“Oh! Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’d like that. I’ll go get dressed.”

Steve smiled and nodded, watching your ass as you walked back towards the stairs. His eyes followed you until you completely left the room, and even then his gaze lingered where you’d been standing moments before; he was totally, completely, addicted to the feelings you brought up in him. At first, he’d felt guilty about tampering with the heating unit for your building, but he reasoned that it would only take them about a week to fix it. And, God, did he need this – a week alone with the woman he was so quickly growing to adore.

Any shred of regret he’d felt from stealing the copper wires from your heating unit or from turning down missions just so he could spend more time with you had faded away as soon as you came walking into the kitchen wearing nothing but his t-shirt. So, no, he wasn’t going to entertain Director Fury’s tantrums when he said no to an assignment. In fact, he reached for his phone and turned it off before sliding it in his pocket and picking up the newspaper in front of him.

He sipped his coffee as he skimmed over the articles, and although he usually discarded the gossip and entertainment sections entirely, his eyes fell on a headline that caught his attention. Biting his lip, he turned to its page, staring that the picture printed before him. It was from yesterday, when the two of you had gone to the zoo. His hand was in yours, and you were smiling up at him as the two of you strolled past the elephant exhibit. ‘Captain America Finally Finds Love?’ was scrawled boldly across the top of the page, and his eyes scanned the article, taking in the various speculations as to who you were and how you’d met the famous super soldier.

Just as he was finished reading, he heard your footsteps start to descend the staircase, and he quickly pulled the page out of the paper and folded it in half a few times, sliding it into his pocket just before you appeared in the doorway, looking absolutely gorgeous in a deep burgundy sweater dress and soft gray leggings.

“Ready to go?” you asked, adjusting the knit cat perched on top of your head.

Steve grinned and stood up, grabbing his keys before making his way over to you.

“I sure am, doll.”

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #sugar daddy!steve #sugar daddy!steve Rogers #captain america #captain america x reader

476 notes · View notes

visceryl · 4 years

Text

The Great Dragon Rescue

This is the bang @montdiarts and I worked on together! The lovely comic art belongs to @montdiarts while the writing belongs to myself. @hphmbang2020

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

“Are you sure about this, Charlie?”

Barnaby’s voice echoed down the cracked stone halls weathered with age as the boys traveled by torchlight down the seldom used corridor. He gripped his wand tightly in a fist, green eyes shifting behind to ensure they weren’t followed.

“I saw it myself, Barnaby, a real life dragon egg,” the red-headed boy hissed back. He picked his way around the corner bending left, unbothered enough to forgo looking down the other adjoining halls. As far as he was concerned, that was what Barnaby tagged along for.

When he’d first stumbled upon the egg, it had been fate. It started with a prodding dream to study for his OWL’s, and after waking up covered in a fresh sheen of sweat, he had set to work scouring Hogwarts for the best place to study between classes without anyone finding him. That, of course, meant going where he wasn’t supposed to.

Charlie sniffed out nearly every inch of the expansive castle, resulting in the common practice of people and creatures chasing him from newly acquired positions. He dared not tell Barnaby his previous run-in with Hagrid’s puppy.

As far as the Slytherin knew, this was a top secret mission to save a dragon’s egg from great peril. Loneliness.

It wasn’t about the knowledge that they were doing this during a time both were supposed to be nose deep in books for their classes. Or that of all classes currently running, Snape was still a credible obstacle that roamed the halls. Barnaby was a defend first and ask questions later type of guy, which made him the perfect fit.

“Okay, I get it's a dragon egg but do you even know what kind? What if someone notices it missing?”

“It’s been cruelly locked behind chains and left to rot alone!” Charlie defended. “I’m going to save it and set it free. This chance is once in a lifetime, it depends on us to ensure it's not a captive its whole life!”

A low chuckle rolled from Barnaby’s chest and he sent his elbow into the Weasley’s arm. “You’re kind of crazy, you know that?”

Charlie leveled the Slytherin with a knowing look, teeth shining brightly behind freckled features. “It runs in the family, what’s your excuse?”

“... Same here.”

Hesitation glued Charlie’s feet to the ground and his gaze lingered on his friend, scouring for any emotional fluctuation in Barnaby’s expression. Family was sensitive, he didn’t joke about it often. But there was no further comment. He’d already moved on with a roll of his shoulder, pushing ahead.

The two boys continued in silence for the remainder of the walk. Torches lit along the walls on either side, a lone painting rousing with suspicion in passing. It muttered to itself, talking of the no good boys causing trouble in its halls.

It was ignored as Charlie took them up a flight of stairs tucked away neatly behind a wooden door. The knob was slightly rusted with underuse and the staircase led only to a hatch in the ceiling, sealed tight with a lock.

Barnaby loomed over Charlie’s shoulder as the redhead touched down to palm the lock in hand. It twisted and turned with examination.

“Mm, this could be a problem.”

“How did you get it open the first time?”

The dragon enthusiast’s cheeks burned a fiery red. “It wasn’t locked before. But it doesn’t matter, I can still open it.”

He took the lock further in his grasp and drew his wand. “Barnaby, give me a bit more light, please?”

The Lumos spell started as a pinprick of light in the dark room before its glow illuminated a near thirty foot area around them in dim lighting. Coming into the stairwell, they had abandoned a path of torches for secrecy. By the looks of the moss eaten cobblestone and the water stained cracks jutting up the walls, nobody was supposed to be here.

“Thank you,” Charlie breathed with a forward sink of his shoulders. He was relieved to have at least partial vision restored.

He gave a wave of his wand and muttered the incantation for unlocking beneath his breath. As his wand turned, he could hear the rusted gears of the lock creaking open before… snap!

The hook of the lock popped open and he quickly scrambled to tear it off the hatch. It bounced unsteady in his hand, sliding past the grip of fingers. Barnaby made a pass at it, swiping to catch it before the first dreaded clink of it echoing off the stone staircase.

To no avail.

The lock evaded both their grasps and tumbled down each individual stair before hitting the bottom with a final crack.

Charlie recoiled with tension, features pinched with horrified strain as a palm smooshed over his face, rubbing out his worry and frustration. “Don’t worry about it,” he insisted with a low hiss.

His attention turned back to the hatch, flattening his palms on its underneath and pushing. Dust rained down on the two, clouding Barnaby’s normally brown hair in a layer of spotted gray. Both were immediately sent into a coughing fit, Charlie’s hand raising over his mouth as he ushered for the other to shine his wand up inside.

“Don’t worry about it? Charlie have you actually ever been to this place? I don’t think anything comes up here!”

“Shh!” The Gryffindor snapped his gaze back, grasping his friend by the shoulder and giving an assuring squeeze. “I promise you, I know what this is. Please, Barnaby, just shine your light.”

Reluctantly, Barnaby did as he was told, straightening beyond Charlie to loft his wand into the room shrouded entirely in darkness. His Lumos spell lit it with ease, and as green eyes keenly made it around the room, Charlie scrambled up past him.

The wood floor of the seemingly abandoned attic space cried shrilly beneath the boy’s weight. This space either hadn’t been used in a long time or was made to look that way. The walls and far end of the room were lined with junk. Textbooks, boxes, old potion bottles, broken brooms. It’s initial appearance gave off nothing more than an old storage room, which is exactly how it’d caught Charlie’s eye to begin with.

Secure and secluded.

But it was what rested to his left that sparked him with the overwhelming sense of duty that led him to tuck tail and run for backup. Charlie was in no way deterred by his task or incapable of doing so, but sneaking a dragon egg through Hogwarts required tact and a lot of help.

Sat atop a pedestal of marble, an egg-shaped form loomed in the cascading shadows rippling off of Barnaby’s wand. Charlie advanced, curving his fingers into the white linen sheet when a noise sent the Slytherin behind him scrambling.

A crack.

Barnaby whirled, pointing his wand threateningly at empty space and his teeth grated together. “I don’t like this.”

Charlie waited a moment longer, listening out into the silence, and proceeded. He threw the sheet off and set his sights upon the rich brown egg covered in a deep tiger pattern and scaled surface. Giddiness shot through him.

“Come on, Barnaby! Look at it,” he hissed out, wildly waving his friend over. “It’s beautiful!”

Barnaby shuffled over, the light following him as he moved. He examined every end of the egg, circling around it before a frown sunk his features. “I think it’s dead, Charlie.”

“What?!”

He raised out a hand, slowly turning the back end of the egg to face the Gryffindor where a giant crack split across the back. “That doesn’t look healthy for it, at least.”

For but a moment, Charlie sank in hopeless defeat, jaw dropped slack. He pressed his hands to either side of the egg, cupping it until his forehead lowered to its top. “I should have known,” he whispered.

Then another crack.

Something smashed back against Charlie’s forehead and he wheeled back in shock. Both boys latched their attention on the egg that writhed and shuddered on the pedestal. A small hole poked through the hardened shell and from within a deep red eye peered out.

“It’s not dead, Barnaby!” Charlie shouted all at once, lurching forward to grab the egg again. “It’s hatching! We’re going to see it hatch!”

The little dragon within the shell struggled for several minutes, chipping and biting away at its confinements. At some point, Charlie stepped in, breaking away a few small pieces to make a larger exit point. By the end of fifteen minutes, a wyrmling crawled out, knocking several shell pieces to the ground where they splintered against the wood.

It spanned out a paper-thin wing, small serpentine tongue lashing out to lick away excess nutrients that clung like a soft film to its body.

Barnaby crept behind it, a finger waggling against its sweeping tail that coiled and uncoiled as it lounged. “Hey, it’s kind of cute,” he murmured.

“Kind of?” Charlie stood back in awe, a glimmer of excitement in his soft honey brown eyes. “This is a Ukrainian Ironbelly! Look at its color and how thick those scales are!” His knees bit into the unstable wood flooring as he threw himself before the pedestal, coming eye level with the dragon.

“It doesn’t have its spines yet, but said to be the largest of all the dragons. Can you imagine the luck!?”

Barnaby had to hand it to Charlie, he liked animals as much as the next idiot, but never to the degree Charlie liked dragons. Nobody doubted what he’d become when he left here, or where he’d go. He was someone with a dream to study and learn from some of history’s greatest beasts.

The Slytherin inhaled and moved to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Alright then, use that brain of yours to rework the plan. I was supposed to carry an egg, not a baby dragon. How do we hide it until we get out?”

“...Well like I said before, Penny has some potions we can use to sneak out of the castle. The only problem is.. Now that it’s hatched, I think we need to go to Hagrid.”

“What if he tells Dumbledore? Or worse. Snape.”

“No way, Hagrid loves us. And he’ll love this little guy. If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Barnaby was about to open his mouth to reply when the baby Ironbelly leapt from the pedestal, little wings snapping out. It glided for a split second before crashing against Charlie’s shoulder, letting its claws tear and grasp at his robes for purchase. A panicked cry squeaked from its chest.

The dragon enthusiast all but melted, shaking hands roping up around its body and hugging it to his chest. “Easy, easy little guy,” he soothed.

Another squeak chirped from the Ironbelly and its plated head rubbed to Charlie’s cheek, a soft pink tongue dampening his skin with saliva.

“...Okay you win. Can I hold it?” Barnaby quickly sputtered out, watching the baby dragon in his own glistening wonder. It took only a second for Charlie to inch himself side by side with the Slytherin, helping the wyrmling hop into his arms and onto a shoulder. It’s teeth immediately latched onto his ear, tugging with a less than threatening growl.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. “Hey!” He scooped a hand under the Ironbelly, drawing it aloft in front of his face, detaching it from his ear. “Those little teeth are still sharp.” The dragon chirped again, a soft puff of smoke lifting into the air from its parted maw.

“Here’s the plan,” Charlie purred, scratching beneath it’s chin. “We take turns tucking it beneath our robes and find our way to Penny. She’ll supply us with the potions needed to sneak out and find Hagrid. From there, hopefully he’ll know what to do with releasing it.”

At that, Barnaby promptly wrangled the little wyrmling beneath his robes, letting it attach to his shirt, where it’s little nose picked up the lingering scent of treats. It shuffled, snuffing about before pressing its nose into the front chest pocket of his button up, clawing out a delicious pet snack.

“...I’ve got it, but it just ate the treats I saved for the Niffler!”

“Better the little thing travels full anyways.”

The plan was destined for failure. Too many open variables, too little done to prepare for carrying a baby dragon out of Hogwarts. Charlie and Barnaby set off down the halls once more after climbing from the hatch and skipping down the winding staircase.

Barnaby struggled to calm the wyrmling’s shuffling as it fought tooth and nail to peek its head out from his collar. Eventually, a hand pressed to the top of its head through the fabric and came away with a yelp, the skin blistering red from tiny little puncture holes.

“Charlie, it bit me!”

“Shhh, we just have a little bit further.”

“A little bit further for what?”

The new voice had both boys jumping. Charlie whipped around to come face to face with Felix. His arms were folded over his chest expectantly, hair pulled back into a tight mini-ponytail.

Barnaby refused to turn towards his Prefect, clutching the Ironbelly tighter to his chest as he boasted a nervous laugh. “Felix! We didn’t expect to see you here, Charlie and I were just trying to find Penny. She was going to help us out with potions.”

An impatient little squeak came from his robes and Felix raised a brow.

“Help you out, or help your little friend? What did you sneak in this time, Lee?”

Charlie slipped himself between the Slytherin Prefect and his friend, flashing a much too wide smile. “You know, it’s probably best you don’t know. That blasted Barnaby, always bringing in magical creatures. Well you know, Felix, I caught him in the act and I’m helping him sneak it out to return it!”

“What?!” Barnaby couldn’t stop himself in time, the rush of embarrassed shock warming his cheeks. “I mean.. Yeah! I just wanted a bit more time with the… the Niffler. I’m sorry, Felix, won’t happen again.”

Felix narrowed his gaze on the two, clearly not buying it as he waited impatiently for the truth. His foot tapped the ground. One, two, three times. It attracted the attention of the wyrmling smothered in Barnaby’s robes and with a last push for freedom, raced down the Slytherin’s leg.

In an instant it was attacking Felix’s shoe, teeth digging into the black leather with a determined growl as it shook its mighty little head.

Wide eyes blinked down at it, the prefect’s face twisted with horror at the audacity of the two boys. “Oh no. You have got to be kidding me. CHARLIE. You have one minute to convince me not to blow the whistle. This is a dragon. In the school.”

Charlie grimaced, quickly going down to sweep the dragon back up into his arms, letting it settle before just barely concealing it behind his robes. It could peek its head out, red eyes blinking out curiously at all the winding halls and movements.

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “But Felix, please, you can’t tell. I found it alone up in one of the attics. It just hatched! I was only trying to get it out of the school to begin with so it could be freed.”

The Prefect either wasn’t buying it, or was quite good at hiding his true feelings. After a moment of silence, his jaw tightened with tension. Footsteps echoed down the right wing of the hall.

“Dammit, Charlie. Go around the hall, now!” Felix suddenly lashed out. “I had a meeting with Professor Snape. That’s him. Go.”

“What about the dragon!?”

“Just get it out of here, I’ll distract Snape.”

Before they had time to argue, Felix curled his fists into their clothes and shoved them around the corner. Just in time. His fingers combed through his hair to smooth back any messiness and rounded to meet Snape.

“...Felix,” the man greeted with an exhale of annoyance.

“Professor Snape. Did you want to go back to the classroom to talk? Or maybe the common room?”

As if a bloodhound for mischief, the man crinkled his nose like he’d smelled some foul odor. His sharp gaze ran the length of the halls before drifting back down to his Prefect. “Now, I do hope you haven’t gotten mixed up in anything. So eager to leave. I believe here is as good a place as any.”

Felix grimaced, avoiding looking in the direction he sent Barnaby and Charlie. “No, of course not, Professor. Here is fine.”

“Wonderful.”

Snape began to walk towards the hall, letting Felix trail after in panicked steps, trying to deflect his attention. It spurred him on faster. The Head of House ripped around the corner with a scowl already spanning his face as if ready to scold on a moment’s notice.

“What are you doing, Weasley?” His voice lashed out accusingly.

Charlie had been quick on the ball. Sat on the ground with his back resting against the wall, he flipped through pages of a book, scribbling down notes between the lines with his quill. As soon as Snape’s voice met him, he glanced up shyly. “Professor Snape. Sorry, I was just doing a bit of studying.”

“With Lee?”

Barnaby was on the other side of Charlie, head knocked to the side with a line of drool dribbling down his chin. Unbeknownst to any of them, the wyrmling had wriggled its way free, bounding away behind Snape at full speed.

Save for Felix.

He caught sight of the runaway dragon and a cold tension coiled up in every muscle. Quickly, he wracked his brain for a way out of it.

“Oh no!” the Prefect suddenly exclaimed. “I just remembered, Professor! There is a reason why I’m a bit jumpy. I was meaning to tell you, but I saw one of the first years stuffing contraband under their mattress.”

“What?” Snape whirled, momentarily keen to forget the other two’s very existence. “Why are you waiting until now, Felix? Who.”

“I’ll show you. Just follow me.”

The gamble paid off.

Felix’s normally stellar behavior and hard earned trust with Snape eventually led the man off with nothing more than a cruel warning to Charlie to stay out of trouble. Purposefully led in the opposite direction of the baby dragon.

And as soon as they were gone, Barnaby sprang to action. Faster than Charlie, the big lug tore down the hall after their new friend. “Hurry, Charlie! Grab it!”

He skidded with his shoes against the deep maroon runner streaking down the hall, wrinkling the rug in the process. The Ironbelly weaved, dodging under a table. Barnaby nearly sailed right over it, crashing in front and rolling to starfish overtop of the dragon. It pinned beneath his arm briefly before popping free and bolting once more.

Ready to make a break for it, only Charlie remained.

His gaze locked on the wriggling wyrmling as its serpentine body weaved down the rug. And with a soft sigh, he sank to the ground, clapping his hands together to gather its attention. “Hey little guy, you don’t have to run,” he urged. “How about we take you to get some yummy food?”

It stopped. Craning its tiny head around to look back at the redhead. A soft squeak bubbled up from its throat.

“That’s it! Yeah, see? Come back to me, little one. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Whether it understood or not, staring into Charlie’s warm gaze eventually had the dragon tucking tail and bouncing back over to its new friend. With a chirp and a hop, it leaped up into his arms, nuzzling at his chest.

“Good… You’re a handful,” he chuckled, stroking his fingers over cool scales. “Now come on. I made a promise. Let’s get you out of here.”

Charlie rose from the ground with the wyrmling swathed in his arms. It crawled to rest its head upon his shoulder and he swung around to offer a hand out for Barnaby.

The Slytherin gave an unceremonious grunt, turning his green eyed gaze upwards before clasping their fingers. It took a lot of pull to get the large boy onto his feet. He promptly took to smoothing out his robes with a laugh. “Can’t believe Felix helped us out with Snape.”

“He’s full of surprises at times.”

Getting to Penny only took them ten minutes despite the struggled wait in timing the stairs to swing perfectly towards the Potion room. She was ecstatic to see the Ukranian Ironbelly and doted for as long as possible before handing over two potions of invisibility. Needless to say, the dragon was also showered in an array of treats plucked from her snack bag, ranging from a turkey cut of a sandwich to a cheese cracker.

From there, it was an uninterrupted and straight shot path towards Hagrid’s Hut. With most students still in their classes, Barnaby and Charlie snuck soundlessly out through the front doors. Not even Filch seemed to stumble across their path.

Hagrid’s Hut was something that was heard before it was spotted. A hotspot for creatures magical and not, several birds scattered as Charlie hopped up the cobble path. Fang lounged on the porch out in front of the doorway. His dark, wrinkled face pressed into the wood deck, snores lifting up from a pressed snout before the approaching boys stirred him.

A deep bark rattled from the dog’s chest and he stood, walking over to sniff at Charlie’s robes.

“Hey Fang,” the boy purred. “Hagrid home?”

Another bark.

“Aye! Fang what’re ya on about now?” Hagrid’s voice raised from within the hut. There was a shifting creak of wood and the door swung open for the grizzled man to peer out. Immediately his gaze fell to Charlie and Barnaby. As well as the little moving mass hidden within the redhead’s robes. “Well aren’t yeh two sights fer sore eyes! What’s this 'bout?”

Charlie stepped forward and drew his robes down cautiously to reveal the little dragon. “We found him in the castle. I know we’re not supposed to be doing this, but Hagrid we need your help to release him.”

Hagrid took a single look at the wyrmling and his features twisted with exasperation. “Yeh two boys realize I can’t jus overlook this, ay?”

“Well you could,” Barnaby replied sheepishly.

“No.” Charlie looked back to his friend then down at the dragon who settled back in his arms. “We understand.”

“Then get yerselves inside. Let’s figure something out for the wee thing.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #bang2020 #bang #writing #artists on tumblr #charlie weasley #barnaby lee #dragon

64 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Tanana.”

This was super fun to write this morning. A little bit funny, and I always enjoy hurting Adam a little, accept in a fun way this time no angst.

Hope you guys like it :)

Just a little bit closer.

The small creature looks on innocently munching on a crop of moss. It has four large eyes, two on either side of it’s head, six legs and is about the size of a small to medium-sized dog. It has really long ears, and if it stays still long enough, it’s going to be my dinner.

I scoot closer over the rock arm raised to the low ready, the spear clutched tight in my right hand.

The creature lifts its head.

Shit, it must have heard me. In my panic, I make a decision out of haste and throw the spear. It goes wild and clatters across the stone. The Drev rabbit takes off, and I am left standing stupidly in the middle of the open field weaponless and looking like a jackass.

“Tsa din dasdarish darat?”

I nearly leap out of my skin, turning around to find Hijan standing a few meters behind me near a coiltree.

“Shit, hijan, do you really have to sneak up on me like that.”

The old drev looks at me in amusement. I Know she doesn't understand most of what I am saying, but somehow I think she still gets it.

“Zha deengan.” I say, one of the first phrases I learned how to use. Being able to say I’m hungry is very important in any foreign language.

She tilts her old wizened head at me, “tsa tin danehanish ee dengish?” You were going to kill and eat that?

I shrugged, “Yid zha deengan.”

She crosses her arms, a habit she’s picked up from me, “ene tsa deengan datadish zha dadee sa deeng datahaik.” IF you were hungry I would have given you food.

I sigh, she wouldn’t get it, but still she walks over and hands me a miss twist. I call them that because of their distinct shape, kind of purple and in a strange sort of spiral. When you dry them out they are crunchy like chips though not particularly salty.

I munch absently on the weird plant? Fungus? And she absently plays with my hair. I try to shrug her off, but she’s a lot like my mother in the way that she won't let me be. I am about 100% sure she thinks I am one of her Drevlings. Which has caused a bunch of interesting changes in my life as of recently, not one of which was her decision that I wasn’t colorful enough.

Apparently Drev see humans a lot differently than we do. They can see the way the UV light interacts with our skin. She describes thousands of little spots which turn into swirling stripes. When I asked her to describe the color she said it was similar to turquoise or blue, though I obviously can’t imagine it.

Makes me jealous as hell though.

However, she said my “Carapace” wasn’t colorful enough. When I asked her what she was on about she clearly meant my hair and my nails, which are made up of similar stuff to the Drev carapace.

Long story short, I now have green hair and nails.

Yeah yeah, laugh all you want, but whatever the hell she put in my hair is not coming out. And when I say green, I am not talking like a nice moss green or forest green. I am talking like the color you paint your new Lamborghini kind of electric green.

Not to say that I haven't had my nails painted before, but never this color, and never in tandem with bright flaming green hair. Don’t know why everyone associates me with the color green. I would say it was only my second or third favorite color. Either way, I look super weird as of late, green hair green nails, no shirt, no shoes, and a slowly expanding five-o-clock shadow.

You know I am not a big fan of beards, mostly not a big fan of them on me, but I forgot to bring a razor, so in that department I am kind of fucked.

I mildly wonder if she is going to make me dye my beard green when it finally grows in.

She makes me grab my spear, grabs me by the hand and drags me back towards the village. She doesn’t let go of my hand. I don’t try to fight her, she is stupidly strong, and despite being a grown ass adult, I am apparently her child now.

The other drev find her adopting me very, very funny, but at least now that she has they don’t call me dazhit anymore. The last time someone called me a bitch in front of her, she kicked the crap out of them. I thought it was pretty funny personally. They danced around the circle like a loon expecting her to be weak in her old age, and she just stood there then jabbed them in the throat with the butt-end of her spear when they weren’t expecting it.

I laughed so hard I cried.

Ever since, they have treated me with a little more respect.

We make it to the village, and with one hand she pushes me off towards the training grounds as if to say, “Go join the other kids.”

I sigh and roll my eyes but go.

The last time I tried to skip out she almost had my hide.

I go at her bidding meeting up with the others who are around my height. Hijan watches sometimes, and she has made it very clear that the kids deserve to get the shit beaten out of them. I don’t like it much, but these kids don’t seem bothered when you knock them around. In fact, most of them like it.

I think our trainer is a bit mad that I can actually fight.

I smile to myself

Now that I do fight, I am at the top of the class.

The kids think I cheat, difference is I have different training than they do, and a lot more experience in combat despite what the Drev seem to think.

“Tanana! Naktan ts adon.” Tanana, my nickname, or my drev name I guess means alien. Hijan doesn’t like the name much, so she calls me tsata which means gift. Personally I am pretty flattered she thinks that about me.

I walk into the circle at our leader's orders and Dark ‘the other kid’ steps into the circle across from me. He’s an ugly little shit, and I’m not just saying that. He’s a dick to me on most occasions. When our teacher isn’t looking sometimes I make fun of his coloring, that usually shuts him up. I should probably feel bad for making fun of a kid, but I really don’t. He's a dick and everyone knows it.

Problem is now he has a bit of a vendetta against me, and is pretty hell-bent on putting his spear through my throat.

Good thing we only fight in hand-to-hand combat these days.

“Aleeshazh!”

The kid does not wait till the end of go before he is charging at me hands wide Some of these kids are under the impression that guarding your center is like…. Dishonorable or something. They would be wrong because even Drev now it’s stupid to come in arms wide open. However, at this point I’ll take what I can get.

I dodge past two sets of arms and come in sharply towards hims middle. He has reach on me, so I go in close and brutally aim for what I am hoping is his liver, if Drev have them. My single punch has him staggering back across the circle gasping.

The teacher does not look happy.

I feel kind of smug.

Of course the little brat won’t give up, I’ll give him that, he isn’t a quitter, and charges for me again.

He’s making this too easy,

I wouldn’t call myself a martial arts master or anything in the slightest, but before he knows what’s happening, he’s on the ground with my legs across his chest. I pin his lower arms with my right leg squeezing his upper arm between both. I have tight hold of his wrist, and just as he begins to squirm, I slowly place upward pressure on his elbow by arching my hips upward.

If I wanted to I could snap the joint.

Damn I love a good arm-bar.

He squirms and squeals for a couple of minutes as I continue to apply pressure until the teacher eventually tells me to knock it off.

I let go and he frowns at me. He doesn’t approve, but there isn’t uch he can do. My move wasn’t against the rules or anything.

He looks at me for a long moment eyes narrowing at my unconcealed expression of pride, and a hint of smugness.

I can see he wants to wipe the look off my face, “zha jasti tsa jej atatchan teeya dzhalakat.”

I grin, “Of course I am too skillful for children. Surprised it took you so long to see that.”

He does the drev equivalent of a frown. I know he can understand most of what I am saying, unlike others, but I think it still annoys him when I speak English.

Tough luck bro, my mouth goes way faster than my brain, its one of my worst qualities. If it didn’t I’d speak Drev More, but for now it was going to take practice.

“Ene tsa ditan atatchan juhkee tsa tehish zheengat s dzhal.”

Well shit.

His if you are so skillful than you can fight with the adults was not an encouraging statement.

I honestly hadn’t meant that to come out as dickish as it did, but now I was definitely already regretting my decision to be a smug bitch.

Guess that is what karma does to you.

I see Hijan at a distance, watching as I am dragged over to the next training field. The Drevlings follow at a distance chirping to themselves excited to see me get my ass beat.

We come up over the rise just as one of the training circle is in session.

Two Drev go at each other with spears so hard sparks are flying. Their feet cut tears in the moss as they push each other across the stone. As we come up one of them is hit in the head so hard they are knocked completely out of the circle.

“Dazhit.” I mutter

Our teacher and their teacher stop to speak at each other. I can see them staring at me pointing and speaking quietly with each other.

The older class adjusts themselves and looks on in great interest.

I don’t know these guys well, but I am pretty sure I am about to know the butt of their spears pretty well.

I sigh and shoulder my own spear, which…. Is significantly shorter than everyone else’s.

I’m not self-conscious.

“Tanana daeen hajish.”

I walk over as ordered my spear still over one shoulder.

“Tsak nantan tarik.” Your new teacher

I lower my head, “Tarik”

She seems amused and motions towards the circle, “Tanana ts adon. Zha nin tsa tehish darat zhegingi jastat.” get in the circle, I want to see what you can do.

Oh, great.

I do as told stepping into the circle as she calls one of her students forward. She’s a light colored Drev, the color of cream/orange rose petals. I am pretty sure the Drev would consider her pretty…. Did I mention that she’s at least two feet taller than me?

Well she is.

She rams her spear butt into the dirt, and I swallow hard.

The Tarik waves a hand and we begin to circle.

I hold my spear like they taught me, though I am much better at hand-to-hand combat. We test each other for a minute moving forward and back, watching each other’s guard. Of course, she strikes first though.

I dodge out of the way quickly, expecting to come in and wrap her across the back of the knees, but she spends around and blocks me at the last moment. We connect together so hard that my hands go almost immediately numb.

She brings the butt of her spear around, and I am just barely able to duck under it. She comes at me again, and I step back as the spearhead slices past my chest.

My eyes go wide as I stare at my almost evisceration.

I barely look up in time to block her fro the side.

The hit makes my bones hurt.

I flick my spear up trying to catch her in the face, but she knocks me away with impunity.

She has me backed against the edge of the circle.

She doesn’t expect me to make it out. Too bad I have seen way more action movies than she has. As she cuts over me, I slide under the cu on my knees skidding over the rock and past her into the center of the circle.

She turns to find me and barley blocks my strike.

I’m doing pretty good.

This isn’t so bad.

That’s when the kid gloves come off, and she strikes me so hard and fast I can barely raise my spear to block her. A vicious second later she comes in with the killing blow, or the crippling one.

Did you know you can knock someone out by hitting them hard enough in the liver?

Yeah I didn’t know that either, apparently the body sense major trauma and is just like nah fam I am not about that life. The vagus nerve gets activated too.

So there I am lying on the moss and the dirt curled up in a ball trying not to vomit or pass out.

I can hear that little gremlin Naktan laughing in the background.

God I hate him.

And I am in SOOO much pain. I am pretty sure my liver has been ruptured pretty sure I am going to die right here on the face of the planet.

I groan, “Hijan… help…. hijan .”

Yeah yeah practically crying for my mother like a wuss. I know no need to point it out

But guys, I am dying. Or at least I am pretty sure I am.

Luckily for me she shows up and eventually the others leave. I can feel her running a hand through my hair, which would be nice if I wasn’t pretty sure I was dying

Turns out though, I wasn’t dying, I am just pathetic

348 notes · View notes

dunsbar · 3 years

Text

do you see no further than this façade?

Word Count: approx. 2500

Notes: Happy Holidays, Jany (@hehimbo)! I was your @ambitionsource Secret Santa and it was such an honour! Please accept this short and sweet little canon divergent fic about AAA’s most ridiculous couple. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to, but I hope I wrote something that you’ll enjoy.

Summary: Riley finds a silver lining in her broken locker when someone starts leaving her thoughtful gifts. Secret admirer trope, canon divergent during Season 1.

—

The first time it happens, she doesn’t even realize it’s started.

Riley’s locker is not a place she usually lingers. It’s loved, yes, filled with photos— her and the techie crew, the cast photo for this year’s musical, a clumsy shot of her and Zay voguing. One of her and Isadora, the other girl staring dead into the camera, unamused, while Riley flashes her biggest grin.

Yet, it’s purpose is still mainly functional. Or it was functional, because unfortunately for Riley, two days ago she realized her locker was broken.

She’d been fumbling with it, the bell ringing loudly as students rushed past, singing, chattering, stomping through the hall. She was jostled a couple times, which is always annoying considering how small the student body is here— yet there are still people who find the space (or lack of) to bump into her. Her fingernails smacked painfully against the cold metal of the lock.

Finally, with the bell petering out, Riley just… made the decision to deal with it later. Nothing of monetary value in her locker, aside from the photo of Zay which will be worth hundreds when he inevitably makes it big.

Timing seems to have aligned itself with her enemies, seeing that in her next class, Angela informs the students that there is currently a stomach virus circling the sacred halls of AAA. It’s something Riley should have seen coming, as it’s winter, and Clarissa and Jeff were both noticeably absent that morning. Riley, not new to the concept of virus outbreaks in the school system calculates this in her head— Janitor Harley is going to be busy wiping up puke for… well, probably at least a week and a half. What’s the point of bothering the poor man about a broken locker storing nothing of value while he singlehandedly cleans up after stomach flu?

No, Riley thinks to herself. I’ll just wait it out.

Back in the present, Riley smooths out the corner of her picture with the techies and tucks away her copy of Leaves of Grass (her choice reading for an English project, and actually likes it) on the shelf up top, before pausing and putting it back into her bag, with the idea to read it at lunch— none of the techies mind if she doesn’t talk at the table, and she could probably get into a good discussion on it with Isadora. She makes a mental note to ask Charlie if he’s read it— he’s an English genius, and his insights are always thoughtful and well-detailed.

It’s only when she’s got one hand on the door, about to close the locker, that she notices a flash of violet, out of focus. Glancing over, she sees a purple pen, tucked into the vents by the clip. It’s simple, not fancy or even particularly good quality. But it’s… purple. Her favourite color.

Riley has never seen this particular pen before. She thinks. Well, she’s sort of sure. When your school’s primary dedication is to performing arts, you tend to not need as many “normal” school supplies as “normal” schools, so Riley has a pretty good idea of her catalogue of writing utensils. Still, she could be wrong. It’s not exactly like her pens take high priority in her mind. But this one is… nice.

Pocketing it with a beam, she decides to chalk this one up to fate.

Performance lab has just begun when Riley scurries into the auditorium, Angela pointedly raising an eyebrow from her spot on stage but thankfully saying nothing. Riley opts to sit with the techies— less attention drawn to herself. It’s kind of a moot point considering she caught the twin eyebrow raises Maya and Farkle turned around in their seats to send her, but she slides into a seat beside Isadora, Dylan and Asher on Isa’s other side. Normally Lucas would be there, but a glance around tells her he seems to have skipped out on the afternoon. She can’t stop herself from feeling a twinge of disappointment.

—

It’s the second day when she realizes that the pen was probably not a gift from fate.

Riley is just dropping off her coat and boots that morning, a quick stop before first bell to tuck her wet boots on the crimson metal of her locker floor. There’s a couple wet floor signs down the hall several feet, and Riley winces. According to the grumpy text she got from Isadora that morning, Dylan caught the bug last night. This means Asher’ll likely get it too, and the techies will be seriously understaffed, especially with Jeff gone.

Riley hopes briefly, selfishly, that it’ll mean no more skip days for Lucas.

Glancing up at the top shelf, Riley does a double take.

A white paper bag is perched delicately up there, the bag instantly recognizable as the kind that her favourite bakery uses. She grabs it down, pries it open, and her jaw drops.

It’s her favourite kind of pastry. It smells heavenly, and it’s not exactly still warm but that doesn’t matter, what matters is that someone knew about Riley’s tastes in pastry and went all the way to her favourite bakery to get her one.

She knows she’s prone to gushing about (and recommending) the bakery, but she can only really remember mentioning it one time recently— oh. Oh.

Oh no.

—

Riley picks her way nervously through the cafeteria, echoes of the lunch bell still ringing in her ears. She prays to… something… that Zay is sitting alone.

He is, his lunch in front of him, tapping his fingers on the smooth tabletop. Riley sends a grateful thank you to this ambiguous higher power.

“Zay,” she greets him, her question tumbling out before any common courtesies can be exchanged. “Can I get your advice?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, raising an eyebrow inquisitively as Riley plops down next to him. “With what?”

Riley chews her lip, pulling an orange out of her lunch bag so she can do something with her hands. “Someone’s leaving me gifts in my locker.”

Zay blinks. “Like… a secret admirer thing?”

“Um.” Riley pauses. “I didn’t really think about it like that, I mean. Maybe?”

“What did they leave you?” Zay asks, in between bites of salad.

“A pen— my favourite color. And my favourite kind of pastry. It’s from this place in Greenwich.”

Zay looks at her. “Riley,” he deadpans, “That’s a secret admirer.”

“Fine,” Riley admits. “Maybe it’s a secret admirer.”

Riley is immensely grateful for Zay Babineaux when he does not laugh at her. Still, the reason why she came to talk to him hangs over her head, and she starts chewing on her lip again.

“What is it?”

“Okay, it’s just,” Riley says. “The last person I remember mentioning the bakery to was Charlie.”

Zay starts coughing through a mouthful of chewed greens.

Riley quickly places a hand on his arm, but he waves her off, even as his eyes water. Once his throat is clearer, he takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She lets him.

“Charlie,” Zay says. “Gardner.”

“Yes,” Riley says, wincing. It kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?— Charlie was kind of flirty earlier in the year, there was that weird comment about the idea of them not being “the worst thing in the world”, oh, it’s all falling into place and Riley’s inner monologue is starting to derail. If it is Charlie, she—

“Are you sure it’s Charlie?” Zay asks, his eyes flicking to somewhere on the other side of the cafeteria.

Riley shakes her head. “Just a…suspicion. He’s a suspect. I suspect him.”

Zay’s mouth twitches. “So. What are you asking me for?”

“Well, you’re better friends with him than I am,” Riley says. “You’re always hanging out in class. And I’m not brave enough to ask Haley if Charlie likes me. That’s a storm I can’t weather.”

That gets a laugh out of Zay, but the look in his eyes is almost wistful. He shakes his head, smiling, all Babineaux charm. “So you want my opinion?”

“I want— Would… would you maybe ask—”

“No,” Zay says emphatically, pointing a finger at her. “No, I am not asking Charlie if he likes you. Do it yourself.”

I have before, Riley thinks. But she just sighs in defeat as Zay mumbles ‘white nonsense’, and finally sets about unwrapping her sandwich.

—

The third gift is a new copy of Leaves of Grass— not a school copy. Her own edition.

She really needs to talk to Charlie.

—

She catches him at the end of the day, out of the dressing rooms and in the middle of the main aisle of the auditorium.

“Charlie, um,” Riley says, and he slows to a stop, turning to face her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he replies, adjusting the strap of his dance bag on his shoulder. Someone’s bumps Riley’s back with an elbow as they walk past— probably Sarah. “What is it?”

“No, not here,” Riley says quickly. “Somewhere more private?”

Charlie’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. “Uh, I… um…”

Riley’s stomach sinks like a stone. Oh God, it is Charlie, she thinks, disappointment washing over her like the sea weathering a stone. She hadn’t— well, she’d allowed herself just the slightest hope… of hunched shoulders, sandy hair…

“Please,” she says. “Just one minute.” She catches his arm, gentle. Charlie won’t meet her eyes, but he nods.

Lucas stomps past in his big black boots. Riley turns her head instinctively to offer a smile, but he doesn’t even glance at her. She sighs, turning back to Charlie.

By the time they step into the empty classroom, Charlie seems close to hyperventilating. Riley feels so, so bad for what she’s about to do, but considering she’s already shut him down once this year, it seems like she has to really get him to take the hint. Gently.

“Charlie,” she begins, while he stares at the floor, “I just… I figured it out, okay? And... I don’t know what to say.”

Seemingly, neither does Charlie, because he continues to stare down at his feet in silence. He almost folds in on himself, as if he’s willing himself to not be seen. Riley plows on.

“Well, okay. So, thank you. For everything. The book and the pastry and the—”

Charlie looks up, lightning fast. His brow is furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Riley blinks. “The secret admirer thing.”

“What secret admirer thing?” He sounds genuinely bewildered.

This is not how Riley pictured this going.

“The gifts in my locker,” she says, carefully. “I thought maybe it was you.”

Charlie’s whole shoulders slump, like his body is exhaling. When he speaks, he sounds relieved and honest. “It wasn’t me, I promise.” There’s a tentative, awkward pause. “Um. Sorry?”

Riley laughs, feeling as relieved as he sounds. “No, no, I’m so glad it wasn’t you. I mean— no offense! You know I think you’re great. But just… not like that. So it’s... I’m glad.”

Charlie smiles too, and it looks so earnest. “So we’re good?”

Riley nods, feeling ten pounds lighter. “Yeah. We’re good.”

—

The dam breaks on day four.

Riley is speed-walking through the halls, almost late. The bell will ring literally any minute from now, but damned if she’s going to track city slush all over the auditorium’s nice flooring. With any luck, she’ll have just enough time to shove them in her locker and bolt for the auditorium. Riley rounds the corner.

Her feet and her heart stop in their tracks.

There, down the hall, unmistakably stands Lucas James Friar, attempting to hurriedly slip something in her locker.

Lucas.

Lucas closes her locker, and before she can do anything, turns in her direction.

Their eyes lock.

Lucas looks as frozen as Riley feels, an electric current between their stares. In that moment, as other students brush past her, she’s suspended in time, the only sound her heartbeat, thumping loudly in her ears. Neither of them can move. She’s pretty sure neither of them can breathe.

And then Lucas turns and takes off down the hall, disappearing in the crowd.

Riley takes a deep breath, feeling the air shake as it leaves her mouth. Go after him. Go after him. Go—

The bell rings.

—

Riley finds him the next morning, hanging— hiding?— in the booth. Lucas rather spectacularly managed to avoid her the rest of the day, by virtue of skipping again.

With Dylan and, yes, now Asher, off sick, Riley didn’t have a way to get a hold of Lucas. She had asked Isadora, faux-casual, but Isa had just shrugged and gone back to storyboarding her latest idea.

“Lucas James Friar,” Riley says now, determinedly. “I just want to talk. And honestly, I think you owe me that much.”

Lucas is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods, once, jerkily. He won’t meet her eyes.

“How did you know about the pastry?” she asks, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, feeling suddenly shy.

Lucas pushes the toe of his boot into the ground. “Overheard you telling Charlie about it. I, um, I saw that your locker was broken that morning, too. I just wanted to—”

He cuts himself off. Riley waits patiently.

“Fuck,” Lucas hisses. “You— you weren’t supposed to find out it was me. I didn’t want… to be weird. I just wanted you to have… you weren’t supposed to find out it was me.”

Riley’s chest is fluttering. She coughs, trying to dispel the tension in the air. “Well,” she says, “I’m glad I did.”

Lucas looks up sharply, finally meeting her eyes. It’s a soft jolt of electricity— down her spine, in her fingertips. They’re a lot closer then she realized. Less than a foot of space between their chests— between their mouths.

“Can I kiss you?” she murmurs. Lucas blinks, like his brain is catching up with his ears, and splutters, taking an instinctive step back. His legs bump the booth’s equipment.

A rush of regret courses through her. “Sorry! I just…” she trails off. Not really any possible excuses to save her on that one— she made her intentions pretty clear.

“No, no—” Lucas blurts out. He kicks at the dirt with the toes of one scuffed boot, like he’s regaining his cool. “I mean. Um. Yeah. You can.”

Riley beams, and Lucas looks kind of dazed again, all of a sudden, and she tentatively leans in, feels his hands take hers, links their fingers together, and catches his mouth in a sweet, gentle kiss.

It’s really nice. Tentative— she’s pretty sure Lucas doesn’t exactly have any experience with this, and Riley’s own experience is limited to close-mouthed spin-the-bottle in middle school. But it’s nice.

When they break away, they don’t let go of each other’s hands. She can’t help but smile even wider.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Thanks for the pen.”

#happy secret santa i rlly hope u like it jany!#ambitionsource #ambition #riley x lucas #riley matthews #lucas friar

16 notes · View notes

surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #441

“all alone, he turns to stone while holding his breath after death / terrified of what’s inside, to save his life he crawls like a worm from a bird”

Have you ever watched a movie in class/school that made you cry? Yep, a few. What’s the earliest you could go to bed at night and feel okay about? If I'm having a really bad day, I can tolerate as early as 7:00. :x What is you favorite type of lunch meat? Honey ham, probably. What time of the year do you dislike the most? Summer is disgusting. It's too hot, too humid, too many bugs, and I just hate it. Do you put ketchup on your scrambled eggs? No, that sounds gross. What is your favorite color to wear? b l a c k Are you an overachiever? Oh, hunny. What physical feature do you wish you had (i.e. freckles, curly hair)? Maybe uhhhh big eyes. What fictional character (i.e. Bambi, Scarlette O'hara) would you marry? Darkiplier bc he is merely a misunderstood soft boi. How long have you gone without shaving (girls- legs, armpits; boys- faces)? Legs: It's been nearly a year. Pits: not that long, considering I shave them every time I get in the shower. What is the meanest thing you have ever said to someone else? I'm sure it would be something in one of the letters I sent Jason. Or Dad. Idk. Did you ever go through a phase where you wrote bad poetry? The phase never ended lmao. What is your favorite thing about your life? My loved ones. Save all the animals that die during road kill or save 1 human from a fire? Sorry, but I'm picking the animals. Have you ever painted a picture of somebody? Yes. How many real bfs/gfs have you had? Two. Did you enjoy your past relationships? Yes. Except for when I was with Tyler. Name a comedy that you like. White Chicks. Could you wait until marriage for sex? Yeah. What’s the best Nirvana song? I'm not sure, really... Maybe "Drain You?" What was the last thing that impressed you? No clue. When was the last time you were in a pet store? Several months ago when I went in to get more rats for Venus. What nationality is your last name? Irish. What’s your favorite kind of chips and dip? Plain, rippled Lays in French onion dip. Who was the last boy that you saw cry? I don't know, actually. It may have been Sara's dad, which was years ago. Does your mom know you do surveys? I mean no, it's not like it's come up in conversation. Have you ever had a serious injury? When I was a kid, there was this one time I was running down the road with my friend, and I tripped; I was a fast runner, so I skinned the everliving FUCK out of my knees to the point there was even pus. I was SOBBING, and it took weeks to heal; I had the scars for years. What was the last thing you achieved? Losing weight at the gymmmm. Staying dedicated to going. Would you enjoy being famous? No. I couldn't take all the eyes on me and even ONE person's negative judgment. What’s under your bed? A big box of my art supplies. Do you enjoy travelling? Yeah. I wish I could do it more. Have you ever belonged to a club? If so, what was it? No. When was the last time you drank strawberry milk? Not since I first tried it at elementary school. It was absolutely disgusting. Have you ever managed to collect all the fast food toys in a set? I doubt it. Do you have a clock in your room? No. Did you have a good driver’s ED teacher? No. If I'd listened to him while driving, I could've gotten myself killed while merging onto the highway. People are assholes and didn't want to move over. Which of Britney Spears’ songs is your favorite? Probably "Freakshow." Does mind over matter work for you? Not usually, no. Are you paranoid? Oh yes. What is the best thing about winter? Everything!!! Literally the only BAD thing about winter is the dry skin/lips. I love the cold, Christmas and all that comes with it, the decor, hot chocolate, snow, getting all cuddly... Everything. :') Have you ever been truly in love? Absolutely. Are you currently planning a trip? No. A trip to Illinois is just a wish right now. How many plants are in your home? None, I think? What is your favorite possession? Excluding my pets (because I don't like calling them "possessions"), probably my laptop. Have you ever felt like you were too nice and way too often overlooked? I have before, yes. What movies have tripped you out? Off the top of my head, the only entertainment media in general that has ever truly "tripped me out" was the first time I played the Silent Hill game. The movie didn't affect me to that level because I already understood the concept. When I watched Jason play it for the first time, I was SO confused and just blown away by the concept that I did loads of research and just thinking about it all. That franchise is just cool as shit, okay. Did you rollerblade as a kid? Do you still rollerblade? I LOVED rollerblading. I haven't done it in years, though. Would you ever settle into a relationship that wasn’t right for you? Do you know friends who are in relationships just so they have someone to sleep with at night? NO. I will NOT settle. Being genuinely in love with my partner is too important to me for me to ever do so. I don't know if any of my friends are in that situation. Would you take a dirty picture of yourself for someone you are dating? With my current body? FUCK no. If I was happy with my body, the answer is still probably no. I'm too self-conscious and awkward with that kind of stuff, and besides, I really don't think I want a picture like that to exist of myself to avoid potential trouble. Do you use earplugs or a sleeping mask when you sleep? No. What summertime treats do you love? We have this local slushy place that is FUCKING BOMB. It may sound basic, but they have SUCH a vast variety of flavors and goodies you can top it with that it's truly just so amazing. How picky are you when it comes to choosing who to kiss or not kiss? I am VERY picky. I have to be really interested in you. Save for how things were with Tyler... I just felt like I was supposed to. What do you hate most about moving? I. Hate. The process. Of moving. It is just so, so stressful to me. I have a very hard time confronting big tasks, and that's exactly what packing and unpacking entails. Do you feel that having sex anywhere but a bed is more exciting? Not necessarily. Do you drink 5 hour energy drinks or any other kinds of energy drinks? No. Has anyone ever whistled at you? I don't think so. Do you like scarves? No. Is your father homophobic? Possibly. I don't actually know. I honestly don't think he took Sara's and my relationship seriously, so that may be a sign. Do you take gummy vitamins? The only vitamin I take now is vitamin D, which isn't a gummy. Have you ever applied make-up on a guy, for any reason at all? Ha, yeah. I gave Jason a makeover once. Who would you like to meet before you die? MARK. I am so determined, alsdjfkaj;wek;rj. I just want to hug him and say thank you and ugly-cry. If your dream was to be a model, and a big opportunity came up, but you had to be nude, would you take it? No. Even if I had the body of a model. What’s the most ridiculous conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of? The fuckin' flat earth theory, probably. If Heaven and Hell exists, where you going when you die? Well, considering I have an, uh, very negative opinion of the Christian god... Who is the person that you are afraid of losing, above everyone else? My mom. The day she passes is a day I am inexplicably horrified of. What is one thing that pisses you off pretty much everyday? My life. If there anyone you know that you feel should consider therapy? My mom really could use it. Do you like any of the songs on Twilight, or the actual movie/saga itself? I love "Supermassive Black Hole" by Muse, but idk if it was actually written for the movie. How old was the first person you kissed? He was 18 when we first kissed. Will you be a strict parent one day? I never want to be a parent. If I hypothetically became one, I don't think I'd be strict, necessarily, but very protective. Last person to stand up for you? Probably Mom, idk. Have you been to a baby shower? Yeah, a few. Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? My dad. What’s your favorite high school memory? Just... a lot with Jason. Do you like relationships, or do you prefer to be single? I prefer being in a (healthy) relationship, but I won't get into one just for the sake of having one. What is one adventurous thing you’d be willing to do? Hmmm... scuba-dive, maybe? What subject at school did you absolutely hate? Math. Italian food or Chinese food? Italian. I don't really like (most) Chinese food. Do you like to make flash cards when you study? I rarely did that. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a good singer? Yes, somehow. Do you ever watch TED talks, live or online? No. I dare you to write the name of a person you strongly dislike. Ashley. What do you think about Marilyn Manson? He's one of my favorite musical artists, but he's a disgusting dick personally. Biggest trouble you’ve ever gotten into at school? Nothing, really. I was a very well-behaved kid. Do you own one of those “professional” DSLR cameras? Yeah, I have a Canon. Does it bother you when you see a 6th grader with a bunch of gadgets? No. Did you buy yearbooks every year in high school, or did you not bother? Not every year, but most. Do you have Restless Legs Syndrome? No. Jalapeños: yay or nay? I loooove them. Did you ever play Minecraft? Nah. My niece is getting into it. Did you ever have a Club Penguin account? Were you a member? I did have one. I wasn't one of those premium members or anything like that; I just had a basic account. Do you know anyone that seems to not have any common sense? Bitch me. It's extremely embarrassing. I 100% got it from my dad. What do you think is the biggest injustice that was ever done to you? The manner through which Jason broke up with me. It left me traumatized. What type of person angers you the most? Abusive people that think only they matter and have no consideration for how their actions affect other people. If you could change your appearance, how would you alter it? I'd lose a shitload of weight, for one. My teeth would be whiter, my eyes bigger and bluer, I'd want my hair colored/able to hold color far better, I'd lighten and lessen my body hair, make my skin clearer, thin my eyebrows... I'd change a lot. What are your feelings on feminism? MANDATORY. Absolutely necessary in a misogynistic society. However, I do believe some people take it way too far to a point it is anti-man and puts women on a holy pedestal. It is about equality. Describe your first relationship? Perfect, until it wasn't. Describe your last relationship? Wonderful and healthy, but distance and our health were issues at the time. Can you honestly say that you always practice safe sex? My history with sex is confusing and complicated and I really don't know. Why do you think your most favorite film touches you so deeply? Thinking about it... it's probably because of how Simba runs from his problems and bad memories, but returns to confront them and is victorious. That's how I want to be. What do you want people you meet for the first time to think about you? That I'm nice and clearly sincerely cared about them and their feelings. Do you feel protective over someone? My sisters, nieces and nephews, Sara... What perfume/cologne do you wear? It's called "Blush." Where did your vehicle come from? I don't have my own, but Mom's came from a girl at the dance studio. She ran into a deer, and the front got fucked up, but the sweetheart paid to fix it up to being operable so Mom had her own car. The front bumper is kept intact with zip ties and duct tape, but hey... it works and has for many, many years now, lol. What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to? Ummmm... I actually don't remember. What is your favorite way to eat chicken? As tenders, probably. It is your birthday. You hope the cake is: Red velvet. This year for my bday, our controlling-as-fuck family friend bought me my birthday cake without consulting ANYBODY, and I was so fucking annoyed. It was a very kind gesture, yes, but um, can I have a say, please? What do you wear to bed? Usually men's pj pants and a tank top. What were you doing at 8pm last night? Sleeping, actually. I was extremely tired and went to bed early.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''the bird and the worm'' by the used

4 notes · View notes

starryevermore · 3 years

Text

creator tag game

rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

thank you for the tag @annab-nana and @reddesertcolbs!! 💜

I make a lot of different things so I’m gonna do 5 writings, 5 gifs, and 5 moodboards, and 5 miscellaneous 👀

FICS

when I was your man series

I really enjoyed this series, because it had a lot of angst but it also had a happy ending (even though it wasn’t the one people may have wanted).

the ghost of suite 613

This was so fun to write!! I loved Suite Life of Zack and Cody growing up, and this episode scared me so much when I was little. Finding a way to incorporate all of the different people in the friend group was so interesting, and I think I did pretty well since it was a last-minute decision to write it for Halloween 😂

the ethics of influencing

Not exactly a creative work, but I really enjoyed the finished product here. There’s a lot of influencers who don’t use their influence well, and I think this is quite evident over the course of the pandemic and the many obstacles we’ve encountered.

cultish behavior

This fic didn’t get a lot of love, but it’s one of my favorites. It was really fun trying to capture Jake’s personality and incorporate the prompt into the story, and I think it turned out really well in the end!

i hope

Another fic I decided to do last minute and I was really in my emotions when I did it 😂 In case you haven't noticed, I’m a slut for some good ole angst and this really scratched an itch I had. I’m not really a fan of fics where someone cheats but is forgiven + taken back, so I wanted to write something where the reader actually gave Colby a piece of her mind and I think it turned out good!

honorable mention: lots of cool shit coming in October 2021. I haven’t written them yet, but my favorite is Day 3 or Day 23!

GIFS

who the hell knows?

Oh this was so fun to make! I loved this scene in Eclipse, and I was on a serious Twilight kick at the time so I just had to make this into a gifset! It was difficult trying to figure out where to place the text and all that, but I’m really proud of what I made!

the saliva swap is an essential part of the ritual

Another difficult one to make, but seeing the finished product was so rewarding! It was hard to figure out to divide up each clip into a single gif, and captioning everything was a *fun time* lmao, but it still managed to be really fun to do!

HARRY WORKING OUT IN “SIDEMEN 80,000 CALORIES BATTLE”

I don’t know if y’all have noticed, but I’ve been on Harry kick recently so I really enjoyed this video and picking out which scenes to gif 🥵

the phone will ring and there will be no one there

Spongebob references + the Trap House? Nothing better 🥰

wah wah wah (ft. everlyte)

Ahh this was so fun!! It’s really simple, but it was one of my first attempts at adding a lil *spice* to my gifs!

honorable mention: the gifset coming Christmas Eve? y’all gonna be *in love*

MOODBOARDS

💙 HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATRINA!! 💙

I miss blue-haired Katrina so much, so this b-day moodboard was a bit of appreciating her old hair.

Amber Scholl as Morticia Addams 💀🖤🥀

I saw someone say that Amber looked like Morticia Addams when she dressed like this, so I had to make a moodboard for it and I really enjoyed trying to capture both Morticia’s and Amber’s aesthetics!

Colby Brock as Fred Jones 🕵🏻‍♂️

Honestly, all of the Scooby Doo moodboards were great but this is probably my favorite! It was fun to make, and I really enjoyed how in Paradise Island, they joked that Colby was Fred, so it made me feel really good about making Colby Fred (I bounced between Colby being Velma and Sam being Fred, but ultimately did it the other way around.)

mentally I’m here

I was in the middle of binging the Halloweentown movies when I made this moodboard. It’s relatively simple, but the vibes are *chef’s kiss*

red is sus 🔪

I made this on a whim after seeing the photos but holy shit I love it so much!!

honorable mention: the Hogwarts series coming in January? holy shit you’ll love it, it’s amazing

MISCELLANEOUS

Love for Hire, featured on the cover of Rolling Stone

This was so great to make! It was actually supposed to be more of a cherry red color, but when I uploaded it, it was turned more vintage-y which I liked even more!

soul full of sunshine ☀️

Ahh this was so fun! Soft!Colby is my kryptonite 🥺

love for hire lockscreens

I tried to make these sooo many times but PicsArt kept crashing and I lost my progress every time, so when I finally got them done, I was so happy! And it helped that the final product was better than the first attempt lmao

dream on, little dreamer

Another Soft!Colby edit lmaoo. I really enjoyed the pics I used, and I think everything worked together really well!

The Ultimate Sam and Colby Word Search

Another thing I made on a whim lmao. I was in the middle of procrastinating homework when I did this, and it took ages to get everything where I wanted it to be 😂

idk who’s done this already, but if you haven’t and want to, feel free to say that I tagged you!

#tag game #starrybrock #sam and colby #sam golbach #colby brock #jake webber #corey scherer #harry lewis #snc #xplr #amber scholl #love for hire

11 notes · View notes

luminecho · 3 years

Text

Show Me What You’re Proud Of

RULES: It’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works.

@sister-dear did this and tagged all their mutuals who create things! Took me a moment before the realization hit me that, oh shit, I’m a mutual who creates things. Sooo here we go! Super nervous for some reason jdkjkqwdm.

I haven’t posted a lot of stuff publicly, let alone actually made things in general, and as far as writing goes I don’t have anything finished yet, but I used this opportunity to create a new art & writing blog (@echoing-creations) so I can hopefully start posting some WIPs and short snippets of stuff there from now on! ^^ Otherwise, I’m just gonna try my best to show what I have.

WRITING:

Again, I don’t really have anything posted or even finished yet (at least that I’m proud of). But I’ll share two WIPs/sneak peeks of the LU longfic that I’ve been working on these past couple of months. Because I’m pretty proud of some of the scenes that I have written so far! Unfortunately I’m limited in my choice of what I can include, because spoilers, but here’s what I’ve got. (They’re still very subject to change.)

- “Everything Goes Away” - Prologue

He was in control now. Not some selfish deity or petty goddess. For once, his destiny didn’t have to be set in stone. He could rewrite his story, re-weave the strings of fate. And it all started with a single thread.

Forgive me.

- EGA - Chapter 3

A cacophony of sound broke out around them as the other heroes’ reactions grew muddled together and incoherent. All the while, Legend and Warriors didn’t move, didn’t blink. The world was a swirling vortex of noise around them, a raging whirlwind of confusion and betrayal, and the two heroes stood in the center of it all, the eye of a hurricane, frozen in time. Frantic colors and voices spun around them like a cyclone in motion, tasting of forgotten courage and broken promises.

But all storms came to an end. As the tempest of sound and color died down into a suffocating silence and the world stopped spinning and lulled to a halt, a single whisper rang out louder than a gunshot, piercing the air and finally forcing Legend to break eye contact with Warriors.

“Why?”

ART:

- BotW Link - Wow, the only thing on this list that I actually have a link for! This post never kicked off, which kinda sucks, because I can’t even begin to describe how ridiculously proud of it I was (and still am). It took me ages and I put in so much more effort than I thought I would going into it. But I don’t really mind that nobody saw it, because I love it and that’s all that matters! It was all a big experiment (particularly with drawing humans) but I’m very happy with the outcome :)

Ummm I’m not really that proud of anything else I’ve posted, and there’s a lot of stuff I’ve drawn that I’m not ready to share with people yet cause I’m kinda self conscious, BUT I do have a couple of drawings that I still really like!

- First one is a ref for a Warrior Cats OC that I’ve had for... ah, almost as long as I’ve been drawing, actually. She’s a favorite between my and my irl friend, and she’s gone through so many redesigns I can’t even keep track, lol. This is definitely my favorite design of her by far, though, and is probably gonna stick for quite a while.

- Second one is just a random doodle of my catsona. Honestly not much to say about it. It was done for my part of an animation meme collab for a friend’s birthday a while back, and I kept the drawing because I really liked how it turned out. I honestly kind of want to redraw it soon with an updated version of my sona’s design and use it as my tumblr icon? Maybe? 👀 I’ve been wanting draw my own banner for a while now, so maybe this can be part of my blog makeover, lol.

And that’s that! Not much, I know. I spent all evening trying to pull together scraps of stuff I could maybe share, but chickened out of showing most of it in the end. I’m kind of shocked at how little I actually created this year. I feel like my art has been at an all time low recently. I just haven’t really been drawing as much. Hopefully giving myself time and distance from it will help me to gather the motivation to pick it up again soon and be able to look at it without judging myself too harshly. As for my writing... I’ve definitely written more frequently this year than I have for a long time, even if I have nothing to show for it. I’ve been finding myself using my writing as an outlet a lot more recently than I did in the past, and I’ve been getting better at writing things down rather than just daydreaming them and letting the scenes float away into the void of my mind, lol.

Tagging all of my own mutuals (and followers!) who are creators!! Share what you’re proud of, even if it’s small <3

#I’m so nervous posting this for whatever reason??? lmao #but i want to #this was kinda fun going back and reflecting on what I’ve made though #even if there’s not much #I’m an art baby lmao #I’ve been drawing my whole life but only started getting serious about it around 5 years ago...? ish? not even #i’ve loved writing for so long i can’t even remember but before this year i didn’t really practice all that often #so my improvement has been slow #but hey. it’s something #everything is a learning experience and I’m sure I’ll have improved twice as much by the end of this year!#//#long post #echo draws #echo writes #tag meme #i mean technically i wasn’t tagged #i was but i wasn’t #you know what i mean

8 notes · View notes

gayenerd · 3 years

Text

Green Day Deals with the "Rock Star" Dookie

by Tom Lanham

(First appeared in BAM Magazine, March 10, 1995)

Young, loud, and snotty equals beaucoup bucks? What pencil-pushing, graph-charting trend spotter could've predicted it? But the facts speak for themselves: As of late February, Dookie--the brattish, snap 'n' snarl Reprise salvo from Berkeley's sloppy punk trio, Green Day--has sold six million copies. Six million. Chances are, somebody on your block is jumping up and down in his living room at this very moment to the scrap-metal power chords and ardent apathy of "Longview," "Burnout," "Basket Case," or "When I Come Around" and getting lost in the teen abandon of these testy 22-year-olds--weasel-voiced, Montgomery-Clift-like charismatic singer/guitarist Billie Joe; tom-tom tribal percussionist Tre Cool (of the ever-morphing hair-color fame); and bassist Mike Dirnt (who survived Green Day's appearance at Woodstock '94, although several of his teeth did not).

Yes, punk rock is a marketable phenomenon these days, leaving many involved with the music's initial late-'70s, early-'80s wave scratching their heads, wondering why it didn't take the first time around. Public reaction started as curiosity ("Hey, honey, c'mere and lookit these goofy, green-haired little whippersnappers in an insane asylum on MTV!"), but spiraled up to rock-diet necessity (Green Day just won Grammy and they're nominated for quite a few Bammies as well, including such categories as Outstanding Group, Outstanding Album, and Outstanding Song--"Longview" and "Basket Case"). The fact that they've been nominated at all probably sends a shiver up the old dinosaur backbones of Eddie Money, Huey Lewis, and Boz Scaggs, a time-creepy feeling of "Gee, what the hell do we do now?" Because this isn't just some flash-in-the-pan punk movement, folks--this is a youth movement; Green Day are, as they hiply term it, "bored in the 'burbs," and reaching out, through TV and radio, like some prodigal preachers to other American kids who sense the same slacker ennui. Obviously, we're talking truckloads of kids.

Ironically, the more fame edges into the Green Day ruffians' lives, the more mature they seem to become. They've turned down all interview requests as of late, even People magazine, preferring to lay low until this tide of interest recedes. Billie Joe got married last autumn, and spent his honeymoon--not in any exotic, expensive locale--but in Berkeley's grand old Claremont Hotel. Cool recently became a father, and Billie Joe's child is due any day now. It's a responsibility they've both eagerly undertaken. Rob Cavallo, the boys' coproducer and A&R man at Reprise, swears they're "old souls, the smartest young kids I've ever met." It rings true.

The first time I spoke with Green Day, in January of '94, Cool, Dirnt, and Billie Joe were lazing around their dingy basement apartment in Berkeley, sitting on chairs and couches with potentially painful springs poking through. Rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards were scattered across a coffee table, along with several bongs of various sizes, plus a four-and-a-half foot red plastic pipe dubbed "Bongzilla" leaned against a doorway. The only wall decoration, besides a Ren & Stimpy poster, was a Twister game mat nailed up in its entirety, presumably for high-schoolish humor's sake.

When I'd met Billie Joe a few months earlier at a campus concert, his hair was dyed lime-green and featured squidlike tufts. Now it was dark brown, with only two tufts remaining, and both his ears and nose had piercings. Periodically during the interview, he'd ram a finger into that pierced nostril, rummage around, then stare idly at the resultant booger before flicking it on to the carpet. Cool wandered out of the rec room for several minutes, but returned, red-eyed, to proudly proclaim, "Lookit me! I'm stoned, dude!" Dirnt--when he wasn't strumming an acoustic guitar--kept watching their windowsill Sea Monkey tank, finally noting, "Hey, these Sea Monkeys look just like sperm!"

Despite all these schoolboy, poo-poo wit trappings (dookie, after all, is kiddie slang for excrement), there was a sense of seasoned wisdom about them, a feeling that they were, as Cavallo postulated, truly old souls. Like the class clown who frustrates all of his teachers by also maintaining a 4.0 grade average, Green Day can afford to play because their work--brilliantly skewed three-minute pop songs, delivered with such vehemence and vitriol you don't dare doubt them--certainly speaks for itself. But, sooner or later, of course, the band has to speak for itself, too, so what follows is a set of excerpts from that first ratty-digs meeting, as well as a later chat with Billie Joe, sans sidekicks. How did Green Day take over the rock world in less than a year? That's the six-million-copy question, and hopefully we'll provide a few answers.

* * *

So punk is back, whether America likes it or not?

BILLIE JOE: It's always been around, and everyone has their own interpretation of it. It's weird to actually call it "punk" again, when it's been there all the time.

MIKE DIRNT: It's been springing up in little suburban areas, where people grab it and express themselves.

TRE COOL: It's people who make a point of setting aside all responsibilities and just playing music. And doing fat joint after fat joint--you have to let go of things like paying rent, going to school, having a job.

BJ: And, if you can't tell by my house, we don't have a very high standard of living.

How does today's punk rock differ from its late-'70s cousin?

BJ: I think it was all about art and fashion back then, really, because everyone who was a punk in England was in art school. I read an early interview with Dee Dee Ramone, where he said he wished the Ramones had more of a glamorous appeal, too, instead of playing in jeans and leather jackets. But it was definitely about fashion, until the Clash really brought out the political side. Our music came from being bored in the 'burbs. You get put in this high school situation, where you're learning someone else's rules in a room with 30 other people that you don't really like. There's nothing interesting about it whatsoever, so you pick up a guitar instead.

But you all tried college, at least for awhile, right?

MD: And then we started touring. Constantly.

TC: So most of our reading now comes from highway signs.

MD: It's the old grasshopper and the ant story. The thought of actually working is just so...

TC: Sickening!

MD: Yeah. So we put everything we had into not working. This is what I do best, and I was always told, "If you're gonna do something, do it the best you can." So why not do the best thing you can, too?

You guys--at least Mike and Billie Joe--have known each other since you were 10?

BJ: And the first conversation we ever had was about writing songs. And then we just started playing music.

A lot of the stuff on your early Lookout! records shows what was on your mind at the time--namely, girls.

BJ: That was pretty much the viewpoint of a 16-year-old kid. I don't write stuff like that anymore. The new songs are more about coming of age and being apathetic and neurotic.

Where were your parents when you were touring [at age 16]?

MD: At work, doing their own thing.

BJ: My mom's worked a waitress job for like the past 40 years or something, and whatever I was doing was OK with her.

MD: I moved out when I was 15, and I worked all the way through high school.

BJ: And me, I've never held a job longer than two weeks. I tried to flip pizzas--it didn't work. I tried cleaning toilets in the Red Onion in El Sobrante. Me and TrŽ, we used to work for the SF Chronicle, selling papers. I sold three the first day, and the next day we just smoked pot, and we smoked pot the next day after that. So we had hella extra papers lying around. Our ultimate goal wasn't to get rich or famous or anything like that. It was to not have a regular job and not be miserable.

MD: And I've lived in every city around here, except for Albany. Literally. And one thing we want to establish about ourselves is that we're just a bunch of geeks from the suburbs.

Well, one of the first times I saw you, you guys were closing your set with Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger." That's pretty geeky.

MD: I grew up on radio--that's all I had. When I was a little kid, I couldn't afford records. I'll tell you, I've been down to a dollar in my pocket a lot of times. I've even lived in my truck. I can remember shooting rats with a BB gun in the flat we used to live in, before they'd make it to our food.

BJ: I've always been really good about saving. If I got some money, I'd put it away instead of spending it, and I'd buy ramen.

Why name your disc Dookie?

TC: Warner's said we could do anything we want, as long as we didn't say "Cop Killer."

BJ: Somebody told our manager that the ad for it was the most tasteless thing they'd ever seen in Billboard magazine.

What exactly do you mean on Dookie by "Welcome to Paradise"?

BJ, MD, TC [in unison]: West Oakland!

MD: Living in West Oakland, and going out to parties every night.

So it cost, what, around $100,000 to make Dookie?

MD: Yeah. We kept the advances low, because you gotta pay all that shit back. Everyone knows you can't become an instant millionaire just by signing, because there are so many people that want a piece of you.

BJ: We hang out with mostly punks though, and they don't want anything we have. They could care less. And a lot of our friends don't even agree with us being on a major label.

Is Green Day angry?

BJ: No, I'm not angry, like, walking around all the time with a frown on my face. But the way my music is interpreted is very angry.

MD: When you feel really strongly about something, you want to let it out in the most powerful way possible.

Like the way you baited your old high school principal from the Warfield stage recently?

MD: I think he was an asshole. He treated me with no respect. And for high school initiation, we got our heads shaved--that's the kind of small-town shit we had to deal with! Sometimes they made you push a penny up the street with your nose. But that's life, and anywhere you go, you're gonna hate a lot of shit in your life. You'll be handed

Dookie?

MD: Yeah. Yeah, you'll be handed dookie through all parts of your life. And see, what you need to do is just deal with the dookie, build upon what you have, and make something out of the dookie, you know? Like an adobe dookie building!

* * *

Several months later, and Dookie is oozing its gooey way into the public consciousness big time. The fading summer heat sticks crackling to the Berkeley sidewalks as punks--many sporting monstrous green or fuchsia mohawks--zing by on skateboards by day, and huddle in Telegraph Avenue doorways by night, conserving feral body heat the whole time. It feels like another world here, a throwback to the Bay Area's DIY/hardcore scene of the early '80s, when squatters reigned supreme and burlesque Broadway--fueled by all-ages shows at the Mabuhay Gardens, On Broadway, and even an occasional GBH or UK Subs booking at the Stone--made weekend conversions to "Punk Playground, USA." It was the best of times; it was the worst of times--despite relentless touring, most of these bands sold bupkus in the way of records, and few, save Metallica, ever held pen in shaky hand over a major-label contract.

Billie Joe saunters into the Berkeley coffeehouse in rumpled jeans and a grease-spattered flannel shirt; his once-green-and-tufty tresses have grown out into Wally Cleaver waves and been dyed a Rod Stewarty blond. He looks like one of those feisty punks of yore; like he could hold his own through sheer physical endurance in the wildest of thrash pits. There's a new authority about him, the way he strides confidently to the counter, orders a pint-size glass of coffee, then swims through a sea of late-lunching yuppies to grab a table. The singer doesn't seem to notice them at all. Or maybe he's just too tired from nonstop touring to really give a shit. He smiles a goofy grin, revealing a set of generally crooked or chipped choppers, with an entire half of one front tooth missing. But there's such charisma behind it, the same kind of "Who, me?" innocence that little kids use. Billie Joe, you might say, has quickly become the Bart Simpson of the alternative set.

How else could you explain his uncensored performance at a certain outdoor arena where--in a hyperspeed set lasting only 30 minutes before management threatened to pull the plug--he a) unzipped his fly and paraded his privates around for all to see; b) handed a stunned fan his beat-up, sticker-plastered guitar and urged him to play it; c) destroyed a $600 microphone by smashing it into the stage, then destroyed a second mike he was handed as well; and d) encouraged half the venue to chant, "Rock 'n' roll!" and the other half to respond with, "Shut the fuck up!" He then closed the show with a proposition--"They'll be really angry with us, but what we could do is rip out the seats!" he told the audience, which promptly gave Green Day a standing ovation. Billie Joe not only shrugs off such shenanigans as artistic license, he gets away with them! He's even encouraged to continue by fans who empathize with his uppity "fuck authority" attitude.

But the facts were all on the table as Billie Joe sipped his house blend that afternoon, and it didn't take a fortune teller to read 'em. Green Day was hitting big time. Fast. And the sheer enormity of the undertaking, the weight of all its accordant responsibility, was just beginning to hit him. He looked older, wiser, and spoke in more grownup tones about his future, which then included a pending marriage to longtime girlfriend Adrienne. You could practically feel this new maturity encircling him like some protective aura.

* * *

=Where do all these punks on Telegraph come from? They can't all be local and homeless.

I think Telegraph has just become this cultural mecca for punk rockers, because most of 'em who are on the Avenue aren't even from here. They're from Arizona, Minneapolis, New York, Florida. They just come out and end up squatting in houses in Berkeley. Why here? It's the climate, and the scene itself--Gilman Street and Maximum Rock 'n' Roll are in this area, and have a link to each other. But at the same time, it's separated, because there are so many different factions of punk now. There are the squatters, the pop-cores, the mods, the crusties. And all these types of people come out just to check it out. Plus, there's the best coffee in Berkeley, and a lot of 'em are real super coffee-drinkers, just pounding cup after cup all the time. It's pretty rare to come across a punk who doesn't drink coffee. I can't drink too much coffee myself--it gives me the shakes at night, so I just have a little bit during the day. Then I can smoke dope and go to bed.

=What's the attraction in squatting or homelessness for these kids?

For a lot of 'em, it's the first sense of freedom that they've had. It's like, "You mean I don't have to be home by midnight?" They've pretty much told their families and schools to go fuck themselves, so they go off and do their own thing. When I was 17, I did the same thing. And I had this total sense of freedom, where no one's telling you what to do, you don't have a clock to punch in on, you don't have people breathing down your neck; you don't have any deadlines to meet. You have this endless schedule where you can stay up all night drinking with your friends, or do anything you want.

=But isn't "Coming Clean" about leaving behind your wilder ways?

It's also about coming to grips with your sexuality. There's one line, "Skeletons come to life in my closet." And it's like, "Am I homosexual or heterosexual?" You go through this adolescent stage in your life where you don't really know what you are, and one side is taboo because your parents brought you up to think being gay was wrong. And if you come to grips with yourself, that you happen to be gay or bi or whatever, well, that was one thing about punk that was so accepting--all creeds were welcome, all sexualities, everything.

=Was this something you went through personally?

Yeah, to a certain extent. But I don't want to go around waving a gay flag or anything.

=Well, you had a beautiful girl on your arm backstage at the last Green Day show.

That's Adrienne. She's cool. Actually, we're engaged. That's why it took me so long getting here today--I had to get this! [Rolls sleeve up on tattooed arm, points to a bandaged-on cotton swab] Blood test, dude! We're getting married next week!

=Has anybody tried to tell you you're too young for such a serious move?

Of course. There are a lot of people who've said stuff. My parents have been a little more understanding than her parents. I just called my mom yesterday and said, "Mom, I'm gettin' married," and she said, "That's fine, son. Have fun!" I can hardly surprise my mother nowadays. But [this relationship] has been a recurring thing for the past four years, and we just decided to get serious about it. She's coming out here, and we're moving in together, so it's like, "Why not?" I don't really have any wild oats to sow, or anything like that. I'm not into the "Gettin' chicks all the time" thing.

=I know a lot of girls who'll be really bummed that you're gittin' hitched. They all seem to have developed a crush on you...

Me?! It must be the teeth [grins again].

=OK, so maybe you didn't brush often enough when you were young. But you were busy developing a direction...

I wouldn't necessarily say I had a direction or anything. I just knew I wanted to write songs. It comes from...uh...I don't know. I have no idea. It wasn't any kind of cosmic force or anything like that; it was just a matter of having a guitar around and wanting to play it all the time. I've had the same guitar since I was 11--I bought it off this guy at a guitar store. And I still play it--you know, the blue one with stickers all over it? That's my blue guitar, and, for some reason, things come to life, and everyone calls it "Blue" now--"Where's Blue? Can I pick up Blue and play it?"

=And you let just anybody touch it?

Oh yeah! Blue's not prejudiced.

=It's interesting to note that the general public seems to think Dookie is your debut.

Yeah, but that's just the general public. There are people who've been with us since the beginning, who know how long we've been around, since our first 7-inch came out back in '89.

=And now you can afford to trash pricey microphones.

Actually, Warner Brothers paid for those. It was pretty nice of 'em. They looked really nice--I remember looking at 'em and thinking, "Nice microphones!" They gave me one mike and I took it and threw it down, and they gave me another, and at the end of the set I creamed it pretty hard, I guess. We toured Europe with this band Die Toten Hosen--we played nine dates with 'em--and we got charged for a microphone every night. I dunno, for some reason we just started smashing shit. We'd start throwing equipment around at the end of each set, and these kids would start grabbing Tre's drum set and throwing it, and then they started smashing the microphones too. And the bouncers just couldn't do anything about it.

=And you actually yanked your dick out onstage too?

I did. Totally. It was the real thing. I dunno. The bands that we were playing with were just boring. It was more like making a mockery of the whole thing. The big arena rock thing is just so dated now, like Journey or Queen. Which is why I think punk rock started to begin with--it was this reaction to all the dinosaur bands. So for me, that show was, "How can we make a complete mockery of this but at the same time have fun with it?" I like to leave people guessing, "Did he hate that or did he like that?" It's not that I don't care--it's more that I'm careless. I try to be as happy-go-lucky as I can, but you can become apathetic at the same time.

=Do you feel like Green Day is a part of, or represents, the so-called "slacker generation"?

There's one side of me that doesn't mind it, because it's a generational thing, and another side of me that says, "Fuck that!" The reason I wrote the songs is, I ended up going back to Rodeo, where I'm from, for a week. And then I said, "Fuck it," and left. But I managed to get several good songs out of it. A lot of my friends had just turned into complete burnouts. And these are kids I've known since kindergarten, because it's a small town and you know everybody. And it was all fixing cars, staying up all night on methamphetamines, smoking dope, and finding out all these rumors about people I haven't heard of in 10 years. Like, "Oh, did you hear about so-and-so, who got married, had three kids, and ended up shooting everybody in his family?" And it happened! It was a true story! You're there for one week, and you get caught up in it. You get so bored, all you wanna do is watch television. And there are no record stores, nothing around, so you end up hanging out with all these delinquents who aren't punkers at all, just cultural idiots. So I was watching all these people rot and rotting with them until I realized, "Shit! I gotta get the fuck outta here!"

=As they say, you can never go home again.

Oh yeah, definitely. Unless you get pregnant, like my sister did. Then you have to go. But I quit school my senior year--I just wasn't getting anything out of it. I was taking nine periods a day, plus night classes, which left me no time to smoke dope whatsoever. And my mom even suggested I drop out, because she was a dropout, too. I come from a long line of dropouts. I still have nightmares about being late with my homework assignments. When I finally went in to sign out of high school, the teacher went, "Now, who are you again?"

=And if that teacher could see you now!

A lot of people think you get this big connection with a corporate label, and you make millions of dollars, but they don't understand that you just don't make that much money. And when you do, it's easy to piss it away. I mean, every cent that I've made, I've pissed away. I'm not gonna say how I did it, but I don't have it But I don't think you necessarily have to be a punk to decide to say, "Fuck it." You don't even have to have a direction. It's just a matter of getting the fuck out and exploring things for yourself.

=But didn't you feel abject terror when you first set out on your own?

Nah, I didn't. Because, for some reason, I knew things were gonna be all right. You can create your own future as long as karma's on your side. And I'm a strong believer in karma. I think things can come back to you if you're just willing to give.

* * *

True enough. At least six million times over!

1995 Tom Lanham

#article #interview #articles #billie joe armstrong

6 notes · View notes